Page 14 of Royal Agenda

It also made her want to tease him relentlessly–what were younger sisters for anyway?

“No game. Just really good at my job.” She smiled innocently.

He considered her as if knowing she was trying to egg him on with her guiltless look. “Why are you here, wee hen?”

“Mack!” Ryker was properly aghast at Mack, referring to her as a barnyard animal as any good Isoladian would be. Women were precious in Isola de la Famiglia—a tradition more of the world would do well to adopt.

She wiggled a finger toward her head, holding back the giggles that threatened to surface. Man! She wished she had a brother. This was too fun. “I’m here because my grandmother was horrified that her doublemaster-degree-graduate-of-the-lady's-etiquette-school granddaughter walked around Diamond Cove looking like a homeless woman. Her words—not mine.” She bit her lip as she thought about Grandma Nancy’s urging her through the door as if her standing in the retirement community depended on this one appointment. She was ten seconds away from grabbing a broom and prodding Grace through the door.

Grandma’s friends were just as insistent that she came to the barber shop when her appointment went missing. They were not shy about telling her what to do. In the kindest and sweetest way possible and had taken up Grandma’s cause—a complete makeover for her vagabond granddaughter. Seeing them have Grandma’s back was good and made Grace count how many people in the world would do the same for her. The list was small. She had many acquaintances who were happy to see her when she landed in their city or called in favors and questions, leaning on the expertise Grace was willing to share.

But how many of them would be willing to jump into the messy parts of Grace’s life?

The list was discouragingly short. Her sisters, of course. They had her back, her front, and her top and bottom. Grandma Nancy and her mom. Though Grandma was moving into the phase of life where her granddaughters took more care of her than she did of them.

She shoved the thoughts away so she could enjoy this moment. It wasn’t every day she had two handsome men focus intently on her.

“Homeless?” Mack quirked a grin. “Nanna doesn't hold back, does she?”

She shrugged. “Does your family?”

“Nah!” He barked a laugh. “Dinnae see the point.”

She grinned and offered him a fist of solidarity. He bumped it before settling back in his chair to read.

Ryker trimmed her hair with surprising speed and then blew it out. When he finished, he ran his hands through it, expertly tousling it into place. It was the most breathtaking experience of her life–and she’d kissed a man on the top of the Eiffel Tower at dusk during a light rain storm. Laurent and his skinny arms and skinnier mustache had nothing on Ryker. Ah, to be eighteen again.

Brightening, she complimented Ryker, “If I pay you double, will you do it again?”

He chuckled. “No.” His hands dropped to her shoulders and squeezed. Bending over, he spoke close to her ear, using a deep chocolate-covered tone, “I would ignore all my clients for you, bella signora, but then I would not have a job.”

His words were like being covered in warm caramel and feeling just as tempering. How could some men call you beautiful, and you wanted to punch them in the throat while Ryker saying it made her want to purr? “Well, we can’t have that,” she managed to breathe out. The man was a walking hot flash waiting to happen. How did the women around here survive?

Liam leaned through the open door. “Hey, they just sent over the info. We’re in the clear.” He didn’t look at her, and she had the distinct impression he was making himself not look at her. Which made her think that they were talking about her in some kind of bro code. Being able to pinpoint accent origins, she was hyper-sensitive to tone and wordplay.

Not that she’d tell them that. These guys were intense, and she’d already pushed buttons she didn’t know they had. Better play nice for a while.

Ryker sprayed something into her hair and ran a brush through it. “You will go now, sí?” he dismissed Mack.

“Yeah—I’ll, uh, text you for whatever.” He stopped in the doorway. “I’ll expect the full treatment when I come in, though–no skimping on the scalp massage.” He pointed at Ryker.

Ryker scowled. “I would rather clean your SCUBA gear.”

Mack snapped. “Deal.” He sauntered out.

Ryker glared at the doorway. “There is no deal!”

Laughter was the only answer.

The silence that filled the space was not uncomfortable.

Ryker ran the brush down the full length of her hair. If she stood up, it would brush her belt loops. If she were wearing pants with belt loops. Why hadn’t she put on something a little more flattering than cotton shorts? Not even her Grandma-labeled good legs could be seen under the cape she had to wear.

“What would you like me to do with this?” he asked, staring at her locks, moving them this way and that to catch the light.

She met his warm, green eyes in the mirror, and her breath caught. “You can do whatever you want with me.” She gulped as soon as she registered what she’d said—and the embarrassingly breathy way she said it. “I mean, my hair. I’m not picky. I, uh, I don’t really have a look. Like Grandma has a look.” She threw her hands out from under the cape and ran them around her chin. “I’ve never seen her hair longer than this. Although the A-line cut they have on her now is really cute.”

She clammed up. Blathering was not her norm; neither was it her defense mechanism nor her default. She never blathered. Which said a lot more about the way he affected her than she wanted to admit.

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