Take Your Time (Fate and Circumstance #2) (8 page)

I turned the water on, checking the temperature before soaking his hair. “So what was your plan? Come see me and then go back home?” I ran my fingers through the dark strands of hair on the top of his head. They were long, as if styled after a faux-hawk, but I hadn’t seen him wear it that way. Both times I’d seen his hair—Saturday night and then again today—he’d worn it down and to one side, lying over the short hairs on the side of his head, leaving the other side and back visible. I thought it seemed rather punk rock, which was a little out of place in this neck of the woods. We were more country out here—southern. But I couldn’t stop focusing on the way his hair felt between my fingers in order to form enough words to ask about where he was actually from.

“I don’t really have a plan.” His admission brought me back to the present, realizing I’d been stroking his hair long enough. If I didn’t pull it together, this would end up being the longest shampoo in history. “I haven’t thought much past seeing you.”

“Don’t you have horses to train? A family that’s expecting you? I’m sure they wouldn’t be too happy to hear that you’re delaying your return for some slutty girl you met at a bar.” I pumped a few squirts of shampoo into my palm and began to run it through his hair, massaging his scalp with my fingertips as I worked up the lather. I focused on my job instead of the client, hoping my brain could disconnect my feelings for him and make him just another person in my chair.

“They know where I’m at, and they understand.” The longer I shampooed him, the quieter and slower his words grew. “And I think…you should…give yourself more credit…than being a slutty girl…at a bar,” he finished saying, his voice becoming deep and desperate.

I pulled my attention from his head to his lap, noticing how he kept fidgeting in his seat, appearing to be uncomfortable. No one had ever complained about the chairs before, always saying how they’re the most comfortable seats in any salon they’d ever been to. They were, after all, the most expensive on the market. But I quickly realized that his shifting hadn’t been due to the comfort of the chairs at all. No. He awkwardly adjusted his leg, shifting it over the other knee, attempting to hide the bulge in his faded jeans. It made me smile. It also made me massage his scalp deeper, really giving it to him.

I leaned closer to his ear, never letting up on the pressure of my fingertips, and seductively said, “Since you seem to know me so well, why don’t you tell me how I should see myself.”

He cleared his throat and shifted in his seat once more, finally throwing his clasped hands in his lap—even though that did nothing to hide the impressive imprint that protruded against his thigh. That one visual told me so much about what he had beneath his clothes, and it made my mouth water.

“What? Cat got your tongue?” I teased with a giggle, letting him know I was aware of how much I affected him.

“You’re really good at this,” he said breathlessly.

He was so hard to read at times, and so easy at others. Like right now, I knew how turned on he was just from my touch—and not even a sexual touch—yet I couldn’t tell if he felt ashamed at me knowing, or if it didn’t bother him. I’d practically thrown myself at him Saturday night, letting him know I didn’t want the night to end, but he turned me down. Now, here he was in my salon, my hands running through his hair, and somehow, I felt as if he’d still turn me down if I came on to him, even though his desire for me was evident.

“I’m good at a lot of things, Bentley.” I forced myself to stop the massage and turn on the water to wash the shampoo out. “Would you prefer it if I used cold water to rinse your hair? You seem like you might need it.”

My eyes widened in shock and my breath caught in my throat when I caught him gripping himself through his jeans, adjusting his position once more in his seat. His brazen action threw me for a loop—I completely did not expect that.

“Use whatever temperature you want, Sarah. I can handle it.”

Oh my God
. It became my turn to shift uncomfortably where I stood, feeling my lady parts burn with need by the tone of his rugged voice. The insinuations that came from his response lit a fire in my panties unlike anything I’d ever felt before. And the smirk that rose on his lips let me know he was aware of it.
Damn him
.

