Picture Perfect Wedding (12 page)

Um
,
you sought him out tonight.

Yes
,
I
did it so I could talk to him!

And oh how he’d let her talk. He’d asked questions, taken an active interest in her job—Oh, God. Her hand flew to her mouth in horror. By making the conversation all about her, he’d basically given her mind an orgasm. How had she been so blind not to recognize such seriously skilled seduction? He’d aligned her brain with her body, had both of them panting in unison for him, and she’d walked straight into his arms, demanding him.

Just like he’d demanded her last night.

And then he’d said a calculated no. Worse than that was he knew she wanted him and this gave him all the power.

Come find me.

Payback was a bastard.

Clutching her gear she stomped back across the field immune to the moon and its glory. She didn’t know what she was most aggrieved about—the fact he’d gotten away without apologizing for coming to the cottage buzzed last night, or the fact he’d said no to her, leaving her with a body humming for him along with an accompaniment of agonizing emptiness.

A searing thought pinged into her mind and she stopped walking. Neither one of those things was making her most angry. What galled more than anything was the fact he’d left knowing a hell of a lot more about her than she knew about him. She’d blurted out stuff that gave him a picture of who she was, while he remained the enigma he’d always been. A sexy, gorgeous enigma who’d lead her a merry dance.

She rolled back her shoulders and recommenced walking. She knew this was the second time she’d let him make a fool of her but damn it, it was
never
happening again. If Luke Anderson thought she was going to come calling in the future and just walk into his arms like she did tonight, he could think again.

On the other hand, the idea of making him beg for her and having him come to her held a lot of appeal.

Chapter Nine

Nicole stretched her back, feeling the strain that came with a full day on her feet and back-to-back hair clients. During the busy summer wedding months she sublet her salon chairs to Donna, who did the bulk of the work at Affairs with Hair. Although Nicole still did some summer cutting, she worked a lot less hours and her back got used to an easier life.

She loved that the town understood how important the wedding business was to everyone and how most people happily swapped between the two hairdressers from June to September. On wedding days the salon was closed, which rarely mattered to their customers because so many of the townsfolk were working in some capacity for the wedding. The flip side to this was it made for busier days on non-wedding days.

Today Nicole was working in the salon alone, filling in for Donna who’d taken her teenage daughter to a concert in Minneapolis. The latest teen idol was on a national tour and the Twin Cities was as close to Whitetail as he got. Donna had said, “Believe me, the rest of my summer won’t be worth living if Becky misses this concert.”

Nicole didn’t mind being busy. Between mothering Max, managing weddings and her hair clients, she didn’t have time to think, and that had been her aim ever since she’d opened her front door to find a soldier in dress uniform, respectfully holding his hat in front of him and wearing an expression of regret. Actually, the need to blot out everything had started a week prior to that fateful visit.

As the clock ticked past four-thirty and she’d said goodbye to her last client, she was now filling in the product order form before closing up. The unexpected tinkle of the bell above the salon door made her automatically glance up. The pen she was holding slipped out of her grip, rolling across the counter before falling with a clatter onto the floor.

Tony Lascio, all stocky, five foot eleven of him, stepped into her salon with a look of surprise crossing his face. It instantly morphed into a warm smile.

A smile that did ridiculously odd things to her. She was glad she was sitting on a stool otherwise her legs might have folded underneath her and she’d have been joining the pen on the floor.

“Hi, Nicole.”

“Hello, Tony.”

Chief
,
you’re supposed to call him chief.
She pushed her glasses up her nose, giving herself a few precious seconds to pull herself together. “May I help you?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t need a wedding planner, but I do need a haircut.”

He smiled at her again and she realized it was slightly crooked, which made it even more endearing.

“Lucky for you, I’m both.”

You’re flirting again.
Be businesslike.

Clicking the mouse on the computer, she looked up Donna’s appointment list. “Donna has an opening tomorrow at noon.”

