Page 41 of Gorgeous

Eh, maybe I do a little. I do have a neglected vajayjay, but shame on him for noticing. You don’t call a girl out.

Cade shouts “Breck!” over the running water in the bathroom and I call him a bastard in my head before sighing and dragging my ridiculous mess of hair inside his room. God help me, it smells like him. My sense of smell is overpowered with scents of cinnamon, cedar, and soap.

This is not a good idea. If he thinks I was desperate on the stairs …

With slow steps, I peek into his bathroom and find him perched on the edge of his shower. His legs are stretched out straight and a bowl is sitting beside him.

“What are you doing?” I ask, only sounding a little terrified.

Cade rolls his eyes and motions between his legs with the comb. “Sit down so I can comb this mess out of your hair.”

Is it your right arm or your left arm that hurts when you’re having a heart attack?

“Come again?”

Cade sighs and looks to the ceiling. “Don’t make this weird.”

Don’t make it weird. Right. Got it. We’re just boss and employee, sitting in each other’s lap, combing marshmallow out of my hair. Just another day at the office.

I ease forward, my pulse pounding in my ears as Cade spreads his legs for me to wedge myself in between them.

“You will have to lie back and put your head in my lap,” he instructs me clinically.

What he really needs to say is that I’m going tolie on his dick. But he doesn’t because he’s a gentleman.

I nod and swallow, squatting down in front of him. I turn and face the bathroom door and slowly lower until I hear him groan out of frustration. Cade pulls me the rest of the way down, my shoulders resting comfortably between two massive thighs.

“I’m sorry it hasto be in the bathroom,” he mutters, clearing his throat, working my hair out from behind my shoulders, and laying it across his lap. “We can’t do it in my bedroom.”

The way he says it is almost like he’s telling himself. Either way, I say, “Okay. Thanks for helping me.”

He grunts out a noise and I hear the squirt of something before his hands go to my hair, applying conditioner from root to tip. It smells of herbs and a hint of spice. Hand over hand, Cade works the conditioner into my hair, and I find my eyes closing from the simple act of him threading his fingers through my locks.

His thighs flex and I wonder if I’m getting too heavy. I try shifting but he pins my shoulder. “You’re fine,” he scolds, swiping the comb through my hair for the first time. I moan and immediately feel like I have a fever coming on.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “It feels so good when someone plays with my hair.”

Cade chuckles, his stone abs flexing against the crown of my head when he tries for another angle. He tugs through a matted piece and I wince. “Sorry,” he mutters.

“It’s okay. When I was little my mom used to yank the hairbrush through my hair and threaten me with a pop on the hand if I cried. I’m used to it.”

Cade’s thighs tense up under my shoulders. Why did I tell him that?

“All I’m saying is that I’m not tender headed. Do your worst.”

Cade still doesn’t relax after I explain so I try to stay still and not flinch as he works the marshmallow out bit by bit, only pausing to rinse the comb in the bowl beside him.

“Are you and your mom close?” he asks me out of the blue.

“Uh … no.” This conversation could go south if I disclose too much about my past to Cade. But I want to know him and I want him to know therealme. “I moved out as soon as I could. It’s just me now.”

“Your parents are dead?” he asks me quietly, pain in his voice.

“No. My parents are just assholes. We don’t keep in touch.”

“Do you have any siblings?”

Ah, shit.

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