Hot and Bothered(17)

                They were in Caruso’s, a high-end barbershop where Haven liked to take straight male clients. The chairs were covered in black leather, the rest of the furniture espresso and ebony. The sage-green walls displayed vintage photos of female movie stars, classy and sexy at the same time. These were the women Haven had modeled herself after when she’d realized that, as much as she admired them, she didn’t want to be like her mother or her sisters.

                Actually, she hated the way Mark’s hair looked on the wide-plank wood floor, the softness of the pieces curled around nothing. The shorn look he had now revealed a pretty-boy quality he’d been hiding from the world for a long time. She wanted it to go back into hiding, because clean-cut Mark was doing something to her insides she didn’t like at all.

                The barber, Derek, had shaved Mark first. She’d watched the straight razor scrape over his skin. The blade moved like a caress, highlighting the strength of his jaw, his high cheekbones. Crazy-deep dimples flashed now when he smiled at her in the mirror, just often enough to keep her attention. She was standing there waiting for him to smile at her again. That couldn’t be good, right?

                “My hair hasn’t been this short in, like, a decade. I didn’t cut it for almost two years after the breakup.”

                Now the look he shot her in the mirror was more the usual Mark. Hard jaw, angry eyes. A little easier to take. She caught her breath, which made her realize she’d lost it, somewhere along the line.

                “What made you cut it after two years?”

                Just a flick of the smile, one corner. “I decided it was probably time to get laid again.”

                His eyes held hers. Too long. She looked away. She was uncomfortably hot in the pale blue suit jacket, but if she took it off, he’d see the sweat stains under her arms.

                Her panties were damp, too, and she couldn’t blame that on overdressing for the superheated barbershop.

                “Did it work?”

                Wait, why had she said that? She was flirting with him, prolonging the conversation. But she shouldn’t. He was her client. He was—

                Mark Webster, C.D. Certified Disaster.

                He laughed, a rough, lovely sound, like something rusty from disuse. “Yup. The haircut worked the way it was supposed to. All the parts worked, too.”

                She didn’t want to ask any more questions. Talking to Mark Webster about sex, with his eyes so big, long-lashed and luminous, his teeth so starkly white, was a bad idea. Removing all that hair should have made him more vulnerable, but she was the one rocked back on her heels.

                She cast about for another topic. “I made an appointment for Pete to come see me next Tuesday morning in my office at ten.”

                He looked down at his lap, and she was sorry she’d gone there. Bad enough she was making him grovel without making him think about it today.

                “It’s not going to be so bad,” she said. “Wham, bam—”

                Whoops, that sounded like sex again, and the one-sided quirk of his mouth told her he hadn’t missed that.

                “I’ll do most of the talking. You just deliver the line.”

                “I regret any lasting damage my temper has caused you,” Mark intoned.

                She was proud of the non-apology she’d crafted for him.