Page 64 of These White Lies

“You ever decide to change careers,” she says, trying for casual, but her voice is husky, “you could get a job at a salon.”

Elizabeth’s chest is rising and falling faster now. Her nipples are tight under the thin cotton. So close and far too tempting. My cock presses painfully against my zipper.

“Yeah?” I rasp.

Her lips part in a tiny sigh as I spread the conditioner through her hair, like I’m focused on my task and not the truth. Which is, I’m mesmerized by the sight of her ebony strands slipping through my fingers.

I keep my hands moving in her hair, not because I’m dedicated to giving the longest hair treatment known to man, but because, frankly, I can’t stop touching her.

I pour another slow stream over her crown, letting my thumb stroke down the soft skin of her neck. The tiny shiver that runs through her goes straight to my gut.

The temptation I’ve been fighting proves too much. I splay my fingers over her head, my fingertips working slow circles over her scalp. She tips her head a little farther back, exposing the delicate line of her throat.

She doesn’t seem to notice the soft sounds she’s making, as her body grows lax in the chair. But I do. The seductive hums spear through me. My chest tightens, and heat pools low in my gut, and I grow even more painfully hard. Dragging my thumbs along the base of her skull, I feel her shiver, and every muscle in my body goes rigid with the need to touch more of her.

Her pulse flutters rapidly in the hollow at the base of her neck, and the urge to slide my palm down and feel it against my fingertips is almost irresistible. I slow my strokes, fingers spread wide as I imagine gliding down over her collarbone, before palming her breasts, tormenting her until she makes those addictive sounds I remember.

The pressure I’m using increases in time with my blood beating hot in my veins as my fingers continue to comb the strands back. It would be so easy to lean forward and close my lips over hers. Drink in her cries as my palm skates down her body to cup her beneath her panties. To move over the hot, slick skin there, the same way I am in her hair, until she’s writhing beneath my fingers.

A low moan escapes her lips.

Shit.Lost in the fantasy, I’ve wrapped her hair around my fist and pulled her hair. I tell myself to let go, but instead, my hand tugs lightly and she moans again, causing my cock to jerk in my pants.

This is torture. All I want is to give in. Surrender to what my body insists I should do. Succumb to temptation until her moans break into screams. This time with my name on her lips when she comes. A shudder rips through me, and I force my fist to unclench, letting her hair slip free.

My palm tracks back from her forehead one last time before I essentially grunt at her. “Done.”

I have to get out of this room before I do something we can’t come back from.

It doesn’t help knowing she’s just as affected as I am. The way she’s squirming in the chair would have told me if her jumping pulse and flushed skin didn’t.

But we can’t. I know I can’t go there with her right now—not while she’s recovering from stitches, not to mention the traumatic experiences she’s been through over the last couple of days.

I’m still staring at her up-tipped face like a fool, when her lashes lift. The look in her eyes almost breaks me. Because the raw lust gleaming in her blue eyes matches my own.

Shoving a towel at her, I spin on my heel and escape. What I’m coming to realize is, while Elizabeth has always been more than just a client, what I want from her is more than I’ve ever wanted with any woman. And that is more terrifying than the danger waiting for us outside these walls.

18

ELIZABETH

I wanted him to kiss me. I absolutely, wholeheartedly wanted Brady to kiss me again and make me feel the way he had four years ago.

I hadn’t expected something as simple as his hand in my hair to undo me. I’ve spent years convincing myself that I don’t need anyone… that self-reliance equals safety. Letting Brady help me felt like handing over some of my control. A control I hadn’t realized I guarded so tightly—until I felt what it was like to let go. The strange part is, I don’t know that I want it back.

A wave of heat flushes through my body as I recall the look on his face when I opened my eyes to find him half-leaning over me—the want etched into his features had my pulse racing.

But instead of kissing me, he pulled back and ran. There is no other word for it. And I know why. I’m his client. But there is no point in either of us denying the explosive energy between us.

Brady has more self-control than I do. If he’d kissed me, I wouldn’t have wanted it to stop there. That would have been a mistake.Right?

I bite my lip and stare at the pale pink comforter, at my hands curled in the hem of my shirt.

Would it be so bad?

Yes, Elizabeth. It would.

Even if my bodycouldmove correctly without pain, I don’t need to addsleeping with my bodyguardto my already messed-up life—particularly when I’m starting to suspect I might want something more from him. Something I never thought I’d be able to feel again.