“Move over, short stuff.” Bret’s cooler hand against her shower-warmed skin made her jump.
“What do you think you’re doing?” She swiped at the shampoo threatening her eyes.
“Taking a shower before I head to the office.”
“The shower is occupied.” She closed her eyes and tried to regain the tranquillity of a moment ago while the water rinsed out the shampoo.
Maybe if she ignored him, he’d go away.
Big hands covered her breasts, slick with shampoo, and gently squeezed and rubbed them to aching awareness.
Maybe not.
“Go away,” she said, but it came out sort of breathless.
“You don’t mean that,” he said in a low, sexy voice right next to her ear, sending goose bumps chasing each other down her body.
“Y-yes, I do.”
“Liar.” He nipped her earlobe. “I can feel your heart racing.”
“It’s fear,” she lied. “I’m afraid I’ll slip and fall. It’s too crowded in here.”
In reply, he lifted her, holding her high against his shower-fresh body, probing the part of her that didn’t want to be probed. Okay, maybe it shouldn’t want to be probed.
Dang, that felt good. She couldn’t help it. She wrapped her legs around his waist. Purely for safety measures, of course.
He kissed his way up her neck, not stopping until he covered her mouth in a deep, wet kiss that had her shimmying against him, practically begging him to take her.
And he did.
Either she was really excited or he was a little soapy or both. The end result was he slid into her way too easily, her eager body accepting him more readily than was probably proper.
Heat. All around her and deep within her, all she felt was heat. Flames of passion licked her from within while Bret took care of licking the outer part.
Higher. Each thrust was higher, penetrating deeper, taking her breath.
Cool tile met the heated skin of her back, the grout a gentle abrasion with each deep stroke of his heated length.
Bret pressed Samantha against the wall of the shower, his hips helping to hold her up as he trailed kisses down her neck across her chest to her breast. He had to take it slow, make it last. If he kept pumping into her wet heat, that wouldn’t happen.
She whimpered and wiggled her sweet ass, her smooth legs grasping him closer while her pussy sucked him deeper.
The muscles up the backs of his legs began to tighten. No! Not yet!
He pumped harder, their skin making a soft, slapping sound with each thrust. No, no, no, not yet.
He sucked her nipple deeper, rolling it on his tongue, grinning when she groaned and gushed around his cock. Holding the rigid tip between his teeth, he ran his tongue back and forth, rewarded when she shivered, her inner clampings beginning.
In an effort to stave off his climax until hers ebbed, he counted to ten. He silently sang the alphabet song. He tried to remember the names of all his science teachers.
Finally, he could ignore the sensuous suction no more. With a roar, he pumped once, twice, three times, grinding into her soft flesh while he experienced la petite mort.
On shaking legs, he held her limp body close as he lowered her to stand on the tile of the shower stall.
He had the insane urge to tell her he loved her. She wouldn’t want to hear that. He wouldn’t want to say it.
Not yet.
Sam hummed as she made Bret’s bed and then stopped midsmoothing of the sheets. Why was she feeling so content she had the urge to be domestic?
Sex. Mind-blowing sex. The best sex of her life, to date. But, still, just sex. And rebound sex at that.
But it hadn’t felt like that when Bret had kissed her good-bye. Of course, he’d made her promise to stay in the house. House arrest.
Because, technically, it was a bank, in her opinion she was free to go anywhere she chose. As long as she got back before he came home.
Okay, so she was looking forward to the parade. It wasn’t like it was a date or anything.
She squirmed a little at the thought of how their evening might possibly end. So what if it was just rebound sex? She deserved a little sexual gratification.
She still didn’t believe for a second that Bambi bimbo/ homewrecker/dog thief and Sean weren’t doing the deed. Sean’s sex drive may not have been anywhere near Bret’s, but even he couldn’t go without sex for long. He’d just told her they were abstaining to tick her off, she thought as she finished blow-drying her hair and picked up the heated straightening iron.
Strains of “Born to Be Wild” filled the bathroom as she slid the first clump of hair through the iron, the styling products hissing against the heat. Speak of the devil—Sean was calling.
