After setting the Sweet Pea back on the dresser, I pushed my hair out of my face. “I guess I could get her some cucumber melon then. Or warm vanil—”
He caught my hand when I lifted it to my hair again. “If your hair getting in your face bothers you that much, why don’t you ever tie it back?”
Startled and pleased, I gaped up at him. “You know I never tie my hair back?”
His nostrils flared as he leaned in to smell the Sweet Pea…off my skin. “I know you’re always pushing it out of your eyes.”
My body went into a dazed kind of shock. In sensory overload, I scrambled to think properly. “I don’t know,” I said with a loose shrug. “Don’t…don’t you guys prefer long, flowing hair?”
Mason caught a strand of my hair and ran it through his fingers. “I can’t speak for other guys, but, yeah, I guess I do like it long and flowing.” He glanced at me with a disappointed expression. “So…this is to attract a guy then? Anyone specific?”
I flushed and ducked my face. “No. Not necessarily. I just…I personally think I look best this way.”
He picked up another piece of hair that had been lying on my opposite shoulder. With both hands full on either side of my face, he almost appeared as if he were holding a pair of reins, about to bridle me in close to him.
“Does this mean you’ll have caught your guy whenever you show up on campus someday with your hair in a ponytail?”
I shot him a strange look. “Well, then I’ll have to keep his attention, so…probably not.”
Mason gathered my locks at the back of my head as if preparing to put it into a ponytail. Once he had a hold of it all in one hand, he stroked a couple of knuckles down the side of my exposed jawline. “I don’t think you ever have to worry about what your hair looks like in order to attract a guy. You have too many other intriguing attributes to keep them interested.”
My lips parted and my entire body throbbed. “Mason?” I said slowly, my voice timid. “What’re you doing?”
“Something I probably shouldn’t.” His voice sounded hoarse and tender as he dipped his face and pressed his forehead against mine.
I began to tremble. I don’t know if it was because of anticipation, utter excitement, dread, or outright fear. “If…if you shouldn’t, then…don’t.”
A throaty whimper like a wounded cougar tore from his voice box. “Easier said than done.” With his fingers slipping through my hair, he curled his hand around to the back of my neck, urging my face up, probably to align me into position for a kiss. Then he whispered my name.
God, the achy, husky way he said it was like a silken caress to every erogenous nerve in my body.
“I think…I think it’d be best if you stopped.” My voice shook as badly as my limbs. But even as I spoke, my hormones cried out for him to continue.
“Okay,” he said, but his breath continued to beat against my lips and his forehead remained tattooed to mine.
I think an inch separated our mouths. I could sneeze and accidentally crush my lips against his. Damn it, why wasn’t my new nose ring making me sneeze?
But no way was I going to purposely be the one to cross the line that seemed to be drawn in that inch of space. Crossing it would change everything. He tilted his head, keeping our brows attached, and shifted to the side, but he kept that inch secure between us.
I knew he wanted to breech it as badly as I did. But the invisible barrier must’ve been stronger than both of our cravings. We feared what the change would bring.
His palm flattened on my neck, and when his touch slid over my scar, he frowned and paused. His eyes questioned me before he turned me around and gathered my hair out of the way to examine the nasty gash.
Feeling bare as a light breeze washed across my nape, I closed my eyes and tightened my fingers around the book I was holding. “So you see, that’s why I don’t pull my hair up anymore.”
His fingers were gentle as he touched the numb, deadened area. “This looks deep. What happened?”
I licked my lips. “I was cut.”
“I see that. What cut you?”
“A knife.”
Jeez. I’d already told him too much. If he asked anything else, I wasn’t sure what I’d say. My original lie was to tell people I’d gotten it in a small car crash. What was I supposed to come up with now?
An urge bubbled inside me. I actually wanted to tell Mason the whole story. Everything. But the fewer who knew the truth, the better. And no matter how much he affected me, rationally I knew I hadn’t known him nearly long enough to trust him with a secret of this magnitude.
“A knife,” he repeated. “Did it cut you on purpose?”
“Maybe.” Definitely. And if I hadn’t whirled away to run from Jeremy any faster than I had, this scar wouldn’t have been on the back of my neck either. It would have been in the front, and I probably wouldn’t be standing here today.
I shuddered, trying not to remember that night, trying not to relive the fear.