Page 37 of Play for Power (Central Sparks #3)

“Okay,” I whisper back, unable to hold his deep navy-violet eyes any longer.

I reach forward for the cream and show him how I do it, when and how to scrunch and comb with my fingers, and then when to use the wide-tooth comb, when to be gentle, when to be forceful.

He listens actively, and then when he raises the comb to my hair, a little crease forms in his brow while he bites down gently on his bottom lip, concentration in full force as he gently works the comb through.

“You can use a bit more force. If you like,” I say into the quiet peace that has settled over the room.

And I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t seen it, but a small blush hits the highest point of his cheekbones.

The sight alone has a breath caught in my chest, the sudden flipping of my stomach and buzzing of my skin among the other annoyingly new feelings that seem to rise with ease around this man lately.

A bashful smile spreads across his face, though his eyes don’t stray from their task. The combing could be done now, I could grab my silk wrap and tie it up or pull it back in braids, but instead, my shoulders relax, and I close my eyes, a soft sigh releasing from my lips.

“Coconut and jasmine, smells like…” he murmurs to himself. “You. That’s what it is.”

I let my eyes find his again, tired but relaxed.

“I think we’re done,” I whisper. He drops the comb.

“That’s everything?” Both his hands come to my shoulders, pulling me against his chest as they trace a lazy trail over my upper arms.

“Well.” I pause. This is all…a lot. The touches, the closeness, and the intimate way he looks at me.

I feel relaxed, and also like I’m about three seconds from having a panic attack.

I don’t understand any of it. What he gets from this?

Why he seems so content and interested? Like there is nowhere he’d rather be, like he doesn’t have an ulterior motive or some kind of benefit from being here.

He isn’t even getting laid…none of this makes any sense.

Whatever he sees in my face must tell him of the thoughts ricocheting in my mind because he huffs a little laugh and presses another small, slightly lingering kiss to my shoulder before he backs away. “I’ll see you out there.” And with that, he turns to leave.

I clear my throat and jerk my head, not able to push the words out.

When he’s gone from the bathroom and I hear him close my bedroom door, I fall forward, my hands landing on the bathroom counter to brace my weight, and a whooshing breath leaves my lungs.

“What the fuck was that,” I whisper to myself.

When I collect myself, I add two braids to my hair and wrap the black silk bandanna in a neat bow at the top of my head before throwing on an old band T-shirt and boyleg panties. I grab out a pair of large men’s tracksuit pants and head for the lounge.

I find Caleb in the dim lighting of the room, sitting on the floor and leaning against the windows. I throw the pants on his lap and sit opposite him.

“You have a pair of men’s joggers?” He raises a brow at me, but I can’t really read the rest of his expression in this light. I lifted a shoulder, giving him a playful smile.

“I don’t do sleepovers, and my clothes were…well, not appropriate for the walk of shame. I had to borrow some.”

He grunts and rolls his eyes but stands, shedding his slacks for the joggers and settling back down on the floor.

“Better?” I ask and smile at his obvious discomfort at wearing another man’s pants.

“Yeah, I guess.” He huffs a humorless laugh. “What’s this,” he says as he raises a finger to play with the bow on my bandanna.

“My silk wrap. Stops the curly girls from getting all frizzy. Braided too. Extra effort, but it stops the knots.” He regards the wrap a moment, eyeing my hair for a beat before his eyes find mine.

“You look beautiful,” he says quietly, no hint of amusement in his tone.

My eyes land in my lap, toying with the ends of my shirt.

My chest tightens and I raise a hand to rub at it as I lift my chin, determined not to let any of this weirdness change anything, not to let him get past all of my defenses, even if he has somehow managed to crumble just a few.

I kick up the corners of my lips and settle into the playful mask I have perfected over the years, he seems to relax a bit too.

“So, the Fourth, will you go with Noah and Addy?” I ask.

He only shifted slightly, like the answer didn’t matter. “Maybe. What will you do if Riley isn’t available?”

“I’m sure I’ll think of something.”

“Why don’t you come with me.”

“Caleb—”

“Not with me, with me. I mean, do what I’m doing.

Go to Chicago with Addy, Noah, and me. Separate hotel rooms, of course.

” His smile is cheeky. “And if you decide you don’t want to crash the Karvelases’ holiday, you can come to my dad’s, just as my friend.

Maybe even give him some shit. If you think I’m easy to stir up, you wait until you meet Papa Smith.

” He laughs gently and I chuckle along with him.

“Hmm, that’s almost tempting.” I smile at him, taking in the glitter of joy that has seeped back into his eyes, which I hadn’t realized was missing from earlier until this moment.

My stomach does that little flip that makes it feel all airy and light, and for a split second I lose my breath.

I feel the sudden need to harness it, whatever this feeling is, like the fleeting nature of it scares me more than the vulnerability that comes with it.

“Umm…” I start, but then immediately second-guess myself, biting on my lip as I watch his eyes pour into mine all the things we both seem unable to say.

“I’ll think about it.” I look back to my fingers, chuckling nervously.

I have no idea who this version of me is, and I haven’t worked out if I like her yet.

“You’ll think about it,” he says with so much joy in his words, like he hadn’t expected I’d actually agree.

“And then maybe I’ll steal you to suffer the Fiestas Patrias with my family in September.” His playful smirk grows to its full intensity.

“Deal,” he says.

“Deal.”