Hard Fought (A Stepbrother Warriors Novel)(13)

"He was memorable in other ways," I say with a smile.

"Do you remember the name of the guy you followed to France?"

"Unfortunately," I say with a sigh. "James Aloysius Mulholland. He was a sculptor, just graduated from university where I was getting my undergrad. He was offered this really prestigious spot in this MFA program in Paris, and told me he couldn't live without me."

"But he could."

"Yes, but apparently not without a painter who was also in the program, whom he managed to get pregnant within three months of the move."

"Ouch."

"So what about you?"

"What about me?"

"What's your big heartbreak?"

"Who says I've got one?"

"Come on, you're what? Twenty-eight?"

"Thirty."

"And you've never had even a small heartbreak? I've had dozens."

"I dated a girl in high school. We ended it when I joined up. I think she's married now."

"That's it?"

"Well, there've been plenty of other women," he smiles wolfishly.

"But no relationships."

"It's better that way."

"Maybe you're right. I mean, I've had to swear them off. I just get too...distracted." I make the mistake of looking into his bright green eyes, and that familiar pull tugs at my stomach. "Look how long your beard is," I comment by way of changing the subject, reaching forward to gently run my fingers over it.

"Yeah, I guess I should cut it at some point."

"I can do it! And your hair!"

"I don't know..."

"No, I'm really good! I used to charge the boys at boarding school. I'd set up in the bathroom on Saturdays."

"Well, OK. I can do the beard. I have a trimmer somewhere."

"I'll meet you in your bedroom, alright? I have good scissors in my bathroom," I tell him as I swim for the edge and he follows me. He lifts himself out onto the deck and I look skyward to avoid checking out the way his boxers are clinging to his package. He glances around, and I realize what he's looking for. "Here, take mine," I say, tossing him my towel as I back away toward the boat house.

I need to get away from this nearly naked man before I grab him and have my way with him.





Chapter Nine



I knock on the door of the bird room about ten minutes later, comb and scissors in hand. I'm safely clothed, but when the door opens, I see that Carter is not. Well, at least he has pants on, but his bare chest is enough to make me shiver.

He stands back and sweeps his arm into the room. "I haven't been in here in forever," I murmur as I walk in, noticing his duffels still unpacked by the bureau, though there are some knick-knacks on top of it. "Did your mom bring your stuff over from your old place?"

"Yeah. Wasn’t much there. I try not to accumulate a lot of stuff."

"You're a regular rolling stone."

"Shall we?" he asks, heading into the bathroom.

"Mmhm," I reply, spotting a small leather ottoman in his sitting area. I put the scissors on top of it and carry it in.

"I could have gotten that for you."

"I'm good. Here, take a seat," I say, placing it in front of the mirror. He does, and I work my comb through his still damp hair. I feel a ridge on the right side of his head, and brush the hair away from it. I see that the hair on top of it is short, and covers the rest of the scar that reaches across his brow. "I'll go a little shorter on the sides so everything evens out," I say softly. He nods, and I keep running my fingers through his hair before I realize that he can see my moony expression in the mirror.

I pick up the scissors and pull his hair out to the side. In some places, it's a few inches long, so I'm not worried about being too precise as I cut it down. When it's at a more manageable length, I start to make more careful cuts, angling the scissors so that he gets a gradual fade.

"Where'd you learn?"

"Hm?" I murmur, immersed in my task.

"To cut hair."

"Oh, I always cut Jack's hair. My brother's."

"Your mom didn't mind?" I freeze for a second to avoid taking a chunk out of his hair.

"My mom died soon after I was born," I reply quietly. I take a deep breath before I make the next cut. "That's why I was the one cutting his hair."

"I'm sorry. I've been so out of communication, no one's really filled me in..."

"Well, it's not really the kind of thing people like to talk about anyway."

"So then Jack didn't mind?"

"There was a bit of a learning curve, but by the time he cared what he looked like, I was pretty good."

"You two are close?"

"You know, it's funny...I would say we are, though I've been really shitty about talking to him. I felt horrible lying to him about what I was doing in Paris, but I was worried he'd tell our dad. So I just started talking to him less. He's so easygoing though...knowing him, I bet we'll just pick back up where we left off. Is this length good?" I ask, picking up the hair at the front of his head and showing him in the mirror. He nods.