She stood, gripping the iron, and stared at the phone. Why was he calling now? Had he changed his mind about Bambi? Did it matter now?
While she debated, the phone went silent. A second later, it rang again. Again, it was Sean calling. It must have been something important. Did she care?
When it rang a third time, she answered. “What?”
“Where are you?”
She gripped the iron handle harder. “What do you care?”
“I thought I saw your car.”
“Where are you?” she fired back.
“It doesn’t matter where I am. I don’t want you making a scene. Just answer the question, Sam.”
“Fuck you.” It wasn’t something she’d ever said, but it seemed appropriate. Feeling smug, she hit the disconnect and then glanced around to see if anyone had heard her.
That was when she noticed she still held the straightening iron in a death grip. Followed closely by noticing the smoke.
With a shriek, she pulled the iron out of her hair. Or tried to pull it out. It was kind of…stuck. She pulled harder, and it came out.
Unfortunately, so did a rather large clump of her hair.
“Oh, crap!” She leaned closer to the mirror, blinking back tears as she surveyed the damage.
A hank of hair about three inches wide clung tenaciously from the edge of the smoking iron. Flipping the dial to off, she yanked the plug from the wall and then leaned in again to look at her hair.
None had grown back since the last time she’d checked.
From about an inch from her hairline across a good three inches of her scalp, nothing but singed stubble, less than two inches long, had survived. The stubby patch was roughly the size of her cell phone.
A quick glance at the clock confirmed she had a few hours to do damage control before Bret came back.
Sure, she’d promised to stay under house arrest, but this was an emergency.
Even Dudley Do-Right would understand.
There was a combination barber shop and salon just off the square, right around the corner from the old bank. Maybe they could take her right in and do something to even it out.
Sunglasses on her nose, she glanced up and down the deserted sidewalk before stepping into the afternoon sun. So far, so good.
She’d just rounded the corner when she spotted Hannah, Bret’s grandmother, getting out of a white Lincoln Town Car. Dang! Sam hopped back and peeked around the corner. Hannah was walking into the barbershop/salon, which Sam now saw was named Nola and Ed’s Swirl, Cut & Curl.
Slumped against the warm brick, Sam scanned the storefronts along the square.
Luck was with her. A few stores down, perpendicular to Bret’s, was a plateglass window with pink café curtains. In a gold-lettered arch were the most beautiful words Sam had ever seen: THE HAIR HUT, and, beneath that, WALK-INS WELCOME.
With a quick glance at the jail, she hurried toward the Hair Hut, praying someone could fit her in. Performing a miracle would be nice, too.
Familiar smells and sounds greeted her, along with the little brass bell above the door. There was just something so comforting about a salon.
“I’ll be right with you, honey! Just let me get Mildred under the drier,” a heavy east-Texas-accented
voice called.
Relaxed, Sam sat on the pink velvet couch by the window and idly paged through an old hairstyle magazine. Everything would be okay. She’d get her hair fixed and be back well before Bret. He’d never know she was gone. She wondered if the Hair Hut did pedicures.
“Hey, sweetie.” A petite woman of eighty, if she was a day, with flaming red hair teased to an inch of its life rounded the corner. She picked up a Diet Coke from the counter and took a swig. “Damn, that’s good! How can I help—oh, my lord! What did you do to your hair?”
“Believe me,” Sam said with a dry chuckle, “it wasn’t intentional.”
“I should hope not.” The woman circled her like a redheaded vulture. She reached to touch the damage. It made a crackling sound and broke off in her fingers.
“Can you fix it?” Please, please, please.
“Not me, honey, but you’re in luck. The only-est person here who may be able to salvage it just had a cancellation. She’s taking a break.” The woman looked at a huge watch strapped to her tiny wrist. “She’s about done. Let’s get you shampooed. Tina, the shampoo girl, is right through those curtains. By the time you’re done your stylist will be waiting.”
The woman walked to the end of the counter and bellowed, “We got a nine-one-one! It’s a gen-u-ine hair emergency. We need you pronto, Bambi!”
