Call a professional? The idea was so appealing and yet, she knew that it was an impossibility. Deacon was so certain that beneath all of that hair that he was a monster. And this was her one chance to prove him wrong.
The truth was she didn’t know what she’d find beneath his beard. She prayed that in his mind, he’d made the scars much worse than they were in reality. No matter what he looked like, she had to let him know that he wasn’t some sort of beast.
The fact that he trusted her enough to allow her to shave and trim him wasn’t lost on her. They had come a very long way since she’d started working at the estate. She remembered how awkward it felt working in that office, knowing that he was on the other side of a locked door.
But at the time, she hadn’t understood that he had such significant injuries from the accident. That certainly wasn’t how the accident was portrayed in the news. In fact, she was beginning to think that nothing in the media was as it seemed.
“Did you change your mind about revealing the real me?”
Deacon’s voice jarred her out of her thoughts. “No. Of course not. I’m just trying to decide if I should start with your hair or your beard.”
“The hair. That way after you’re done shaving me, I can jump in the shower.”
“You’re sure about this?” She had to hear his answer one more time.
“I am.” He studied her for a moment. “If you are.”
“I am.” She sucked in a calming breath. It didn’t work, but she focused on the task at hand instead of her lack of experience.
Trading the razor for a pair of scissors, she set to work. She drew on her memories from her own haircuts and her experience trimming her dad’s hair when he was in rehab. Gaby took her time, not wanting to mess up. She knew there was a lot riding on this particular haircut.
Her stomach was a nervous, jittery ball of nerves. Lucky for her, her hands remained steady. A cut here. A cut there. The trimmed locks of hair piled up on the floor. And all the while, Deacon remained quiet.
She walked around his chair, checking for any uneven spots. There was one by his left ear. With great care, she trimmed it.
And in the end, he retained both ears, and no blood was shed. It wasn’t the most stylish haircut, but considering his hair before, it was a large improvement.
Deacon lifted a hand and ran it over the short strands.
“Do you want to look in the mirror?”
“I don’t have any mirrors. I got rid of them.”
“But I have one.” She held up a hand mirror.
He turned away and shook his head. “I’ll see it when you’re all done.”
After the trimmings were swept aside, she grabbed a comb and the scissors. Then she set to work trimming his beard as short as she could. She’d never trimmed a man’s beard before. Sure, she’d shaved her father when he’d been in the hospital but his stubble was nothing compared to Deacon’s full-on beard.
But what got to her more was being this close to him. There was something special about him. It was more than him being a famous movie star. It was an air of strength and power that exuded from him. And she was feeling herself being drawn closer and closer to him.
She’d never experienced such an intense attraction and it scared her. Not the part about her father or the accident. No—it was the fact that she didn’t know how she was going to return to a world without Deacon’s reluctant grin, or seeing the way his eyes twinkled when he was happy.
As the fund-raiser grew closer, her time with Deacon was running out. She wanted this time to count. If all she had left when this was over were the memories, then she wanted them to be earth-shattering, pulse-quickening memories.
* * *
Deacon didn’t know how much time had passed.
His eyes were closed as he focused on Gabrielle’s gentle touch. He didn’t know that a haircut and shave could be so tantalizing. Thank goodness she didn’t attempt to make small talk because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to follow along.
Each time her fingertips brushed over his skin, it short-circuited his thoughts. And each time her body brushed up against him, he longed to reach out and pull her onto his lap. He ached to press his mouth to hers. He smothered a groan.
“Are you okay?” Gabrielle paused.
He opened his eyes to find her staring directly at him. “Um, yes.”
“You’re sure?”
She’d heard him moan? He smothered a curse. He thought that he’d caught himself. Deciding it was best that he change the subject, he asked, “How’s it going?”
“Before I go any further, I need to soften your beard.” She turned on the water.
He couldn’t see, but he could imagine Gabrielle letting the water get hot and steamy. And the next thing he knew, she was draping a hot towel over his jaw. The heat gave him a bit of a start, but he soon adjusted to it.
All the while, he was tempted to ask for her mirror just to make sure his hair wasn’t an utter mess, but then he decided at this point, it didn’t matter. If worse came to worse, he’d shave his entire head. At one point in his life, his hair had only been touched by the finest stylist in the movie business, but that felt like a lifetime ago. These days his hair didn’t matter to anyone.
Gabrielle moved in front of him. “I have to admit I’ve only ever shaved my father when he was in the hospital.”
“Don’t worry. I trust you.” It wasn’t until the words crossed his lips that he realized what he’d uttered. He would retract the words if he could. But now they were out there. They filled the room with silence as the heavy impact settled in.
Gabrielle immediately turned away so he was unable to read the emotions filtering through her expressive eyes. When she turned back, she removed the hot towel from his jaw.
He didn’t know why he’d said such a thing. That wasn’t exactly the truth. He knew. He just didn’t want to admit it to himself or to anyone else.