In my rebelliousness, I turned the water all the way to hot, knowing just how scalding it could get, and quickly began to rinse out the suds from his hair. I’d only intended to douse him with it at first, but quickly became sidetracked, forgetting all about the temperature of the water. He flinched a few times and squeezed his eyes shut, but my focus wouldn’t remain on his face like I knew it should. I’d been taught to read a client’s expression while rinsing their hair. It was the easiest way to tell how they felt about the temperature of the water. And even though I’d noticed his wincing, I couldn’t form enough thought to adjust it. My attention became glued to his jeans, to his large, manly hands clasped tight over his groin, to the impressive outline along his thigh. I wanted to see it, feel it…I fantasized about tasting it.

“Sarah…”

I didn’t know how many times he’d said my name before it registered in my brain, but when it finally did, I shifted my gaze to his face, noticing he’d tilted his head back and could see my eyes. He knew what I’d been looking at. He’d caught me. And the flames of my embarrassment burned my neck, licking its way up my cheeks.

I quickly shut off the water and blinked rapidly, shaking my head. My throat worked hard to swallow past the giant lump that felt stuck in my esophagus. My reaction seemed completely foreign to me, considering I wasn’t the type of girl to become flustered over things like this. I knew how to handle myself, and how to play the game better than most men. It’s how I had them eating out of the palm of my hand when I chose to go out and play. But Bentley had a way of twisting everything up for me. He threw me for a loop and didn’t fall in line like the rest of them. He’d managed to get me to open up to him when all I ever did was shut down. He—briefly—made me yearn to have someone to talk to, to hold me, to
be there
for me. And now, he had me embarrassed and rattled over something I typically excelled in—sex. I’d had the upper hand in the situation, but he’d effortlessly stolen it from me and caught me off guard.

“Yeah?” I finally asked, clearing my throat in the hopes it would calm me down some. I didn’t want him to see me that way—he’d already seen me vulnerable and crying; he didn’t need to witness my embarrassment as well.

“I know I said I could handle whatever temperature you wanted, but I didn’t mean it’d be okay to give me third-degree burns.” The corners of his lips were curled up, letting me know his words were meant to tease me, but I knew better. His previous flinching proved that I had, in fact, burned him, so I could only assume his playful manner was meant to spare my feelings. And that only served to make him even more confusing to me. He’d make a bold statement by grabbing himself, only to ease my distress by making a joke of how I’d burned him.

“I’m so sorry, Bentley. I wasn’t paying attention.”

“You’re fine. Maybe we both need the cold water.”

I smirked and rolled my eyes as I turned my back to him. I needed the conditioner, which sat on the counter behind the sinks, but I also needed a moment to breathe. I needed the space to clear my head, calm my erratic pulse, and lose the burning sensation that had taken over my face. Before pumping the conditioner in my palm, I grabbed a towel from the cabinet above, and tossed it at him over my shoulder. The deep rumble of his chuckle filtered through the air, masking the music playing through the speakers, and fell upon me like a calming touch.

Once I fully turned back around, ready to give him another rubdown, I noticed he understood my reason for giving him the towel. He had it in a rumpled ball in his lap, covering the distractive part of his body that kept me from doing my job right.

“Sorry about that.” He shifted again, seeming to be more comfortable in his seat. “I can’t say that’s ever happened before.”

“How often do you get your hair washed?”

“Well, I wash it all the time in the shower.” He laughed, knowing that wasn’t what I’d meant by my question, and it caused his chest to shake. “But I’ve never gone somewhere to have it washed. In fact, I’ve never stepped foot inside an actual salon before. I usually go to the cheap places in strip malls when I need a cut, and they usually just wet it with a spray bottle. I must admit, though, this is kinda nice, except for the hot water part.”

“A decent scalp massage is good for hair growth, too.” I was glad he could no longer see my face, because it twisted with humiliation once the words were out. I had no idea why I’d said that, other than it was proof of just how inside out he had turned me. It was as if he caused me comfort and discomfort at the same time. Which made absolutely no sense at all. I desperately wanted to get to the root of it so I could make it go away. Either that, or
he
needed to go away.

