“No.” I tried to swallow past the tight ache in my throat.
She narrowed her eyes slightly, looking confused, and I hated myself. She got me jacked up, and she jerked me around, and on these rare occasions when she was sweet, I was turning her away. I wanted to sit down. I wanted her to touch me, and fuck, I didn’t want to leave!
She continued to wait, and my fists clenched with the urge to hit something. “I don’t like people touching my hair, okay?” I explained, trying honesty.
“Then why do you keep it long?” she asked.
“Because I don’t like it touched,” I repeated. “Not even by a stylist. I can either shave my head or grow it out, so I grew it out.”
Now, please fucking God, don’t ask any more questions.
She squinted at me, thinking. “You wanted me to trust you last night. Did you think that was a one-way street?” She tapped the back of the chair with both hands. “It’s your turn. Come on.”
I swallowed, wanting and not wanting the same exact thing.
I wanted what my brother had and what Madoc had. I wanted to be close to someone.
I saw the way my brother loved Tate. How he smiled at her even though she was walking away and couldn’t see him. How he was always looking for a reason to touch her. And how when he held her, he closed his eyes and looked as if he’d just found a life raft in the middle of the ocean.
I saw Madoc and how he loved Fallon. How he couldn’t keep his eyes off her. How every time he had to walk away to talk to someone, to go get a drink, to do anything, he had to grab her hand and drag her everywhere as if she were attached to his body. How he’d stop in the middle of a conversation and kiss the shit out of her.
Juliet wouldn’t hurt me. Juliet couldn’t hurt me. I was in control. I was powerful. I was worthy. And I was strong.
I exhaled. Fucking fine. I inched toward the chair. “Take off your shirt,” I ordered.
Her eyebrows shot up, and she plastered her hands to her hips as I came to stand right in front of the chair.
If she wanted me vulnerable, then I needed something to distract me. I didn’t think she’d do it.
But then she crossed her arms, grabbed the hem of the shirt in her hands, and lifted it over her head, revealing her smooth, golden skin in a white halter-top bikini featuring a hole in the center to display her ample cleavage.
“And take down your hair.” I kept my face even, but my voice turned deep. I couldn’t help it. She unwrapped her bun, and all her deep brown locks tumbled down around her shoulders.
The ten-ton weight in my stomach turned into a full-blown hard-on in my pants, and I imagined her and her hot little body straddling me on the chair.
Good enough.
I cleared my throat. “Just try to be quick, okay?”
CHAPTER 12
JULIET
I was shameless. Absolutely without any pride, and I should lock myself up until I stopped going into heat every time this guy was around. Every damn time.
Tate’s older-than-dirt CD player had some kind of alarm clock on it, and I accidentally hit a button and then the damn thing wouldn’t shut off when I jammed the power button. Several times. And then I started hitting other buttons. And then I turned the volume down. And turned it. And turned it. And turned it. And nothing.
And then Jax had climbed over, his long hair hanging in his face and looking straight off the cover of one of those romance novels where the superhot savage is ripping off the petticoats of the pampered city girl, and I froze.
Frickin’ froze, and I didn’t want him to leave.
He picked up the chair with one hand and moved it into the bathroom.
“What are you doing?” I asked, following him.
He sat down, facing the mirror. “I need to be able to see you.”
See me? What was he so afraid of? I thought to myself. But I kept quiet, knowing he wouldn’t tell me even if I asked.
From the moment I’d offered to do his hair, he’d stilled and looked scared, and for the second time, Jaxon Trent backed away from me. The first being two years ago when I’d asked about his lack of tattoos.
I came up behind him, trying not to smile at his huge frame in Tate’s small bathroom—but one look at his wary eyes staring back at me through the mirror, and I stopped. He looked as if he was ready to bolt at any sign of danger.
I placed my hands on his bare shoulders, wanting to show him that I understood his apprehension. I didn’t like to be groomed, either.
“Do you know I purposely failed a test senior year so you would have to tutor me?” I blurted out, trying to distract him as I gently pulled out his hair from his brown rubber band—the ones you get in the office supply section that are terrible for hair.