He was a man who prided himself on relying on no one. He told himself during all these months of solitude that he was fine on his own because he couldn’t trust anyone else in his life. And then Gabrielle burst into his world and little by little she’d chipped away at the crusty shell that he’d armed himself with. And now he was starting to care about her. He didn’t know what to do with these feelings.
But it was getting difficult to ignore his body’s strong reaction to her with her fussing all about him. And when she stood in front of him to shave him, he had to close his eyes to keep from staring at the most tantalizing view of her firm breasts. But it was too late. The image of her curves straining against the thin cotton top when she leaned toward him was permanently tattooed upon his mind.
Think of something else—anything else.
He didn’t want to let Gabrielle know just how much this session of playing barbershop was getting to him. The truth was he was letting himself get too close to Gabrielle. And no matter how he tried to hold her at arm’s length, she ended up getting so much closer. But that would all end as soon as Gabrielle revealed his scars.
He told himself that he was ready for her to be repulsed, but he wasn’t. One look at him and she wouldn’t be able to pack fast enough. The truth was that before Gabrielle, he’d forgotten how to smile—how to laugh. He’d forgotten what it was to sleep at night for more than two hours. She had totally turned his life upside down and made him think of all the things that he could still do.
“Relax.” Gabrielle’s voice drew him back to the present.
“I am relaxed.”
“No, you’re not. Your jaw is rigid and so are the muscles in your neck. If you don’t trust me—”
“I do trust you. Keep going. I have things to do.” The truth was he didn’t have any other place that he wanted to be other than right here with her hands moving gently over his skin.
“Look at me when you say those words
.”
He opened his eyes and found her staring straight at him. “I trust you.”
With that admission hanging between them, she continued shaving him. Her motions were slow and deliberate. He banished the worries and drew in a deep, calming breath. The more she worked on him, the more relaxed he became under her skilled hands. He sat there with his eyes closed, enjoying the way her fingers felt on his skin. Her touch was gentle, but it ignited a fire within him.
She ran a towel over his face. “You can open your eyes. I’m done.”
When his eyes opened, she was smiling at him. “You’re already done?”
“Already? That took close to an hour.”
“It did?”
She nodded. “And it was worth every minute. Because just as I predicted, you’re amazingly handsome. You’ll have all of the women swooning at your feet,” she added softly.
“I doubt it.” He ran a hand over his smooth jaw. It felt so good to have all that hair removed. The beard had been itchy and too warm.
However, he refused to let himself buy in to Gabrielle’s compliment. He’d seen the damage to his face at the hospital. He’d been a mess of angry scrapes and nasty gashes. She was just being nice.
“If you don’t believe me, have a look for yourself.” She handed him a hand mirror.
He really didn’t want to look. He knew that he’d find an angry red map of scars. Still, it couldn’t be avoided forever. He might have removed all the mirrors from his home, but he was quickly learning just how many surfaces were reflective.
Not allowing himself an easy out, he lifted the mirror. He blinked. Surely he wasn’t seeing clearly. He turned his head to one side and then to the other. Where were all the ugly scars?
“See, I told you.” Gabrielle continued to smile at him. “You’re as handsome as ever.”
“I can’t believe it.” He ran his fingers over his face. “I know that when they transferred me to another hospital, they mentioned something about bringing in a world-class plastic surgeon, but I didn’t think there was any hope of salvaging my face.”
“I’d say that surgeon is quite gifted.”
The angry red lines had faded. The surgeon had hidden most of the scars. Others were fine white lines, but they didn’t make him look like Frankenstein. He’d never be the way he used to be, but at least now he wouldn’t scare children.
He turned to Gabrielle to thank her for helping him through this difficult step. But when he faced her, the words caught in the back of his throat. She looked at him differently. Not in a bad way. More like a woman who desired a man. Was that possible? Or was he reading what he wanted in her eyes?
As though in answer to his unspoken question, she bent over and pressed her lips to his. At first, he didn’t move. He didn’t want to do anything to ruin this moment. And yet she pulled back, ever so slightly.
Need and desire pumped through his veins in equal portions. When she looked at him, he felt like a whole man. Not like a man haunted by his past and worried about his bleak future. She looked at him as if she couldn’t imagine him doing anything bad. And he so wanted to believe it, too.
Giving in to the urgent need consuming his body, he slipped his arms around her waist and gently pulled her back to him. Her warm, soft curves pressed against his hard muscles and a moan formed in the back of his throat.
He didn’t know why fate had brought them together, and in this moment, it didn’t matter. The only thing he cared about was Gabrielle’s happiness. He wanted to give her a good memory—something to overshadow some of the pain he’d caused.
In all honesty, the memory they were creating would be something he’d cherish, too. He’d never known anyone as generous of heart, as understanding and as bossy as Gabrielle. And he knew no matter how long he lived, he’d never find anyone else like her.
As their kiss deepened, he longed to have all of her. But he had to be sure she wanted the same thing. He wouldn’t rush her.
With every bit of willpower, he pulled back and waited until her gaze met his. “Are you sure about this?”
She nodded.