14
Samantha’s heart stumbled. She may have even screamed. Bambi? Bambi? Please, Lord, don’t let it be that Bambi!
A teenage girl stuck her head through the curtains, her bright yellow and orange hair done in spikes that stood out from her small head, giving her the appearance of a startled rooster. She popped a huge purple bubble. “You okay?”
“What?” Sam glanced back at the counter. “Oh, yeah, I’m just great. Did she just say Bambi?”
“Yep,” the girl said, leading her behind the curtain to the row of shampoo bowls. “Sit here.” With a flourish, she whipped a nylon drape over Sam’s semireclining body and then gingerly touched the damaged section of hair before patting Sam’s shoulder. “I’m going to use the heavy-repair rinse. Don’t worry. If anyone can fix this, it’s Bambi Donner.”
Sam’s heart sank while her stomach lurched. The roar in her ears drowned out the shampoo girl’s amiable chatter.
What had she done to deserve such bad luck?
The redhead peeked through the curtains. “Oh, good, you’re done. Bambi’s at her station waiting for you, sugar. It’s the last one on the right. I’d walk you, but I have a customer.”
“I can take you over,” the shampoo girl chimed in.
“That’s okay,” Sam said around the lump of dread in her throat. “I’m sure I can find my way. Thanks anyway.”
With slow steps she walked through the busy salon. All around her, conversations droned while driers hummed, their heat wafting the smell of styling products, hairspray, and perfume. Under normal circumstances she would have found it all comforting and inviting. Today it was oppressive.
Never taking her eyes from the blonde who was easily a head taller than the surrounding stylists, Sam concentrated on placing one booted foot in front of the other until she reached her destination.
In hindsight, she didn’t know what she expected, but it certainly was not the warm, almost shy smile of the gorgeous statuesque woman who stepped forward to meet her.
“Hi, I’m Bambi. What’s your—oh, sweetie, what did you do to your poor hair?” Bambi’s husky voice sounded genuinely distressed. She clucked her disapproval as she walked around Sam, occasionally turning Sam’s head one way and then another. “I can fix it, but it’s going to be short. Are you okay with that?”
“I don’t think I have a choice.”
“Here, have a Coke.” Bambi shoved the cool silver can into Sam’s hand an hour later. “Whew! I need a break! We’ll just let the deep-root conditioner set for a few minutes and then shampoo you again and style it.”
Sam took a grateful sip, savoring the cool, carbonated treat. She didn’t want to, but found she liked Bambi. Under different circumstances, she might have become friends with the hairdresser. Truthfully, she couldn’t understand how such a sweet person could get mixed up with a slimeball like Sean.
But that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to take her dog back.
Bambi leaned a hip against the counter, facing Sam after her last shampooing, and smiled. “So, tell me, Samantha, what brings you to Christmas?” She chuckled. “As if I didn’t know.” She winked a heavily made-up eye, her thick false eyelashes fanning her perfectly sculpted cheekbones.
Sam’s heart tripped. “Wh-what do you mean?” If Bambi knew about her attempted break-in, it would be just that much harder to get to Rhetta.
“I think you came here for a certain science teacher.” Bambi turned and reapplied her cherry-colored lip gloss and then smiled at Sam in the reflection. “I can’t blame you. Bret’s a doll. I’ve known him since first grade. You’d never find a nicer guy.”
Sam couldn’t help but wonder exactly how well Bambi knew Bret. Not that it was really any of her business.
“How did you, I mean who—”
Bambi laughed, the deep, rich sound forcing Sam’s lips to curve into a smile. “That’s the only drawback about Bret—his grandmother is the biggest gossip in town, bless her heart. I know she’s been worried about Bret ever since he left and was relieved when he came home to settle down. And she’s been fretting about his lack of dates. You can’t blame her for being thrilled he found you.”
“But he didn’t find me. I—” She clamped her big mouth shut before she spilled the truth about why she was in town. “I mean, we sort of, um, found each other. I…” Her voice trailed off when she saw the picture of Rhetta being hugged by a radiant Bambi in an ornate silver frame on the counter.
