Page 47 of Treat

“I need a better angle.” She shifted, trying to angle in from the left, and bumped solidly into his thigh. “Sorry.”

“Do you need me to move?” He started to stand, his hip nudging her belly. He let out a strangled grunt. “Sorry.”

Oh, God.“It’s okay.” She swallowed. “You stay, and I’ll move.”

“Right.”

She backed out from between his knees and walked around to stand next to him. It was still awkward, but if she leaned against his thigh and bent in a little… “Can you turn your face away, just a little bit?”

He obliged. “Like this?”

“Perfect.”

With his face turned away he wasn’t looking at her anymore—which didn’t stop her boobs from sweating, but made it easier to concentrate. Resolved to finish quickly before she lost what was left of her good sense, she resumed trimming.

“Okay, look at me again,” she directed, eyeing the two sides of his mustache when he did.

He worked one hand free of the towel to stroke. “How’s it look?”

“A little uneven,” she muttered, walking back around to stand in front of him again. She nudged his hand down and went back in with the scissors. She snipped here and there, leaning back to evaluate after each cut, and finally nodded in satisfaction.

“I think we’re good.” Relieved—if her boobs kept sweating, she was going to have to change her dress—she picked up the mirror and handed it to him. “Take a look.”

He took it, turning his face this way and that. “Hey, nice job.”

“Thanks. Oh, damn, you’ve got stragglers. Tip back again.”

He obeyed, lowering the mirror and tilting his chin as she raised the scissors.

“Dammit,” she muttered, eyes narrowed. Half a dozen tiny little whiskers poked over his lip, and she kept missing them. Moving closer, she slipped her glasses off, reached past him to set them on the counter, and tried again. “Dammit!”

“Do you need me to move?” he mumbled, barely moving his mouth.

She shook her head. “It’s just these tiny little hairs. They’re right against your lip, and I can’t seem to grab them.” Another careful try, another miss. “Shit. I don’t want to accidentally cut you.”

She straightened, eyeing his mouth. “Can you do—” She rolled her top lip in. “Like that?”

He complied, pulling his lip down and in, and the little hairs popped clear. “Good. Hold that.” She leaned back in, clipping them easily now. “And…done.”

“You get ‘em?” he asked, licking his lips.

“Yep,” she answered, then, “Oh, sorry,” when he startedpffting.“There might be some hair on your lip still.”

“No—pfft—kidding—pfft.”

“Here,” she said, fighting back a laugh. “Let me.”

She lifted the corner of the towel from around his shoulder, made sure it didn’t have any hair on it, and gently wiped his mouth. Most of the whiskers came away with the first swipe of terry cloth, but a few remained, even after she went after them a second time. “Stubborn,” she muttered. Dropping the towel, she tried to brush them away with her fingertips.

He went still at her touch, but she was so focused on getting rid of those last few wispy hairs that the warning bells clanging in the back of her brain didn’t quite register. She caught one in her fingernail, flicking it away, but the last one didn’t want to budge, clinging to that dip in the center of his upper lip like itshairy little life depended on it, and without thinking she braced her hands on his thighs, pursed her lips and tried to blow it off.

He went stiff as a corpse, the alarm bells went wild, and the boob sweat shifted into overdrive.

“Oh, damn,” she whispered.

“Brynn?” Jude said.

She swallowed, keeping her eyes on his mouth. If she looked into his eyes, she was a goner. “Yeah?”

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