Page 51 of Caught from Behind

“Then I hit the gym, caught up on some shit at my house, Googled some hairstylist terms?—”

“Excuse me?” she asks.

I shrug, then still when she pulls the clippers away from me.

Right. Sharp objects near my head.

Sudden movements aren’t recommended.

“It’s your job,” I explain. “The least I can do is know a little about it.”

“Why?” she whispers. “Why is that the least you can do?”

“Chérie,” I murmur, “look at me.”

It takes a minute, but eventually she looks up and I hold her stare in the mirror again.

“Have I not made myself clear?” I ask softly.

She swallows, but eventually shakes her head, and something softens in my belly.

This bright, beautiful woman doesn’t get it.

Doesn’t understand that from the moment I picked up the Sharpie, wrote on that puck, and decided to toss it over the glass to her…

She belongs to me.

“I thought you were the prettiest fucking woman I’d ever seen the first time Knox introduced us.”

She inhales sharply.

“And that hasn’t changed, chérie. But that’s not why I’m sitting in this chair right now.” My mouth tips up. “And it’s not because you give insanely expensive, but great haircuts either.”

Because I haven’t missed the great job she’s done.

My hair looks top notch.

“S-so, why are you here?” she asks quietly.

“It’s not because of how you look on the outside, as beautiful as you are.”

Her throat works again, those clippers still buzzing away. “Then why?”

I could lie.

But I don’t want to.

I love the befuddled expression on her face, love the wide eyes and pink cheeks. Love the wonder in her tone.

“I’m here because of what you look like on the inside, chérie.”

A long pause before she returns the trimmer to my hair, even longer before she asks, “And what do I look like on the inside?”

“Like you’re the woman I’m going to make mine.”

And that’s when the clippers slip.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

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