Page 54 of Actually Yours

He follows close behind me, so close I forget how to walk.It’s one foot in front of the other, right?

“Are you OK?” Jake asks as he takes a seat in one of our famous massage chairs.

Am I OK?I had been OK until he’d brushed his lips oh-so-close to mine. And since then, my world has been slightly off-kilter.

“Fine, just a bit tired.”

He sits down, taking off his glasses (those glasses!) and tucking them into his top pocket before leaning back in the chair and closing his eyes.

“Tired?” he asks as I turn the water on, checking the temperature before turning the hose on the top of his head. “Late night?”

He opens one eye briefly, piercing me with a look that is as loaded as his question.

“Hmmm, not too late.” I know what he’s asking without asking, and part of me wants to make him wait. To make him suffer as payback for the almost kiss.

“So, your date went well?” he asks finally, through clenched teeth.

I don’t answer, instead getting to work washing his hair, allowing myself the indulgence to run my fingers through its thickness, massaging his scalp as I go.

“Oh my God,” he moans, a sound that I feel all the way through my body. “That feels amazing.”

My fingers tingle and a shiver takes over my body. I shouldn’t be enjoying this as much as I am. It’s just hair-washing.Why does it feel like more?

“Don’t stop,” he sighs as I turn the water off, making me want to turn it back on again.

“The washing portion of the haircut is done,” I tell him, my laugh breathless and strained.

He opens his eyes, staring straight into mine. “Shame.”

With wobbly legs, I guide him back to his seat, turning away to gather my supplies and my wits.

“So, just a little off the top?” My voice is as wobbly as my legs.

“Sounds good.” Jake’s voice is also unsteady.

Right, what now?

“Scissors,” Andrea whispers to me, smiling kindly.

“Yes.” Flustered, I pick up the scissors and running my fingers through his hair again, I show him how much I’m going to cut off.

“OK?”

His eyes, greener without the lenses of his sexy glasses, lock with mine in the mirror. “OK.”

I wrench my gaze away from his, focussing on the job at hand. The sooner I finish, the sooner he’ll be gone and I can pull myself together. I’ve been in Jake’s presence many times before and never felt like this, like I’m a magnet and he’s a giant piece of metal, drawing me in and holding me there.

“Just tilt your head forward.” I get to work on the back of his head, straightening his hairline at the base of his skull, blowing a few stray hairs out of the way to get it perfect.

“You’re killing me, Millie.” His voice is low and strained.

I stop what I’m doing, looking in the mirror to see his jaw clenched tight, his lips in a straight line.

“Should I stop?” I say this as I run my fingers through the strands at the top of his head to shake out any loose ends, earning another strangled groan from the man in front of me.

“Don’t ever stop,” he replies, so softly I think I may have imagined it.

I shake out my hands to stop them trembling—that really doesn’t help when working with scissors—and spin his chair around to work on the front of his hair. Standing between his legs, I get down low to check that what I’ve cut is even on both sides.

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