by Fiona Lowe
He won’t know about scalp massages so don’t even mention it.
You’re a professional and he’s a client. Ask him.
Trying not to breathe in any more of his pine-fresh cologne, which already had her blood pounding faster than was probably safe, she said, “At this point I usually offer a scalp massage, but don’t feel you have to accept it. Not everyone enjoys them.”
One piercing eye popped open, fixed intently on her face. “As everything to do with Whitetail is a new experience, I guess I better try this too.”
“Okay, then.” Her smile felt so taut she was convinced her face would crack. She cleared her throat against an increasing tightness. “It lasts a few minutes and it may make you feel drowsy. If you start to feel uncomfortable at any time, just say stop.”
Her fingers pressed into his scalp with a strength she had to summon up from her toes, desperately needing it to counter the tingling riffs that had now consumed her entire body. In one way, the shimmers made her feel weak and vulnerable, yet in another way they created such a powerful need in her that she was potent with it. It stunned and shocked her. How could she feel like this for a man she barely knew?
Responsible mothers of little boys didn’t behave like this. The grieving widow of a war hero who lived in a small town certainly couldn’t afford to behave like this.
Besides, despite Emily and Melissa telling her he wasn’t married, that didn’t necessarily make him single. As she worked his scalp with her fingers moving in firm circles, she bit down hard on the inside of her cheek. It was only the metallic taste of blood which reminded her of her life and her responsibilities that kept her from embarrassing herself by lowering her lips to his. It wasn’t, however, enough to stop the fantasy.
Tony breathed in deeply trying to regain some control over his body, which was in the throes of ecstatic agony. What the hell had possessed him to say yes to a scalp massage? When Nicole had asked the question, he’d been too busy wondering why, with her silver-blond hair, didn’t she have bright, blue eyes? Not that he minded one bit because her enormous, milk-chocolate eyes suckered him every time she looked at him. In fact they’d been doing exactly that when he’d agreed far too promptly to the massage.
You didn’t think that one through, did you, pal?
Now he was paying for it with a series of tantalizingly torturous touches—every brush of her thigh against his arm as she leaned over him, every lingering atom of her coconut-and-mango scent which made him think of warm, Caribbean breezes, and with every press of her fingers.
Holy shit, her fingers. The power that came through them shot straight to his groin. Thank God the cape she’d draped over him hid the evidence that would make him look a fool and scare the hell out of her. As her touch reached the base of his skull and his cock ached hard against his workpants, his thoughts drifted to the idea of her fingers on it rather than his head. From a very long way away he heard a moan.
Her fingers stalled. “Am I hurting you?”
Shock drenched him in cold sweat. Had he just groaned in pleasure? Fuck. He’d never expected he’d have to invoke a safe word for a head massage. He opened his eyes and met hers—eyes filled with concern and something else he couldn’t read but given he could barely see straight, that was no surprise. “You can stop now.”
She gave a curt nod and then with jerky movements she flicked on the taps, rinsed his head and then toweled his hair dry, all with brisk strokes. It was probably the same no-nonsense touch she’d used from the start, only his warped mind had read far too much into it.
He moved back to the chair and she started cutting his hair, her scissors flashing silver and clicking fast. Neither of them spoke for a bit and as she raised strands of hair between her fingers, lining them up at ninety degrees to cut, her wedding ring caught the light and sparked in the mirror. It was just what he needed to see. A timely reminder. A safety zone.
“I’m slowly getting to know all the volunteer firefighters. Is your husband one of them?”
Her scissors stilled and she appeared to be studying his hair intently as if it was the most fascinating thing she’d ever seen. Slowly, she raised her head and met his gaze in the mirror. “My husband’s dead.”
Great going, Tony. So much for the safe zone. “I’m so sorry. I—”
“No!” She violently snapped the scissors closed against his hair. “Don’t be sorry. I’m so sick of people being sorry.”
He stared at the two pink spots of heat on her now pale cheeks and fought the urge to duck against the waves of antagonism that rolled into him. His brain shot straight to some of the difficult domestic situations he’d been called to act on as an EMT. “You wanted him dead?”
Her eyes widened in shock. “God no. Of course I didn’t. It’s just...” She pulled up more strands of hair between her fingers.
He felt sure she needed to say whatever it was she’d just self-censored. “Just?”
“I assumed you knew.” She snipped at his hair in short, jagged cuts. “I’m surprised someone in town didn’t sit you down on your first day and tell you Bradley’s story.”
Grabbing some hair clippers, she abruptly turned on the power and the buzz of the fast-moving combs sounded ominous. He had a sudden urge to protect his neck.
“He died in Afghanistan. A war hero.” Her words sounded infinitely weary. “Everyone in Whitetail owns his memory.”
It was then he remembered Max telling him that his father had been in an ambulance. Hell.
Everyone in Whitetail owns his memory. He didn’t know what to say and yet given the complex war of expressions on her face, he needed to say something. “I guess that can be both good and bad for you.”
She nodded furiously, waving the clippers above his head. “Exactly, and that’s why it’s such a relief to meet new people where I can be just the wedding planner or just the hairdresser or Max’s mom.”
