lonely, so-called safe corner.”
Jesus. How did he detect so much? He’d been back in her life for one week, and had peeled back the layers, peered beneath, and uncovered what she hadn’t consciously admitted even to herself. She was scared of being noticed; in fact, she’d been born with a hatred of being the center of attention. Or worse. Being ignored.
He understood this about her. And yet, he’d delivered the worst rejection of anyone in her life. He’d been her friend, her confidante, the first man she’d loved, and he’d made her feel unwanted, unworthy. Then he’d abandoned her without a word for three years. So far, he hadn’t offered an explanation or an apology.
Which meant he considered their night together a mistake, and one he didn’t intend on sticking around long enough to rectify, nor did he intend to perform damage control on the remnants of the friendship they could have.
Fine.
Because Niall was right about another thing as well.
She was tired of retreating, of hiding. Of being afraid.
Jerking her chin free from his hold, she shifted backward, placing much-needed space between them. Space where every inhale didn’t carry the scent of fresh, Irish rain and wind. Space where his delicious heat didn’t reach out to her in seductive promise.
“I’ll go get dressed,” she murmured.
She turned and marched up the staircase without a backward glance at the silent, devastatingly handsome man in her foyer.
“Are you ready to see yourself?”
Khloe grinned at her hairstylist, the surprisingly ordinary Scott. After the, uh, experience of Laurence and crew the night before, she’d been expecting someone a little more, well, outrageous when she’d arrived at the Back Bay upscale beauty salon. But while Scott, with his gelled brown spikes, black turtleneck, and slacks, was less of a shock factor, he’d been just as attentive from the moment she and Niall had walked into the sleek, empty shop. Empty because Niall had commandeered the salon for the morning. Scott and his team had pampered her—hair, manicure, make-up…mimosas. But the drinks and catering-to couldn’t prevent the tripping and clenching in her belly or the twisting of her fingers underneath the black stylist cape.
“Okay,” he drawled, reaching behind her to snap the covering free. “Here you are.” She lowered her lashes as he spun her chair around and settled his hands on the balls of her shoulders. “Take a look,” he whispered.
Slowly, she opened her eyes…
The woman staring back at her from the mirror was the same from last night, but softer. Dreamier. Thick, flowing chocolate waves framed her face and fell over her shoulders, grazing the swells of her breasts. The many layers lightened the heaviness but still added volume and a carefree sexiness that seemed to fit the beautiful—yes, beautiful—woman in the reflection. The make-up artist had altered ordinary green eyes into kohl-lined, full-lashed, mysterious emerald pools. High cheekbones, glowing skin, highly-glossed mouth completed the transformation from plain to pretty damn stunning.
A shaft of fear pierced the awe.
This confident, sexy woman wasn’t her. And as soon as she opened her mouth, everyone would nod knowingly and utter that underneath the silk purse trappings still existed the sow’s ear. She was a fraud, an imposter…still forgettable.
Stop it! No more hiding, no more disappearing. No. More. Fear.
Inhaling, she met Scott’s expectant gaze in the mirror.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “I do believe what you’ve just accomplished with me falls somewhere between resurrection and water-into-wine.”
He laughed, tunneling his fingers through her hair, drawing the strands forward before combing them back away from her face. Miraculously, the waves tumbled right back into place. Her hair had never “tumbled” before.
“Beautiful. The extra-long length didn’t do anything for you. It literally dragged you down and pulled out the
Jesus. How did he detect so much? He’d been back in her life for one week, and had peeled back the layers, peered beneath, and uncovered what she hadn’t consciously admitted even to herself. She was scared of being noticed; in fact, she’d been born with a hatred of being the center of attention. Or worse. Being ignored.
He understood this about her. And yet, he’d delivered the worst rejection of anyone in her life. He’d been her friend, her confidante, the first man she’d loved, and he’d made her feel unwanted, unworthy. Then he’d abandoned her without a word for three years. So far, he hadn’t offered an explanation or an apology.
Which meant he considered their night together a mistake, and one he didn’t intend on sticking around long enough to rectify, nor did he intend to perform damage control on the remnants of the friendship they could have.
Fine.
Because Niall was right about another thing as well.
She was tired of retreating, of hiding. Of being afraid.
Jerking her chin free from his hold, she shifted backward, placing much-needed space between them. Space where every inhale didn’t carry the scent of fresh, Irish rain and wind. Space where his delicious heat didn’t reach out to her in seductive promise.
“I’ll go get dressed,” she murmured.
She turned and marched up the staircase without a backward glance at the silent, devastatingly handsome man in her foyer.
“Are you ready to see yourself?”
Khloe grinned at her hairstylist, the surprisingly ordinary Scott. After the, uh, experience of Laurence and crew the night before, she’d been expecting someone a little more, well, outrageous when she’d arrived at the Back Bay upscale beauty salon. But while Scott, with his gelled brown spikes, black turtleneck, and slacks, was less of a shock factor, he’d been just as attentive from the moment she and Niall had walked into the sleek, empty shop. Empty because Niall had commandeered the salon for the morning. Scott and his team had pampered her—hair, manicure, make-up…mimosas. But the drinks and catering-to couldn’t prevent the tripping and clenching in her belly or the twisting of her fingers underneath the black stylist cape.
“Okay,” he drawled, reaching behind her to snap the covering free. “Here you are.” She lowered her lashes as he spun her chair around and settled his hands on the balls of her shoulders. “Take a look,” he whispered.
Slowly, she opened her eyes…
The woman staring back at her from the mirror was the same from last night, but softer. Dreamier. Thick, flowing chocolate waves framed her face and fell over her shoulders, grazing the swells of her breasts. The many layers lightened the heaviness but still added volume and a carefree sexiness that seemed to fit the beautiful—yes, beautiful—woman in the reflection. The make-up artist had altered ordinary green eyes into kohl-lined, full-lashed, mysterious emerald pools. High cheekbones, glowing skin, highly-glossed mouth completed the transformation from plain to pretty damn stunning.
A shaft of fear pierced the awe.
This confident, sexy woman wasn’t her. And as soon as she opened her mouth, everyone would nod knowingly and utter that underneath the silk purse trappings still existed the sow’s ear. She was a fraud, an imposter…still forgettable.
Stop it! No more hiding, no more disappearing. No. More. Fear.
Inhaling, she met Scott’s expectant gaze in the mirror.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “I do believe what you’ve just accomplished with me falls somewhere between resurrection and water-into-wine.”
He laughed, tunneling his fingers through her hair, drawing the strands forward before combing them back away from her face. Miraculously, the waves tumbled right back into place. Her hair had never “tumbled” before.
“Beautiful. The extra-long length didn’t do anything for you. It literally dragged you down and pulled out the
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