Page 13 of Coming Up Roses

I tighten my messy bun with a tug before attempting to greet him in a more professional manner. "Hello, I'm Myla Rose, and it's a pleasure to meet you." Oh, come the fuck on. GET. IT. TOGETHER. A pleasure to meet you? Could my blush get any deeper?

He holds out his hand. "Cash Carson, and the pleasure is mine." His deep voice moves right through me—straight to my core. Pleasure, indeed.

I place my hand in his to shake it. His hand completely engulfs mine. His grip is strong and his hand rough, callused from what has to be some form of manual labor. He lingers, holding my hand just past what's normal for a handshake. His fingers feather mine as he releases my hand, sending a wave of chills over my entire body.

I blink myself out of the fog he has me in. "Okay, Cash, how are we cuttin' you today?" I offer a small smile and tilt my chin down, hoping it hides my nerves. I don't know what it is about this guy . . .

Cash clears his throat, causing me to look up, and his stormy gaze captures mine in the reflection of the mirror. "Well, Miss Myla Rose, this hair gets hot when I'm working in my shop. I'm talking unbearable."

I run my fingers through his curls and a soft sigh escapes my lips. They're every bit as soft as I imagined them to be. "How short you thinkin'?"

"You're the pro here, Myla Rose. You tell me.” He emphasizes my name, and the way his lips form around it makes it sound sinful. I get chills from the sound of it.

He has me rattled. I do my best to ignore the feeling and set to work shearing off the length on the sides and back, cropping it close. I leave the top a bit longer and cut it to comb back out of his face. Once I finish, I turn him toward the mirror so that he can inspect my work. "You want me to wash it? Keep you from itchin' all day?"

He runs a hand through his hair in that way only a guy can and winks. He fucking winks. "Lead the way, Myla Rose." I guide him to the shampoo room and direct him to have a seat and lie back. I lean over him to pull the lever to put up his feet, and I catch his scent. Citrus, spice, and pure man. Good Lord, help me.

"Th–That water feel okay?" He just nods, his eyes pinched tightly closed and his knuckles white from gripping the armrests.

I work the shampoo into his scalp, creating a rich lather, massaging as I go. "Mmm . . . damn, girl, that feels good. I need this every day after work." He groans, and the sound is so sensual, my knees almost buckle.

Holy hell. Thankfully, his eyes are closed so he can't see my embarrassment. I rinse the suds and grab a towel. "All done," I announce, ignoring his comment. He follows behind me to my chair, where I run some gel through his locks and give his hair a final inspection. "I think you're good to go, Cash. It looks mighty fine."

His eyes hold mine. "Yes, ma'am, mighty fine, indeed. I pay up front?" he inquires with a tilt of his head.

"Mmmhmm," I mumble, no longer sure if we're talking about his hair.

Or if we ever were . . .

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