He shook his head. “That won’t work. I’m doing fire extinguisher tagging all day tomorrow. Actually, I was hoping I could get it cut now.”

Now?
A rush of sensation had her suddenly feeling uncharacteristically hot and her hand fiddled with the top of her blouse as if to fan herself. “I’m not sure that’s going to be possible.”

He glanced around the empty salon and then back to her with a hopeful look in his inky eyes. “Are you expecting another client?”

Say yes.
But honesty had been pummeled into her from the cradle and she couldn’t do it. “No, but I have to pick up Max from camp at five and—”

“No problem...”

Thank you.
“So I’ll just make—”

“Half an hour is plenty of time. My barber in Jersey always cut my hair in fifteen minutes flat. So, which chair?” He gave her an expectant grin.

“I...ah...” Her voice sounded faint and she gave herself a shake. This was ridiculous. She was a hairstylist and he was a client. Cutting his hair would be no different from cutting anybody else’s hair. She walked quickly to a chair and rested her hands on the back of it. “This one.”

As he sat down, she flicked a black-and-white cape over him and snapped it closed around his wide neck. “What style do you prefer?”

“Short?” He stared at her through the mirror with a perplexed expression. “My barber just cuts it.”

She laughed. “Yes, I understand that, but do you have it thinned out here and here or do you wear it longer on top and short on the sides?” Her fingers rifled his thick hair and tight curls sprang around them, capturing them as if they didn’t want to let her go. “You have very strong hair.”

He grinned. “My
nonna
says my curls are like tentacles and they grip on to anything.”

She quickly pulled her fingers out of his hair, horrified that she might have let them remain there too long. She linked her fingers in front of her to keep them under control. “I’ll thin out the top, make the rest short and tidy up around your ears and your nape. How does that sound?”

“Perfect.”

She pulled her gaze away from his reflected one and said briskly, “If you make your way over to the basin, I’ll wash your hair.”

“Okay. My barber never did that either.” With a bemused smile, he followed her. “I guess this is a perfect example of never being too old for a new experience.”

“I take it you’ve never been to a unisex salon before?”

“Nope.” He settled back into the chair, his neck fitting against the curve of the basin. “Giuseppe’s been cutting my hair since I was twelve. From eighteen the hair cut came with a shave along with unsolicited opinions on politics, stock advice, religion and sex.” His eyes dilated, staring up at her like polished ebony. “Relationships,” he said emphatically as if correcting himself. “He gave advice on relationships.”

He looked so aghast that he may have offended her that Nicole found herself grinning down at him. “My cut doesn’t come with a shave, I’m afraid, but I can try my best to trash talk politics, although I might steer clear of relationship advice if you don’t mind.”

He closed his eyes as she positioned the nozzle of warm water against the back of his head. “That sounds fine. I’m in a good place right now and I don’t need any relationship advice so you’re off the hook.”

“I’m glad.”
Why?
Are you in a happy one?
Out of one?
Looking for one?
Her fingers vigorously scrubbed shampoo into his hair as if the action would empty her brain of unwanted thoughts and questions, which was very hard given the way his heat radiated into her.

With his eyes closed, she took the chance to study his face—the way his hair receded slightly at his temples, the small white scar above his thick jet-black eyebrows, the sexy, dark shadow of afternoon stubble that circled his lips, and the corded muscles in his neck that disappeared under the drape while hinting that there was a lot more of the same below.

A zip of longing seared her, settling in where it didn’t belong and making her panties feel wet.
Stop it.

“Is the water temperature okay?” Her voice strained over the words and she desperately hoped he’d say,
add more cold
. She needed a jolt of icy sanity from all this heat.

“Hmm, perfect.”

I
guess that’s a yes.
Pumping the large container of conditioner, she filled her palm with the peppermint-scented lotion and rubbed it into his hair. The mundane task felt anything but. Instead it was filled with an arousing intimacy that spun through her. Her fingers stalled as her lips started to form the standard question she always asked at this point.

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.”