That wasn’t good enough, he had to be absolutely sure she wanted him as much as he wanted her before he carried her into his bedroom and laid her down on his king-size bed. “Gabrielle, do you want to make love?”
“I thought I made my desires clear just a moment ago.”
“I need to be sure. I... I don’t want to do anything to upset you.”
Her eyes reflected the desire warming his veins. “Then let me make this perfectly clear. I, Gabrielle Dupré, want to make love to you, Deacon Santoro.”
That was all he needed to hear. He scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the bedroom. He laid her gently on the bed. Nothing had ever looked so good—so right.
He knew after tonight that nothing would ever be the same for them, but he would deal with the aftermath later. Much, much later...
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
THE NEXT MORNING Gaby awoke alone.
She reached out, running her hand over Deacon’s pillow. It was cold to the touch. Her gaze searched the bedroom. There was no sign of him.
The convergence of disappointment, embarrassment and sadness left her grappling to keep a lid on her emotions. He regretted their night together. A sob caught in the back of her throat.
No. Don’t lose it now. You’re stronger than this.
As she looked to see the time, her gaze stumbled across a yellow rose on her bedside table. It hadn’t been there last night. She was certain of it.
She withdrew the rose from the vase. As she stared at its velvet petals, she wondered what Deacon was trying to tell her. Did he want to go back to being friends? Or was she reading too much in to it? Maybe, in this case, a rose was just a rose.
She glanced at the clock. She realized if she didn’t hurry, she’d be late to work. Finding out where her relationship now stood with Deacon would have to wait until later. She was expecting phone calls that morning about the fund-raiser. And no matter what happened between her and Deacon, she intended to do her best job.
She scrambled out of bed and rushed to get dressed. There was something else she needed to do that morning—conclude her arrangement with QTR. She may not know the exact circumstances of the accident, but she knew Deacon hadn’t been at fault and didn’t deserve any further bad press.
When she returned to the guesthouse, she knew she’d made a big mistake. Not the night she’d spent with Deacon. One minute, he’d been so tender and loving. Then in the next moment, he’d been hot and passionate. It was a night of surprises and delights. No, her problem was agreeing to do an exposé about him. Now that she knew about her aunt’s request, she was certain he was innocent. Her aunt would never have asked a killer to look after her. And now Gaby had to try to undo some of the damage.
So far QTR hadn’t printed anything that she’d given them, not that there was anything noteworthy. Hopefully it wasn’t too late to call off the arrangement.
Gaby retrieved the number of the editor at QTR. The phone rang and rang. She began to worry that no one would answer.
Suddenly there was a male voice. “Hello.”
Gaby was startled. This certainly wasn’t the perky young female editor that she’d been assigned to. “I’m sorry. I must have rung the wrong number.”
“This is Elle McTavish’s desk.”
Gaby swallowed down her nervousness. “I was hoping to speak with her.”
“And who is this?”
“Gaby, um, I mean Gabrielle Dupré. And who is this?”
“Thomas Rousseau.”
As in Quentin Thomas Rousseau II. Gaby’s stomach clenched. Oh, boy. She’d heard stories about the man. None of it was any good. He was legendary. She wasn’t sure what was going on, but she had the feeling that it wasn’t going to be good.
She gri
pped the phone tighter. “Could I leave a message for Ms. McTavish?”
“I’ve taken over for her.”
But he was the owner, not an editor. Gaby clenched the phone tighter. “I see. Then perhaps you are the person I should speak to.”
“I’m listening.”
“I’ve changed my mind about doing the story about Deacon Santoro.”
“I see.” His voice was smooth and patient. “But my understanding was that’s what you wanted—for the world to know about Santoro—and how he’s evading the law.”
At the beginning, that was exactly what she had wanted. But now she knew that her aunt hadn’t blamed Deacon and, therefore, neither should she. He was not the beast she’d originally thought. He was just a man—a man who had punished himself needlessly.
“That was before—”
She stopped herself from saying too much. The less she told this man, the better. She had learned firsthand how words and images could be twisted into something they’re not.
“Before what?”
“It was an accident. That’s all.”
“Have the police said this?”
“No, but they will.”
“Miss Dupré, what changed your mind about gaining the truth and forcing the police’s hand in delivering their findings about the incident?”
She worried her bottom lip. What was she supposed to say now? She didn’t want to break Deacon’s confidence. She didn’t want to share her aunt’s last words with the world.
“Miss Dupré?”
“I want to end our arrangement.”
“Is that because you’re now romantically linked with Mr. Santoro?” The man’s voice took on a hard edge. “Yes, I saw that photo of you in his arms. I was not happy to be scooped by another magazine.”
“It wasn’t the way it looked.” At least at that moment, everything had been innocent. Now everything was exponentially more complicated.
“Tell me about it.” His tone was more congenial. He wanted her to give him a story but she refused to do it.
“You and I don’t have a signed agreement. Remember, your magazine wanted to wait until you could ascertain what information I would provide.”
Beauty and Her Boss Page 13
