him…to tell me I look good, but how ridiculous. Does he expect a tip? She pondered the reason for the man’s compliment as she followed him to a black chair with a mirror in front of it and miscellaneous hair care products on the counter below. Wait a minute? Is this his chair? Is he going to do my hair?
Flustered, she hesitated, one eye on his black denim clad buttocks and one eye trying to see if there was another available stylist nearby. There wasn’t. Every single stylist had someone sitting in the chair in front of them. Her stomach knotted. ‘You—you’re going to do my hair?’
‘Yes, I am. My name is Javier.’ A brown hand reached out to her. The dimples flashed. She hesitantly took it. It felt warm and firm, like a hand she wouldn’t mind feeling on her body… Gay, gay, gay. Keep telling yourself that.
‘Is there no one else?’ Bridget glanced around, knowing it was futile, but feeling the need to ask anyway. ‘I—I mean no offence, but I’ve never had a—a man…’ Her words trailed off in an embarrassed silence as she realised how they sounded. Oh geez.
Javier laughed at her. He laughed at her. She should have been offended, but his laughter was so…open and friendly, and sent tingles through her body. She found herself returning his smile and felt her shoulders relax.
‘No worries, miss. I promise not to take advantage of you when you succumb to the perm smells.’
Oh, I wish you would. Now where did that thought come from? Bridget shook her head as she sat in the chair. He’s gay. Good grief.
Javier eyed the woman sitting in his chair. She was pretty but obviously didn’t know it. Unlike most attractive women, she didn’t play up her beauty, didn’t enhance it properly. Instead, she suppressed it with a plain hairstyle of a dull, unimaginative colour and no makeup. With a stylish ’do and some shadow and mascara around those green eyes, she could bring a man to his knees. And those lips…all they needed was a coat of gloss to enhance their natural fullness, to draw the eye. They were lips begging to be kissed.
Stay professional, boy. This chick is as frightened as a mouse. He continued assessing her as he handed her a magazine of hairstyles and a book of hair colours the salon offered. She was younger than she first appeared. Thirty or so. She dressed modestly and business-like, but her severe dress suit hadn’t hidden the curve of her hips, the roundness of her rear, or the fullness of her breasts when she’d walked in. She’d look delectable in a short skirt and a cleavage-showing top .
Feeling a tightening below his belt, he decided he better get his thoughts on other things. Deborah had told him a lot about this woman. He knew she was timid and a loner. She donated money to animal charities, fostered cats, volunteered at the local soup kitchen, visited nursing homes at Christmas, and had a huge distrust of men…for good reasons, so hitting on her would do him no favours.
She shut the book, fingering some of the hair samples sticking out of it, and shook her head. ‘Just my usual.’
Javier felt a twinge of disappointment. She had so much potential. He had caught snippets of conversation during her previous visits, and the stylists tended to gossip in between clients. He knew that as well as being a generous person, she had been mistreated by a previous boyfriend, a controlling boyfriend who had belittled her and ridiculed her before slapping her around to the point he was now in jail.
Such a lovely woman should not be beaten down so. No woman deserved to be treated like that. He felt a rise of anger deep inside him. So many women hurt by men. The woman needed to get her confidence back, and he knew just how to start the process—if only she would let him.
‘Fifty percent off all services if you let me have my way with you.’ He hoped his tone was convincing as he buried all of his fingers in her brown hair and began massaging her scalp. The scent of her shampoo,
Flustered, she hesitated, one eye on his black denim clad buttocks and one eye trying to see if there was another available stylist nearby. There wasn’t. Every single stylist had someone sitting in the chair in front of them. Her stomach knotted. ‘You—you’re going to do my hair?’
‘Yes, I am. My name is Javier.’ A brown hand reached out to her. The dimples flashed. She hesitantly took it. It felt warm and firm, like a hand she wouldn’t mind feeling on her body… Gay, gay, gay. Keep telling yourself that.
‘Is there no one else?’ Bridget glanced around, knowing it was futile, but feeling the need to ask anyway. ‘I—I mean no offence, but I’ve never had a—a man…’ Her words trailed off in an embarrassed silence as she realised how they sounded. Oh geez.
Javier laughed at her. He laughed at her. She should have been offended, but his laughter was so…open and friendly, and sent tingles through her body. She found herself returning his smile and felt her shoulders relax.
‘No worries, miss. I promise not to take advantage of you when you succumb to the perm smells.’
Oh, I wish you would. Now where did that thought come from? Bridget shook her head as she sat in the chair. He’s gay. Good grief.
Javier eyed the woman sitting in his chair. She was pretty but obviously didn’t know it. Unlike most attractive women, she didn’t play up her beauty, didn’t enhance it properly. Instead, she suppressed it with a plain hairstyle of a dull, unimaginative colour and no makeup. With a stylish ’do and some shadow and mascara around those green eyes, she could bring a man to his knees. And those lips…all they needed was a coat of gloss to enhance their natural fullness, to draw the eye. They were lips begging to be kissed.
Stay professional, boy. This chick is as frightened as a mouse. He continued assessing her as he handed her a magazine of hairstyles and a book of hair colours the salon offered. She was younger than she first appeared. Thirty or so. She dressed modestly and business-like, but her severe dress suit hadn’t hidden the curve of her hips, the roundness of her rear, or the fullness of her breasts when she’d walked in. She’d look delectable in a short skirt and a cleavage-showing top .
Feeling a tightening below his belt, he decided he better get his thoughts on other things. Deborah had told him a lot about this woman. He knew she was timid and a loner. She donated money to animal charities, fostered cats, volunteered at the local soup kitchen, visited nursing homes at Christmas, and had a huge distrust of men…for good reasons, so hitting on her would do him no favours.
She shut the book, fingering some of the hair samples sticking out of it, and shook her head. ‘Just my usual.’
Javier felt a twinge of disappointment. She had so much potential. He had caught snippets of conversation during her previous visits, and the stylists tended to gossip in between clients. He knew that as well as being a generous person, she had been mistreated by a previous boyfriend, a controlling boyfriend who had belittled her and ridiculed her before slapping her around to the point he was now in jail.
Such a lovely woman should not be beaten down so. No woman deserved to be treated like that. He felt a rise of anger deep inside him. So many women hurt by men. The woman needed to get her confidence back, and he knew just how to start the process—if only she would let him.
‘Fifty percent off all services if you let me have my way with you.’ He hoped his tone was convincing as he buried all of his fingers in her brown hair and began massaging her scalp. The scent of her shampoo,
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