Not a widow dealing with her own grief as well as the town’s. Slowly he understood. She could be those three things, but she wasn’t ready to be anyone else. Disappointment cramped his gut.
With dexterous strokes, she used a brush to remove any stray cut hair from the back of his neck and then she held up a mirror so he could see the back of his head. The hairdresser was back in control. “How’s that?”
He barely glanced. “Great, thanks.”
“Good.” Her fingers brushed his neck lightly as she undid the cape and he gripped the arms of the chair to stay immune from the unintentional touch.
He met her at the counter and pulled out his wallet, paying for the cut. “Thanks again, Nicole.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Say hello to Max for me.”
“I will.”
He knew the score—it was time for him to leave. “I guess I’ll see you round town somewhere, sometime.”
Her teeth scraped her bottom lip and she nodded slowly.
Okay, then. He raised his hand in farewell before pulling open the door. The tinkle of the bell sounded overly loud in the strained silence. His right foot hit the sidewalk.
“Tony...”
Had he forgotten something? He turned back. “Yes.”
She laced her fingers in front of her in the exact same way he’d noticed her do a few other times in the past half hour. “Most mornings I stop by the market for a coffee before starting work.”
The bottom of his gut soared, high-fiving the top. Be cool, man. He managed to stall the dopey grin that wanted so badly to spread across his face. “That sounds very similar to my routine. You never know, we might run into each other.”
Her mouth curved into a shy smile that had his blood pounding. “It’s a possibility.”
It most certainly was.
* * *
Luke was washing up after having assisted a cow with a difficult delive
ry. Thankfully, both mother and calf were now doing well but there’d been a few moments when he doubted a positive outcome. As he dried his hands, he was struck by the thought that right now his life was filled with women causing him grief—the cows, his mother with her disappointed and accusing looks that he was ruining her and his father’s retirement, Keri with dollar signs in her eyes, and Erin.
Come to think of it, the cows were looking pretty low-maintenance right now. Erin, on the other hand, with her rainbow-bright clothes and those parodies of rubber boots she wore, was beyond high-maintenance. Last night he’d foolishly played a game that had in essence ended up being a double dare for him. Not that it had started out that way. When he’d seen her in the field silhouetted by the moon, his sole aim for the meeting was to regain his dignity after having fallen asleep on her bed and to reestablish his reputation as a man who was always in total control with all things to do with women.
It had started out well enough with him directing the conversation because there was no way on earth he was falling for any of her let’s talk crap. Talking wasn’t something they needed to do. As far as he was concerned, this thing between them that lived, breathed and grew daily was purely sexual.
Everything had been pitch-perfect right up to the moment after she’d kissed him. That was when the plan—backed up by years of experience—dictated that he walk away, thus leading the play. It guaranteed that when next they met, the game would be over because they both knew they wanted the exact same thing. The cards would be faceup on the table and with nowhere to hide, they’d move straight to sex. It was a simple, foolproof plan.
But had he walked away?
No.
Idiot! Not content with the fact he’d not only gotten back his control but he also had the evidence she still really wanted him, he’d let his ego step forward and get in the way. At the time it had seemed like such a brilliant idea to leave her with his calling card—a kiss that told her exactly what she could have if she came and got it—before nonchalantly walking away. The problem had come immediately after he’d draped her along the length of him and kissed her until she’d made that incredible sound in the back of her throat. He’d been lucky to manage walking.
He jammed his hat onto his head and strode out to the four-wheeler, pissed with himself yet again. He knew the rules and the risks, and none were worth blowing the perfect seduction. Twice. What the hell was wrong with him?
Pressing the accelerator down hard, he sent the bike into top speed, jolting up the farm road toward the top pasture. The lake shone blue and he thought about his small yacht in the boat shed on the beach—the one he hadn’t managed to sail yet this season. As he passed the boundary of Wade’s place, he saw Erin’s dog trot out of a cottage and he unconsciously slowed. A moment later, Erin followed with a bucket of cleaning products on one arm and clutching crumpled sheets under the other.
Mac leaped off the bike, racing toward her with a joyful bark. “Too eager, Mac,” Luke muttered under his breath.
A second later he wanted to slam his head hard against something. Come find me. Mac had just heralded Luke’s arrival and by default made a mockery of his exit words to Erin last night. He’d dropped him right in it.
Maggie-May greeted Mac joyously, bouncing and barking with sheer delight and they raced around Erin’s feet chasing each other while at the same time demanding her adoration.
She gave it, sinking to her feet and letting the dogs lick her face as she scratched under each of their chins and bellies.
A vivid green flash socked into Luke. He shot off the bike, hating he was jealous of his dog. He vaulted the fence. “Mac! Sit!”
Erin’s head swung around and her now sun-streaked hair followed, brushing her cheeks. Unlike her usual coordinated style, this morning she wore an old, baggy T-shirt, tattered cutoff jeans and bare feet—her rich cranberry-red painted toenails her sole accessory. As she disentangled herself from the dogs and rose, her oversized T fell forward and he copped an eyeful of soft, creamy breasts threatening to spill from a hot-pink-and-black bra.
