Page 81 of His Tenth Dance

“It’s fine, kitten. Just come sit down.”

“No, I want to do it,” she said even as he joined her at the sink and took her into his arms. She sank into his strength, his warmth, stealing it for her own.

“Smells really good,” he murmured.

“I want you to have a fresh haircut for our lunch date.” She stepped out of his arms and smiled. “I’m going to go get the scissors, so you just have a seat back on the barstool, okay?”

“Kris.”

“It’s fine,” she insisted. “I want to.” When she returned, she carried a drape and her hair cutting kit, as well as a bottle each of shampoo and conditioner. The kitchen remained quiet, save for the occasional ticking from the oven and the low hum of her air conditioner.

Mission’s eyes held hers for a beat too long. Then he set his phone aside, and Kristie wetted her lips. “When I used to cut my brother’s hair, he’d take off his shirt.”

Mission reached up and pulled his tee over his head, and wow, Kristie wasn’t prepared for the definition in his muscles. She quickly swept the drape around his neck and snapped it into place. She settled slightly as she combed her fingers through his too-long hair.

He shivered, which caused a slow smile to curve Kristie’s lips in a secret smile he couldn’t see.

“Come over to the sink,” she murmured, and Mission dutifully got to his feet and looked at her like he’d follow her anywhere. She dragged one of her dining room chairs over to the sink and indicated it.

He sat, his dark eyes devouring her openly.

“You’ll have to lean back a little,” she said as she turned on the water and moved it to warm. “Tell me if it’s too hot.” She pushed a button that turned the regular stream into a spray, and Mission leaned back.

She pulled the faucet out, using the hose to get closer to Mission’s head. She combed her fingers through his hair as it got wet, and then filled her palm with shampoo and started massaging it into his hair.

Her heart pounded at this intimate moment, at the way he said nothing but also wouldn’t close his eyes. One of her favorite parts of getting her hair done was the scalp massage during the hair-washing, and she took her time as she slowly and rhythmically stroked her fingers and thumb along his head.

He finally rewarded her with a moan and a murmured, “Feels good, kitten.”

That sound and those words did something to her.Hemoved her.

The intimacy of it, the vulnerability of this cowboy—usually so steady, so unreadable—sitting at her mercy, while she cradled his head in her hands. She felt his breath deepen, his bodyrelax under her touch, and the kitchen, warm and fragrant and golden, shrank down to just the two of them.

She rinsed the suds away, running her hand once more over his scalp, and continued with the conditioner. With his hair clean, she gently dried it with a hand towel, and then said, “Let’s go back to the barstool, please.”

Mission went back to the chair and he sat with the towel still draped around his shoulders. Kristie combed through his damp hair, parting it with gentle care, and then lifted her scissors. The first snip echoed softly in the quiet room.

She worked slowly, methodically—her hand steady, her body so close to his. The back of her knuckles brushed the nape of his neck as she trimmed the ends. She felt the warmth of his skin even through the drape that kept the tiny hairs from sliding down his back

He didn’t move. Just let her sculpt and shape and work in silence.

She moved in front of him, and for a second, their eyes met. She was close now, between his knees, angled toward his face as she trimmed the front of his hair. Her breath hitched as her fingers brushed his temple, and he didn’t look away.

Neither did she.

She finished the last snip, set the scissors down, and stepped back just a bit—but not far. Not far at all.

“There,” she whispered. “Done.”

Mission didn’t move. His eyes were still on her, unreadable, butveryaware.

Kristie swallowed. Her hands were still half-lifted, like she didn’t know whether to step away or cup his face.

“You smell like apples and maple sugar,” he said softly.

“You smell like peaches and cream shampoo,” she teased, but her voice had gone breathless.

His smile undid her completely as he encircled her in his arms and brought her to sit in his lap. “You are my favorite person.”

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