“Good to know. Although it seems to be rather damaging in other ways.”

“A lot of people become…
affected
like that when their scalp is massaged. It just means you have erogenous zones there. But I can’t say I’ve ever seen proof of that before. It actually strokes my ego a bit.” My throat grew tight when I said “strokes,” causing me to think of something else other than my ego.

“Why would it boost your ego? I’m fairly certain you’re aware of your effect on men.” He’d said so much without putting it into words. It was an implication about how we’d met, what I’d been doing when he found me in the bar. I’d admitted to him that I was a sexual person, and had no shame in it, yet it seemed as though he felt compelled to speak of it in a sensitive manner.

“My goal in life is to be the Adele of hair, in every aspect. You’ve proven to me that I’m one hell of a shampooer.” I wore a grin on my face that he couldn’t see, but I’m sure he heard it in my voice. “So that at least lets me know I’m one step closer to reaching my goal.”

“What exactly is an Adele of hair?” His brow furrowed and his eyes closed as soon as I turned the water back on to rinse out the conditioner—this time, testing the temperature first.

“Adele is like a music god. It’s indisputable. And I want to be like that, but with hair instead of songs.” I finished rinsing his hair, and then turned to grab another towel.

“Really? That’s your goal in life?”

When I spun back around, ready to dry his head, I found him sitting up, twisted in his seat to face me. The expression he wore on his face was so soft, so sympathetic. His parted and nearly downturned lips screamed concern, while his dark-green eyes pierced me with worry. I couldn’t comprehend what it all meant, or why he regarded me in that way.

I cautiously moved toward him, the cloth spread out in my hands. “Yes. What’s so wrong with that? People strive to be the best they can be at what they do, so why is it a bad thing for me to do the same?” I gently ran the towel over his head, drying up the water from his hair, but I also did it to obstruct his view of me. For whatever reason, he once more had me strung out, vulnerable, and I couldn’t handle him witnessing me like that again.

His hands snapped up, catching my wrists in his grip before slowly lowering the shield I had in place between us. His gaze captured mine and wouldn’t let it go. “There’s a big difference in striving for something, and having it be a life goal. Don’t you want more out of life other than being the best stylist in the world?”

I studied him for a moment longer before blinking and backing away. “You have a bad habit of acting like you know me. Like you know what I want or what’s best for me. You don’t know shit, Bentley. I don’t know how many more times I have to tell you that I’m perfectly fine the way I am, and I’m not looking for more before you finally get it through that thick skull of yours.”

He stood and stepped around the sink to stand in front of me. He didn’t seem as tall with my heels on like he had when I’d stood in front of him in my boots. But that didn’t mean I felt any taller. I still felt small, fragile, and exposed. I guess it was more than his height that made me feel that way.

“I’m not assuming anything, Sarah. It was a simple question. But the fact that you can’t give me a simple answer is proof enough that you don’t believe it, either. You’re just mad that I’m asking you questions you don’t want to think about.”

He’d hit the nail on the head with his accusation, and the last thing I wanted was for him to know that. I’d do better if he simply walked away and stopped analyzing me. I didn’t think I could take any more.

“You’re done here, Bentley. The ladies at the counter in the front will take care of you. Thank you for stopping in. Everyone here at Gr8 Hair Salon and Spa wishes you a great day.” The normally cheerful goodbye rolled off my tongue in a monotone as I stared at his chest, refusing to meet his gaze. My parting words were enough to speak volumes about how I felt—I didn’t need him to see it in my eyes as well.

He gripped my hand in his, causing my attention to fall to that warm connection between us. “I only want to help, Sarah. I’m not trying to piss you off or upset you.”

I let him hold onto me for a moment longer before ripping my hand from his and walking away without another word. I knew the break room would be the best place to go considering Bentley couldn’t follow me there. It would give me space before my next client to clear my head from the anxiety-ridden haze he’d put there.