Page 42 of Mr. Fixer Upper
She looked up at the top of his head. “I don’t suppose you know how to use a hair dryer?”
He searched the bathroom and found the hotel dryer stashed in a vanity drawer.
“I was just kidding. You don’t have to do that,” Paige said, eyes wide as he plugged the cord into the outlet.
“You’re just afraid I’m going to fuck it up.”
“You can probably catch hair on fire with one of those if used incorrectly,” Paige predicted, eyeing the dryer in his hand with apprehension.
“Relax. I grew up with Cat. She made me help her with her hair sometimes, and if you ever repeat that to anyone,” he said, wielding the dryer like a weapon, “I will have you dismembered.”
“My lips are sealed,” she said, a hint of a smile playing around the corners of her mouth. “Can you French braid?”
“Better than Cat can,” he snorted. “She made me learn to French braid. I made her a paintball warrior.”
“You are a man of many talents.”
He had talents he was looking forward to her discovering.
“Do you have any…” he mimed squirting something into his hands.
“Product?” Paige asked.
“Yeah, like mousse stuff?”
She pointed at a silver can on the corner of the vanity. “Do you know how to use that?”
“I build fine furniture and houses and host a TV show for a living. I think I can handle squirting shit out of a can.” Still, he paused long enough to read the directions before squeezing a dollop into his palm. He rubbed his hands together and worked them through her hair.
She closed her eyes, and he used the opportunity to study the bruising on her face. Purple and mottled, the goose egg rose proudly just under her temple. She winced when he got too close to the bump, and he gentled his hands.
Paige sighed as he worked the white stuff into her roots, rubbing gently with the pads of his fingers. He felt the tension in her begin to give and loosen. It physically hurt him to see her like this.
“Concussion?” he asked.
She shook her head slowly. “Hard head.”
He turned the dryer on low and worked his hand through her hair, holding up strands, and when he was done Paige shoved her hands through the roots and sighed. “Do I want to know how I look?”
“Princess, you’ve got bigger problems than a hairdo,” Gannon said glibly.
Paige groaned. “I was trying to forget about that. How bad is my face?” she asked, prodding the bruising with her fingers.
Gannon pulled her hand away from her face. “I’ve seen worse,” he promised. He’d seen a few mixed martial arts matches that outdid Paige’s damage, but damn if those injuries had affected him in the slightest. It was seeing Paige scraped, bloodied, and bruised that wrecked him.
He tugged at the hem of the t-shirt she wore. “We’re going to have to get you naked again.”
She slapped his hand away weakly. “We’re not having sex tonight, Gannon!”
“You are a piece of work, you know that Paige? I’m changing your damn dressings that you probably weren’t supposed to get wet.”
She looked guilty. “You don’t have to do that.”
“You must really be looking forward to sleeping in wet bandages all night?” She was already shivering though the steam from their shower still hung heavy in the thick air. Paige shook her head.
“Good girl.”
“But I’m not comfortable with you—”
