by Tessa Blake
But when I look over at Miles, he’s already moving forward.
“Can I help you?”
“My girlfriend wants a haircut,” he says. He gestures for me to stand beside him. “How short, baby?”
“Uh.” I blink, trying to assimilate the word girlfriend and also answer the question. My brain does not want to multi-task; it wants to linger over that word. Dissect it. “About here?” I say, scissoring my hair between my fingers right at the shoulders.
“K.” She writes that down. “Layers? Blunt?”
“Layers,” I say. “I can’t really pull off the other.”
“Got it.” She runs her finger down the columns of the appointment book on the desk in front of her. “How does Wednesday sound?”
“It sounds about three days too late,” Miles says. Before I can say anything, his wallet’s out, and he passes her two hundred-dollar bills.
She stares at him for a moment, then makes them disappear. “Does about ten minutes from now work?”
He nods.
“Cool.” She draws a downward arrow on one of her columns, moving someone else’s appointment without hesitation. So this is what it’s like to be rich. “Anything besides the cut? Deep condition, maybe some highlights?”
Miles looks at me. “It’s your call,” he says. “But yes, I double-dog dare you.”
I hesitate. My boss is gonna kill me.
Fuck it. You only live once.
“I’d like it blond, please.”
“Blond … highlights,” she says, as she jots it down.
“No,” I say. “The whole thing. All the hair. Blond.” I take a deep breath. “Platinum blond, please.”
I wake up on my first full day as a blonde with Miles breathing evenly behind me, with one arm thrown over my waist. The guy is like a freakin’ barnacle when he sleeps; what is up with that?
I suppose there are worse things.
After the hair salon, we went to see 10 Cloverfield Lane—there is apparently nothing this man can’t talk me into—then went to dinner, then came home for Netflix and … well, absolutely no chill at all. Sweet Lord, the man is fire.
And it would appear he’s ready to go again, as he wraps his body around mine from behind and nips at my neck.
“That’s gonna leave a mark, buster.”
“Good.” He does it again, then rolls me over so he can kiss me. “Keeps the other guys away.”
I scoff at that.
He raises an eyebrow. “You telling me no other guys come around?” His fingers get busy unbuttoning my top. “I didn’t get a good look at these pajamas last night,” he says, tossing the shirt aside. “The sheep are very sexy.”
“I was thinking about being warm, not sexy.” I close my eyes as his hands start to roam. “And you’d think I was sexy no matter what I was wearing. You’d think I was sexy in a burlap sack.”
“I would. It’s true.”
“You’d probably think I was sexy”—I try to think of the worst thing I can—“in that stupid vest of yours.”
“I don’t know what you have against my vest. It’s very fashionable.”
“Sure, if you’re a Hell’s Angel.”
He stops touching me—which sucks—and rolls over, reaching down beside the bed. “I think we should test your hypothesis.”
“Huh?”
He holds the vest up. “Let’s see how you look in it.”
“Like an idiot, that’s how.” But I’m laughing. I can’t help it; he’s absolutely ridiculous. I sit up and hold out my arms.
He slips it on me, then turns me to face him, tugging it closed as best he can over my boobs.
“Hell, yes,” he murmurs, pulling me forward. “You were right.”
I shove at him. “Pervert.”
“You’re always calling me that.”
“If the shoe fits—” I swat his hand away from the drawstring of my pants. “Do you ever stop? What if I’m not interested?”
It doesn’t have quite the effect I intended, because the last three words come out in a sort of high-pitched gurgle-sigh as he slips one hand into my pants.
“That’s okay,” he says. “I’ll do all the work. You just lie there and think of England, or whatever.”
I laugh and push him down on his back, swing one leg over to straddle him. “How about you just lie there and—”
And there’s a knock on my apartment door.
“Oh, fuck.”
“What?”
“I’m supposed to go to breakfast with Ainsley.”
“Okay.” His fingers slide under the vest and skim over my ribs. “Is that bad?”
“No, it’s not bad. But that’s her at the door.” I scramble out of bed. “Get your head in the game. You have to stay in here until I get rid of her.”
“How are you going to do that? Won’t she expect you to leave with her?”
“I don’t know. I’ll think of something.” More knocking, louder this time. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. I have got to tell my neighbors to stop letting people in the fucking building.”
“I could answer it.”
“You definitely cannot. Stay here. Be quiet.” I hurry out and close the bedroom door as Ainsley knocks a third time.
I cross the living room, trying to get my thoughts—and excuses—in order as I undo all the locks.
“Jeez,” Ainsley says, moving as if to go past me into the apartment. “I was starting to think you left without me—” She stops dead in her tracks. “You dyed your hair!”
I reach up to touch it. I sort of forgot, to be honest. Miles is very distracting. “Yeah, it was … kind of a dare. It’s a long story.”
“Well, give me the short version,” she says. “You look amazing.”
“I, um …” Ugh. This is … I don’t even know a word for what this is. Awkward really wouldn’t do it justice. “I wasn’t expecting you so soon, can you wait downstairs?”
“What?”
“I just—” Oh, God, just go away for five lousy minutes. Shit.
“Why should I wait down—” She narrows her eyes at me. In the bedroom, Miles drops something. Audibly. Very audibly. “Is someone here?”
Oh, for fuck’s sake. What are the chances he’s going to stay put? Slim to none, I imagine, given that he’s rampaging around in there like Godzilla instead of being quiet, like I told him to. I take in a big breath, let it out noisily. “I guess you’re going to find out eventually.”
She steps inside and her eyes sweep over me, head to toe, then back up. I look down and think, as I should have thought before I left the bedroom, that maybe I should answer the door in something other than pajama bottoms and this stupid vest. A little skimpy. A lot embarrassing.
Almost hesitantly, Ainsley begins: “Is that—”
The bedroom door opens. My heart jumps.
And Miles comes out, wearing an even skimpier outfit than mine: his underwear and a big smile.
Coming 9/13/19:
Miles & Brigitte’s story continues in
Owned By Him - The Billionaire Black Sheep Episode 3!
If you’d like to know when Owned By Him is released, you can sign up for my newsletter at
tessablakewrites.com.
About the Author
Tessa Blake lives in Central Maine with her kids and pets—and the hot men in her imagination. Her books include The Billionaire’s Contract, Big Mistake, and the upcoming The Billionaire Black Sheep.
Join her in her Facebook reader group, Book Tarts, or find her at:
tessablakewrites.com
fb.me/TessaBlakeWrites
twitter.com/TessaBlakeToo
[email protected]
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