Blood And Breath

19

“Yes, I didn’t think I would be able to get away until tomorrow. Lucky for us, there was a change of plans, and I was able to sneak away sooner.” Lucky for us? Did I just make it sound like we were a couple on a secret rendezvous? Oh, hell. And there goes the pink cheeks. I probably look like I’m twelve. “So how have you been?” I squeaked awkwardly. His lips tipped up with the hint of a smirk as he joined me in our usual chairs at the small dinette. “I’m well, and yourself?” “I’m good. What have you been up to this week?” I asked, trying to redirect the attention from myself. “I read the book you left with me. It was … entertaining.” “Really?” I exclaimed in surprise. “I didn’t expect you to have read it already. Otherwise, I would have brought you a new one. I’ll bring more next time if you’d like.” He tilted his head in acknowledgment but said nothing. His formal speech and aloof manner would have been off-putting from anyone else. Knowing his behaviors resulted from a centuries-old upbringing followed by solitary exile helped me understand that his mannerisms were a testament to his background rather than his opinions. After only a couple of visits, his formal nature became an endearing part of his personality. “After the time we spent last week going over how to use the phone, I thought maybe I’d hear from you. Did you try to call or text at all?” I hadn’t been optimistic about his adoption of the phone for communication, but a part of me had hoped. “I told you I had no interest in these twenty-first-century devices,” he grumbled somewhat petulantly. “I have been thrown into this modern world like a dog thrown into the ocean and told to grow gills. I can only change so much. Once I go off on my own, it will be to live a simple life. I will not require such devices.” “I can understand that. My aunt has a large piece of land on the western coast. I love it out there. She’s got horses, and there’s no other houses or people, certainly no internet or television. It may seem boring to some, but I always feel so at peace out in the heather listening to the waves crash on nearby cliffs. My aunt’s a drunken sod, but the scenery is amazing.” I fiddled with my sleeve as I spoke, smiling to myself at the comment about my aunt. When Fen didn’t reply, I raised my eyes to find him watching me raptly. I couldn’t fathom what he was thinking, and his attention made me agonizingly self-conscious. “Oh! I nearly forgot. I brought my shears if you’d still like a haircut,” I offered, glad for a reason to redirect his attention. “Ah, yes.” He shook off whatever he’d been thinking and glanced around the room. “Shall we go outside?” I dug around in my bag for the shears and clippers. “No, the bathroom will work fine. Just pull one of the chairs in there and have a seat.” When I entered the small bathroom, he sat shirtless under the fluorescent lights. I had never seen a more perfectly sculpted physique outside of movies and magazines. My fingers itched with the need to touch his golden skin where it dipped and curved around solid muscle. He’d been spending plenty of time outdoors. From what I’d been told, the Shadow Lands existed in a perpetual state of night, and he’d clearly been soaking up every scrap of Belfast sun since arriving. The hint of a tan suited his naturally olive complexion, making him even more tantalizing. The room was just large enough for me to maneuver around him, but his masculine presence made the space feel even smaller. My heart pounded against my ribs, and my hands shook with a slight tremor as I set my tools on the vanity. What had I been thinking? This had to have been the worst idea I’d ever come up with. What if I completely botch his hair and leave him practically bald? Breathing slowly in through my nose and discretely out through my mouth, I attempted to settle my racing heart. This is just a haircut—something you’ve done a hundred times or more in your life. That’s all this was. A haircut. Right. Like I can simply ignore the enigmatic, drop-dead-gorgeous man beneath the hair. “How short would you like it?” My voice rang out high-pitched and strained in the small space. Inwardly, I crawled into a cave and swore I’d never attempt human communication again. Outwardly, I gathered a towel and draped it casually around his shoulders as if he was just one of a dozen gorgeous men I regularly treated to my hairstyling services. His black mane cascaded down nearly two feet in length. It was in surprisingly good condition, considering how he’d been living. I could only imagine what it had looked like when he’d first arrived here. Fen examined himself in the mirror, seemingly unaware of the mental breakdown I was having behind him. “I suppose it would be best to have a modern style to help me blend in.” “That would be pretty short. Are you sure you’re okay with that?” His eyes met mine in the mirror, and I felt their hold like a physical touch. “Cat, it is only hair,” he said in a deep rumble. I nodded distractedly and whispered, “Okay.” I gathered the long strands and secured them with a rubber band, then held the scissors just above the hair tie near the base of his neck. “Last chance to change your mind.” He lifted a brow in response, telling me to get on with it. One chunk at a time, I sliced through his thick black hair until the ponytail was no longer attached. I held it aloft with a delighted grin. Fen—the stoic exile—smirked and rolled his eyes at me. It was the most playful, lighthearted gesture I’d seen from him. I had to suppress a hysterical giggle that bubbled up from deep inside me. Biting back the outburst, I set his hair aside. When I turned back to continue, nerves seized me again. I hesitantly lifted my trembling fingers and wove them through his remaining hair close to his scalp. The thick strands were silky and smooth, unlike my own coarse curls. Wholly focused on my hands exploring, I almost missed Fen’s molten stare in the mirror. Almost, but not quite. His eyes seized mine, and for several thudding heartbeats, I was lost. All that existed were those obsidian depths and the searing heat that ignited every inch of my skin. Only after my head began to swim with dizziness did I force my gaze away. Clearing my throat, I took out the clippers and began to trim the hair around the sides and back of his head. Once I got working, my nerves eased, but I couldn’t shake my constant awareness of him. How my chest was inches from his face when I trimmed the front of his hair. The way my thighs brushed against his as I repositioned myself. I stood between his legs, eyeing either side of the cut to ensure it was even, when I felt his hands tentatively grip my hips. I stilled, soaking up the possessive feel of his fingers clutching me like the throaty pleas of a dying man’s last wish.