‘Did you say you want me to cut your hair?’
‘Yes.’
She gave him a stunned smile. ‘What’s wrong with going to a hairdresser?’
‘A waste of money. Anyway, I’m not losing a morning driving to Aix just to get a haircut. I’m sick of it hanging in my face—you just need to chop a couple of inches off all round. Then I’ll be ready to face the world.’
Relaxing her arms, she dropped her hands into her lap and tapped her fingers together. ‘If I do it will you let me have the house?’
He shrugged. ‘Depends on how good a job you do.’
She snorted. ‘What if I make a mess of it?’
‘I’m trusting you not to. Come on, Josie, it’s not rocket science. You know the general principle, right? Look, I can’t get my fingers in those piddly little nail scissors, and the only other sharp things I have in this house are the kitchen knives and the garden shears.’
‘I may end up needing those. It looks like you’ve been washing your hair with engine oil.’
That tantalising smile played about his lips again and her stomach flipped over.
‘Yeah, well, it’s tough finding a power shower in the middle of a rainforest.’
He flicked his hair out of his eyes with those long, strong-looking fingers and her hands did a nervous sort of skitter in her lap. What would it feel like to be in such close proximity to that powerful frame and all that hard muscle? Blood rushed straight between her legs, causing a hard ache there, and before she could stop herself she rocked forward in the chair to try and relieve the pressure.
Clearing her throat to dislodge the strangling tension, she tore her gaze away from him to scan the kitchen cupboards, the dresser, the patio doors—anywhere but his irresistible body—while her heart thumped against her chest. She needed to stand up and move around before she started rutting the chair. What the hell was going on with her crazy body?
‘So where are these scissors, then?’
He was smiling when she looked back at him and the victory on his face made her frown. How had he managed to talk her into this? But then what the hell? If that was what it took to get rid of him, so be it. She’d never been one to walk away from a challenge. She’d also never cut hair in her life. Still, it wasn’t her problem if he ended up looking as if a child had got busy with the scissors while he was asleep. Maybe she should make a mess of it just to pay him back for that supercilious expression.
Despite being rather taken with the idea, she knew she wouldn’t. She was too much of a good girl, and she wanted him gone.
‘They’re in the middle drawer of the dresser,’ he said, nodding towards the grand piece of furniture at the back of the kitchen.
‘Okay. You get them and I’ll grab a towel.’
He gave her a quizzical look, but there was a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. ‘You want me in just a towel for this?’
From his expression she guessed he was quite taken with the idea, and her insides twisted in a strange, excited sort of way.
‘That won’t be necessary. It’s to keep the hair off your clothes,’ she said through oddly numb lips.
‘You’re the boss,’ he said, getting up and striding over to the dresser.
She legged it out of the kitchen and up the stairs, taking her time to find the oldest-looking towel out of the linen cupboard and sucking in deep breaths until she felt composed enough to be in the same room with him again. At least he’d be leaving after this, she told herself, ignoring a niggle of disappointment that came out of nowhere. She needed alone time right now.
Right?
Returning to the kitchen, she found he’d dragged a chair into the middle of the floor and was seated, waiting patiently for her to get back.
‘Not too much off the top,’ he said as she approached him and laid the towel gently over his wide shoulders.
It wasn’t long enough to meet across his chest and after a moment of fussing with it she left it to hang there.
God, the size of him.
She wasn’t going to have to bend down far to get on a level with his head. Nerves jumping, she picked up the scissors and tentatively ran her hands through his mop of hair, gauging the best place to start.
He groaned gently in response and she almost jumped away in fright.
‘I can already tell you’ve got magic hands,’ he said.
From the tone of his voice he was clearly enjoying winding her up, and she kicked herself for allowing him to make her so jittery. Putting her fingers back into his hair, she pulled it harder this time, in an attempt to show him who was in charge.
He chuckled: a low, seductive sound that made her mouth water.
Flipping heck, Josie, pull it together.
After taking a first tentative snip—and finding it actually seemed to look okay—she worked her way around his head, cutting the top first, to reveal the smooth, darker underside of his hair.
Heat rose from his scalp as she worked and her stiff fingers warmed up, allowing her to cut faster. She pictured her own hairdresser, Lenny, and focused on what he did when cutting her hair, working her way carefully.
It felt odd not to talk while she worked, and the silence lay thick and heavy in the large kitchen. What the hell was she supposed to talk about? What would Lenny do?
Make small talk. You can do that, right? Just say something, Josie. Anything.
‘You know, you look nothing like I expected,’ she said.
‘No?’ His voice was infused with amusement.
‘You’re so...’ She willed her addled brain to come up with any word except the one fighting to get out.
She lost.
‘Big.’
He turned to catch her eye and she looked away quickly, so as not to get sucked into flirty banter with him—not when she was so close she could inhale the minty aroma of his toothpaste and the dark undertones of whatever product he used on his body that made him smell so—what was the word? Appetising...
Thank God for the soothing action of lifting and snipping at his hair. Mercifully, it helped her maintain focus, although her cool was shot to pieces.
‘Judging by your complexion and the size of your frame I’m guessing there’s some Scandinavian blood in there somewhere?’ she barrelled on.
‘Icelandic.’
‘I’d never have guessed that from your sister—she’s so dark. Hair and complexion.’ Okay, this was good. Well, better. Sort of...
‘She got the French blood.’
‘On your mother’s side?’ Lift, pull, snip.
‘Yeah, my paternal grandmother was French. This was her home. She left it to me and Abi when she died.’
There was a change in his posture and a new tension in his jaw that made her wonder what he’d omitted from that statement. A memory of Abi telling her their grandmother was the only person Connor had ever cared about swam into her mind.
She paused, not quite sure how to frame her next question. ‘Abi says she hasn’t seen you in a long time?’
His head moved up a notch as his shoulders stiffened. ‘No.’
She waited for him to elucidate but the silence stretched on.
‘I think she’d like to see you sometime.’
‘Hmm...’
She’d