Page 376 of The Black Trilogy

While Black changed and brushed his teeth, I paid a visit to my bathroom and did the same, returning in one of his T-shirts with just my knickers underneath. The shirt was old and soft with the tour dates for some rock band we’d been to see years ago emblazoned across the chest. Except on me, the words ran across my stomach, because the shirt nearly reached my knees.

Dark eyes looked me up and down. “Some things never change, I see.”

“What? I’m not really a lace and satin kind of girl.”

He stalked towards me, speaking in a low voice. “Maybe one day I’ll buy you something made from lace and satin.” I held my breath. “Then I can reclaim my T-shirts. Your closet’s like a black hole—once they disappear in there, I never see them again.”

Okay, hormones, stand down. “Do you want this one back? I could take it off right now,” I teased, taking hold of the edge and lifting it an inch or two.

He gave me a sharp look, and I dropped my hands.

Mr. Black, who stole your sense of humour tonight?

He climbed under the quilt and pulled it up to his waist. The sleigh-style bed had a high footboard, so I hopped up and settled back against it, nestling into the soft covers, my legs stretched out on top.

It was my first chance to study his face properly since we got back. The glow from the bedside lamp did nothing for his colour. It kinda surprised me that Bradley hadn’t mentioned a spray tan when he’d been ranting about Black’s wardrobe earlier. Black would have shot him down in flames, of course, but still…funny.

At least Black’s eyes were starting to regain some of their familiar sparkle. They’d looked so tired on the plane yesterday. His mouth was half-hidden under his untrimmed beard, and if the light hit right, he could probably have been mistaken for Bigfoot.

He ran a hand through his hair, which may have been long, but since he’d had a shower, it no longer looked lank and greasy. I didn’t love the look, but it wasn’t awful, and a part of me itched to crawl over to him and tangle my own fingers in it.

The beard, though, that was a different story.

Yuck.

“What are you thinking?” he asked, breaking into my reverie.

“Just about your beard.”

“Good things or bad things?”

“Bad.” I’d never lie to him. Leave some things out, maybe, like the fact that I was completely and hopelessly in love with him, but never lie. “It looks like you have road kill stuck to your face,” I added, just in case I hadn’t been clear enough.

He nodded slightly, the way he often did when he came to a decision, and swung his legs out of bed.

“Well, let’s do something about it.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me up, then led me into his bathroom.

Now what?

“Get rid of it.” He handed me a pair of scissors.

Oh, thank goodness. He sat up on the counter, and I angled his face so I could see properly. I stood between his legs, his hands resting on my waist, and started cutting. Bit by bit, the wiry hair fell to the floor, and bit by bit, my husband’s beautiful face came back to me.

I cut off as much as I could with the scissors then picked up the shaving soap and cup he kept next to the sink. Working up a lather, I brushed the foam over his face, then reached for his straight razor. Snick. Our eyes met as I unfolded it, and the steel edge glinted under the lights. I leaned in and began to shave. I was the only person Black would let this close to him with a knife, and he knew with a flick of my wrist, I could kill him.

Neither of us said a word. I’d never done this before, and being mere inches from his lips sent heat rushing through my body, most of it heading south. Awkward. His hands at my hips sent trails of fire across my skin every time I moved, napalm to my freaking libido. Don’t shudder, Emmy. Losing my grip on the razor and maiming my husband would be kind of tricky to explain at the ER. I didn’t dare to make eye contact either because if I had, I’d have been gone. Thank goodness he’d kept his shirt on.

Once I’d finished shaving, I couldn’t resist running the backs of my fingers over his cheeks. Smooth. I stepped back, snapped the razor shut, and tried to bring my breathing under control.

Black sat there for a few more moments, seemingly caught in a trance.

“You okay?” I asked.

He snapped out of it and slid off the counter, turning to look at himself in the mirror. His fingers reached up to follow the same path mine had taken moments before.

“Thanks, Diamond,” he said huskily, then trailed me through to the bedroom.

Okay, I needed to get out of there. Either that or I’d end up wrapping myself around him like a lovesick boa constrictor.

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