Connor turned his face and nuzzled behind her ear, inhaling the sweet vanilla scent of her hair. He slid his hands from under hers and stroked her hair between his fingers. “It’s so beautiful, why do you always put it up?”
Her cheek sucked in and she shrugged. “It’s practical.”
“I thought we were going to your aunt’s party?”
She didn’t say anything, just watched him in the mirror then picked up the brush again. Connor moved to stand beside her. He squeezed a thick line of toothpaste onto his toothbrush and brushed his teeth, watching her smooth moisturizer over her face with her fingertips then add a blob of makeup. He spat and rinsed. She swirled something pink on her cheekbones with a brush.
He wiped his face with a hand towel then smeared cream from a can over his jaw. She applied color to her eyelids then a line of black that framed her eyes. Not that she needed it—eyes as striking as hers spoke for themselves. Connor lifted his chin and scraped his razor from the middle of his neck to his chin. He frowned. Since when did he give a crap about women’s face paint?
Yet everything she did fascinated him. The way she moved, the way she spoke, the things she held back, the things she revealed, the little war she fought between herself and what she wanted to project. Always, always he just wanted to sink right through the crap and reach the real Charlize he’d held in his arms—the one who made him lose himself every time they touched. She stepped back and smacked glossed lips together. Her gaze flickered to him before she turned and walked out of the bathroom. Her shiny locks swung behind her—unbound.
He grinned but bit back a chuckle and swiped the remaining beard off his face with the razor. He slapped on cologne and strode into the bedroom. Charlize stood near the bed, pulling the straps of a short white dress over her shoulders. She reached behind her for the hanging sides.
“Let me.” Connor moved behind her and grasped the zipper, slid it up smoothly.
Her back straightened under his hands and she brushed her palms down along the sides of the dress, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles.
“Thanks,” she said in a hushed tone and turned.
His heart gave a monster of a thud. Gorgeous. Not a prissy word he threw around but what else could describe her? Yeah the dress had enough structure to put it in the classy, uptight category she preferred but this was a little softer. High, scooped neck, then plain white fabric tightening under her tits, that dark hair resting against the pale material… Glossed red lips.
White dress, black hair, red lips…
He drank her in, needing to hold the picture as a snapshot in his mind. He swallowed. “So how should I dress for this anyway?”
“Jeans and a nice shirt will do. That one you wore the other day to work—the pale-blue one.” She tucked the hair on the left side of her face behind her ear. “That looked nice, maybe that and your gray jacket.”
His lips twitched. “You liked that, did you?”
She rolled her eyes a little too dramatically, not a very Charlize-like gesture. “Cocky bastard.”
“Who would’ve guessed that’s your type?”
Her gaze snapped back to his and her feature smoothed, her eyes took on that open-eyed Disney look. “We’re going to be late.”
He sighed. He’d never been with a girl who was so fucking intimidated by feelings. Weren’t women supposed to be good with those? The few relationships he’d been in he’d bowed out gracefully before things got to the come-meet-my-parents stage. Detective hours hadn’t been conducive to a relationship and he’d never met a woman who’d been prepared to accept his dangerous career paths. He liked to make a clean break before anyone got hurt. Nothing cut him up like a chick crying.
There’d be no clean breaks with Charlize. She’d never try to change him either. Never try to make him do something safer. He knew that about her without asking. She just wasn’t that way—she understood that people had to do what they’re called to do. They both got that.
“I’ll get dressed.”
He tugged the towel from his waist and pretended not to notice her lingering look at his ass. Looked like he wasn’t the only one with a healthy appreciation for a nice ass. He tugged on underwear and then went to the guestroom where he’d hung his clothes. He dressed and then pulled the sleeves of his gray jacket up his arms and looked in the mirror. Then it hit him.
She fucking dressed me.
Charlize might not use words like “girlfriend” out loud unless they were playing but she sure as hell had started to act like one. He smoothed the lapels and grinned at his reflection. Yeah…she was three-quarters thawed and didn’t even know it.