Breasts he wanted to bury his head in, touch, taste and adore. His eyes stayed fixed on all that sweet, rounded flesh, flesh which taunted him, making his blood surge with lust so pure it hurt. Every part of him tensed, ready to move and lift her into his arms and take what she offered. Take what he so desperately wanted. His groin ached, his head spun and one booted foot started to move.
With her T-shirt still providing a clear view of her breasts, bra and belly, she tilted her head and hooked her gaze on to his. Her brows rose as if to say, they’re yours if you ask nicely. Then she straightened up with a coy smile.
“Gosh, Luke, what a surprise seeing you here. And here I was thinking that I was supposed to come find you.”
Stay! Hauling on everything he had, he glued his feet to the ground recognizing that her coy smile was actually a siren call to dash him against the rocks. To make him move first. She knew all too well that when she was bent over he could see straight down her front. It was a deliberate ploy, total power play, and a bold grab for control.
A lightness swept through him—something he hadn’t felt in months and he wanted to laugh with delight. Erin Davis wanted to play delicious, sexy games with him. She wanted to flirt and tease and bring him to his knees. He appreciated the sentiment oh so very much, but she had no clue who she was dealing with. It was going to be fun watching her come. First.
Rocking back on his work boots, he smiled. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I’m here because Wade asked me to fix the door on your cottage.”
Technically this was correct. Wade had asked him a month ago and with hay cutting it had fallen down the list.
A flicker of something he liked to think was disappointment flashed in her eyes and as she leaned down to pick up her bucket of cleaning products she stalled. This time he was slightly ahead of her and was prepared for the flash of pink-and-black lace.
She grabbed the bucket and straightened up, her chin tilting skyward. “Wade’s taken a family to pet the calves and as much as I’d love to spend time chatting with you, some of us have work to do. I’ve got to clean their cottage while they’re out.”
“First rule of business is keep the customer happy.” He grinned and shooed her away with his hands. “Don’t let me hold you up.”
“Or me you.”
Her softly spoken words invoked the memory of the way her soft curves had sunk into him last night and how he’d leaned equally into her. It socked him with a scorch of heat, making him question why the hell he was holding out instead of sliding his arm around her waist and pulling her close.
Because you want to win.
“Luke...” Her green eyes sparkled knowingly as her voice huskily rolled over his name, making his blood pump harder and blurring his vision.
He met her gaze with a smile. “Yes, Erin.”
She pouted her lips like Marilyn Monroe and slowly ran her index finger around the O before letting it come to rest on her chin. “I’ll be in cottage number two.”
God, she was hot and he wanted her right now. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his shorts to keep his hands from reaching for her. “And I need to know this why?”
She shrugged coquettishly, her shirt falling off one lovely shoulder and exposing her bra strap. “I thought perhaps you might need to come find me.”
He grinned at her, loving the game. “That’s not how I remember the arrangement.”
“Perhaps your memory is playing tricks on you.” She started to walk away from him, the bucket swinging in her hand, and then paused, turning slowly. “Just one thing, Luke. Don’t linger here too long before coming to the cottage because I’m only changing the sheets once.”
The thought of rolling her under him on a bed collided with the thrill of the game. He’d thought her high-maintenance bu
t he’d been wrong. She was turning into the perfect gift—a sexy package with a wicked sense of fun. He buzzed with the heady excitement of anticipation and the sense of feeling alive for the first time in a long time.
He watched her swinging hips and cute behind cross the grass, and as she entered the cottage, she lifted one long, smooth leg in a perfect 1940s kissing style, before completely disappearing inside. He laughed out loud at her blatant flirting and planned his own strategies to bring her running into his arms.
Chapter Ten
It was early afternoon when Erin heard the sound of hammering and the noise made her jump. Most everything today was making her jump, especially when it came to Luke. She’d had the jitters from the moment Mac had rushed up to her when she’d finished cleaning cottage six, because wherever Mac went, Luke wasn’t far behind. When Luke had vaulted the fence, his sheer athleticism had brought her so close to changing her mind, admitting defeat and saying take me now, I’m yours that her plans to taunt him mercilessly until he begged for her had almost come undone.
The challenge in his blue eyes had steadied her. His expectation that she’d be the first to give in had rescued her and steeled her own determination. If anyone was capitulating first, it was him. Although she was no expert at deliberately using her body to entice and the feminist in her was having conniptions, two could play at this game of sexual Mexican standoff. This awesomely wild and wondrous game.
She’d been stunned to discover just how much of a kick it gave her knowing that he wanted her. His gaze on her had been so scorching hot it had fired her skin with a glow that had stayed with her for the rest of the morning. A glow that had her floating through the monotony of cleaning and tidying two cottages, and had lessened the disappointment that he hadn’t stormed in and taken her on cottage two’s bed. It was probably a wise decision on his part, given that the family could have returned at any moment. Still, as exciting as the anticipation about when “it” was going to happen, the expectation was messing with her concentration. She’d already made three attempts to edit one photo and it still wasn’t right.