I looked up and met his eyes again, keeping my face even. He watched me like a hawk, his heavy breaths making it very clear that he was still uncomfortable.
“We shared a math class,” I said, setting down the rubber band and threading my fingers through his gorgeous black-brown hair that was longer than mine. “You tutored kids in the morning, and I wanted to spend time with you, so I failed a test on the chance that you’d have to help me.”
He leaned back in the chair, relaxing a little more, and my stomach fluttered with the sexy little smile curling his lips.
“Yeah, but it blew up in my face,” I laughed nervously, spraying some detangler in his hair. “My mom found out and hired a personal tutor at home.” I held his cold locks in my hand, piece by piece, spraying. “So that sucked. I had to waste an extra hour three times a week for a month for a test I could’ve passed. It was embarrassing.”
Reaching down, I took his brush out of his hand, and gathering up all the hair, I started lightly brushing through it from the bottom up. He didn’t speak, and I was surprised he didn’t comment on my story. I figured Jax would gloat about something like that.
“Even more embarrassing was the first guy I ever kissed,” I continued. “Yeah, I thought it was a guy, but it wasn’t. He was a girl. A very boyish-looking girl at a party when I was fourteen …” I rambled, trying to keep his mind on me.
He listened as I told him about the Barbie skates that I could still fit into as I brushed through all of his hair and put some product in for styling. He kept his eyes glued to me as I told him about the time I was eighteen and too drunk to notice that I hadn’t taken my underwear down before peeing on the toilet. He followed my every movement as I dragged the edge of a comb along the sides and parted pieces of it for braiding and kept talking.
Through the layer of sweat on his back and with his fists clenching the fabric of his pants on his thighs, he listened and didn’t take his eyes off me for a single moment, listening to my ramblings as if they were the most interesting stories in the world.
And the whole time, I just wanted to wrap my arms around him and hold him. He didn’t feel safe, and I didn’t wonder about the cause.
I simply wanted to know where they were, whoever had done this to him, so I could choke the shit out of them.
Reaching down, I placed my hand on his as I used the other to dig in the drawer for some small clear rubber bands.
I didn’t look at him, and I didn’t touch him unnecessarily. I just wanted him to know that I was there.
I’d seen him wear his hair in ponytails and braided ponytails, but my favorite styles were where he braided three small strips above each ear, so I decided to do three braids to the scalp instead of the traditional ones he usually did.
Braiding three rows on each side, securing them with rubber bands as I went, I then took all the bands out and pulled everything back into his usual ponytail midskull. Twisting the rubber band, I threaded his thick black hair through, squeezing the soft, cool locks in my fist.
Running my hand over his scalp to pull back any flyaways, I slowed when I saw him close his eyes. He looked relaxed. Peaceful. Maybe soothed.
Spraying some hair spray to keep everything in place, I put my hands back on his shoulders and waited for him to open his eyes again. He could stay like that all damn day for all I cared.
Fireworks popped under my skin and exploded in my chest at the sight of him. We were close to each other and we weren’t shouting for a change. Damn, he was beautiful.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t nicer in high school.” My voice came out raspy, and when he opened his eyes they almost seemed to glow in the dark.
“Every morning you’d sit on the bleachers with your iPod and stare off onto the field. Staring at nothing. I wondered all the time what you were doing. What you were thinking about. You scared me.”
“Why?” he asked, sounding calm. “I would never have hurt you, Juliet.”
I shrugged, not sure how to answer that. “I don’t know. Liam was safe, I guess. He pissed me off and hurt my feelings, but he never got under my skin.”
Liam never made me cry. Forgetting me, disrespecting me, humiliating me—that all made me cry. But losing him to another woman never hurt. It wasn’t a loss. But Jax …
I looked down, swallowing. “First time I saw you I knew …”
“Knew what?”
I met his eyes on the mirror. “That you’d mean more.”
Jax’s chest filled with a deep breath, and his gaze turned heated. He pushed out of his chair, and I jumped back at his sudden movement. Looking up, I watched as he advanced on me, backing me into the bathroom wall.
“Jax—” But before I could say anything more, he leaned down and cupped my cheek, and butterflies swarmed in massive circles in my stomach when his lips crashed down on mine.