Page 8 of Unhurried Hearts

He makes a face. “I don’t know. My barber is good.”

I arch a brow. “Fine by me, you could always buzz it if it’s bothering you.”

His eyes go wide. “Absolutely not.”

My laughter rings out through the yard. “How can I mess it up? What is it? Two, three inches long?” I flick my eyes down, khaki shorts cling to his thighs and notice how the fabric hugs his crotch. “Not much to work with.”

I smirk at my play on words, pleased with myself. Just because I’m a virgin doesn’t mean I don’t have a dirty mind. In fact, I’d say my curiosity and constant base level of horniness only enhances it. He takes a swig of his drink, a tan hand wrapped around the neck of the bottle, mulling that over.

He sucks in a slow breath. “Probably a measuring tape in the workshop. Wanna check?” His eyes bore into mine.

Oh my god.

My stomach flutters and it takes a concerted effort not to break our eye contact and examine the daisy pattern on my dress.

“Sure, let’s go.”

Without pause, he lifts his muscular legs off the lounger. I’m suddenly terrified he’s going to head over to the workshop to, I don’t know, dosomethingbut he only faces me, spreading his knees wide to lean in.

“Anna. C’mon.” He smiles.

I rotate to mirror his position, my bare knees mere inches from his. Dark hair covers his legs, the skin beneath tanned. Pink and white scars of various sizes pepper his shins and kneecaps.

“Come into the salon. I’ll get you sorted.” I fail to control the tremble in my voice.

He sets his drink down on the freshly stained decking beneath our feet then settles both hands on my legs, thumbs on the inside of my thighs. The tone of his skin is in stark contrast to my paleness. My heart thumps, skipping a beat before resuming its rhythm. His right hand, the one that held the cold bottle, is frosty on my heated skin. His left hand is on fire. That warmth spreads like a fever up my leg as goosebumps sweep across my skin. He tilts his torso, so our heads are inches apart. Above us, strings of amber lights on the pergola click on with a barely audible hum. His dark eyes reflect the twinkly lights.

“Okay.”

He lets go of me, kicking his legs back up and folding his arms behind his head to get comfortable in the wooden chair.

“Okay?”

That’s it? He looks cool as a cucumber over there and I’m about ten seconds from combusting. I shift in my seat, noticing my dampening panties and mourning the loss of his touch on my legs.

“I’ll call you to make an appointment then.”

I swallow, acutely aware of the fact my drink is empty. “Yeah, I’ll give you my card later. Call the salon and they’ll schedule you for your highlights.”

“I don’t want your card. I wantyournumber.”

Our hosts emerge from the house and Isaac settles onto a loveseat with overstuffed cushions, pulling Ashlyn onto his lap. Could I ever feel comfortable climbing onto someone's thighs like that? Nestling in for some human contact whenever I need it?

“You guys get it sorted?”

“Yes,” I say, reaching into my purse by my feet and pulling out my business card.

When I hold it out to Chris, he narrows his gaze ever so slightly at the rectangle with my business number and then at me. My cousin and Isaac have their heads bent together, not really caring about their last two guests.

My breath catches as he deliberately runs his thumb over my knuckles.

“I’ll take the real number after my haircut, Annie.”

Chapter four

Chris

It’s been an unusually productive Sunday morning. I’ve gone for a run, tuned up my bike, and now I’m in the throes of washing my Jeep. No amount of exercise or distraction seems to eliminate the nervous energy floating around me that may or may not be a direct result of the business card in my back pocket. Anna’s flirtation came out of left field Friday night, and I definitely returned it. Go figure that a woman I’ve been interested in since the moment I shook her hand a year and a half ago would decide to turn up the heat when I’m supposed to be turning it down. My heart took off the second she walked into the backyard wearing that stupidly sweet sundress. Before Igot that under control she was falling right out of her chair. Catching her was pure instinct, but holding onto her long enough to get a couple extra breaths of her shampoo was a choice that I’d make again and again. I had to return to the safety of my chair and close my damn eyes so my best friend wouldn’t catch me bricked up in his backyard. Five damn months and I’ve managed to ignore every flirtation that’s come my way…until now. I’m so close. Offering to cut my hair was a friendly offer, I thought. That look in her eyes, though? That was pure want, and it made me want her back.

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