Bambi blotted Samantha’s hair with the towel and then finger combed through the short curls. “Pretty, isn’t she? Her name is Lassie. My honey gave her to me.” She splayed her left hand in front of Sam’s face, wiggling her fingers, the diamond on her ring finger flashing light. “He also gave me this. I’m engaged! Can you believe how lucky I am?”
“No, I can’t. I mean, congratulations. Your ring is very pretty. Um…Lassie?” Why in the heck would anyone name a Lab Lassie? Besides, her name was Rhetta. Always had been, always would be.
“Yeah, Lassie the Lab. Kind of cute, don’t you think?” No. Oblivious, Bambi went on. “It was my honey’s idea. He’s so funny.” She got a dreamy look on her made-up face that made Sam want to hurl.
“I need to get going.” Sam tried to peek around Bambi’s side to see her new hairdo in the mirror. “I want to be back before Bret gets home.”
“Hot date, huh?” Bambi giggled and fluffed Sam’s hair some more. “Where’s he taking you?”
“Huh? Oh, um, he said something about some kind of parade.” Inspiration struck. “Are you going to the parade tonight?” If so, it might be the perfect time to grab Rhetta and make their escape.
“No, we went last night. They have the light parade on the bay every night for two weeks before Christmas. Have you ever seen it?” Sam shook her head. “It’s spectacular. I go every chance I get. Always have. Imagine every size and kind of boat decorated and lit up.” She sighed. “All those twinkling lights reflected on the water, it’s just beautiful. And,” she added with a smile and another wink, “it’s also romantic when you’re with the right person.”
Bambi twirled Samantha’s chair around and dramatically whipped off the cape. “Ta-da! What do you think?”
Sam stared at the stranger in the mirror. Her current bobbed style was the shortest her hair had been since the time in third grade when Ron Kozak had cut a hunk out during social studies.
She slowly reached up with a shaking hand and touched a glossy curl. Soft-looking hair fringed her face, hugging her entire head in a halo of loose golden curls. “I think you’re a genius,” she said in an awed whisper.
Bambi squeezed Sam’s shoulder. “I had a goo
d base to work with. If you want it straighter, do me a favor and do not use another straightening iron! Just a little gel, worked through it, should do the trick.”
Sam stood and slipped the hairdresser a more than generous tip, ridiculously grateful.
“Have a great time tonight!” Bambi called as Sam walked away. “Hey, if you’re not doing anything tomorrow, I get lunch at noon. Why don’t you come by and we can grab a burger or something?”
“Um, I’ll see. I’ve been kind of…busy”—under arrest—“but I’ll try,” she assured the crestfallen Bambi. With any luck, she would have grabbed Rhetta and be on her way back to Houston. Assuming she could work her way around the pesky arrest thing.
Sam took a flying leap onto the sectional just as Bret’s head appeared above the half shutters along the old bank’s plateglass windows.
“Oh, hi,” she said as he stepped into the marble entry.
“Hey. Ready to go to the—what did you do to your hair?”
Running nervous fingers through her hair, she forced her mouth to smile. “I cut it,” she said in what she hoped was a chirpy, upbeat tone. “I, um, had a little mishap with my straightening iron and burned a chunk off. I’d been thinking about cutting it, anyway, so—stop laughing!”
He pulled her up into his arms. “I can’t help it. You look so cute, all flustered. Were you afraid I wouldn’t like it?”
“I don’t give a rat’s ass if you like it.” She tried to back out of his arms, but he held tight. “I was merely answering your question.”
“Aw, don’t go getting all bristly on me.” He nuzzled her neck. “I like your hair.”
“Y-you do?” She arched her neck for better access for the kisses he trailed along the sensitive skin.
“Mmmm-hmmm,” he whispered in her ear. “It’s sexy.”
“Bret,” she said against his mouth.
“Samantha,” he breathed into hers and then kissed her.
Her heart, which had just regained normal rhythm after running back from the salon, took off again.
A step took the backs of her legs to the edge of the sofa, knocking her off balance.
Under The Covers Page 23
