Chapter 27 #2
Next came a smaller bottle. “Leave-in treatment,” she murmured. “Good for split ends.” She glanced at her hair, picking up a handful and studying the tips.
She flipped open a compact. “Foundation.” A tube. “Concealer.” Another slim, black tube. “Mascara.” She shook her head slowly. “This is all high-end.”
She lined everything up with care, appreciating them like treasures.
“Whoever bought this went all out.” She glanced at the spread on the bed, then snorted. “You mafia men know how to treat a woman.”
She dug deeper and pulled out a small pink sponge. She held it up between her fingers and squeezed it absently, watching it spring back.
I frowned. “What’s that?”
She looked at me as if I’d just asked what gravity was. “A makeup sponge.”
“For?”
She smiled faintly. “Foundation. Concealer. You bounce it on.”
“Bounce it?” I asked.
“Instead of rubbing foundation in like you’re scrubbing a floor, you just…
bounce. It’s a lot of tiny taps on your face.
Use the fat bottom for the big areas like your cheeks, and the pointy tip to get right into the corners of your eyes so you don’t look like a zombie.
It takes a minute, but it’s the only way to get that I woke up like this finish instead of the I applied this with a spatula look. ”
She laughed under her breath and dropped it back into the bag, then froze again. “Wait—no way.”
She lifted out a stainless steel cup, turning it slowly, stopping when she came to the words printed on the front.
Sometimes you forget you’re awesome so this is your reminder.
A giggle slipped out of her before she could stop it. “Okay. Whoever got these things has a sense of humor.”
I sat on the bed next to her. “A woman named Katya. Friend of Nik’s.”
Scarlett paused, cup still in her hands. “Who’s Nik?”
“The man who came in the room with Lach at the safe house,” I said. “Dark hair. Tattoos everywhere.”
Her eyes went wide. “Oh.”
She swallowed, then nodded once. “Well…tell him I said thank you.”
“You can tell him yourself,” I said. “You’ll see him in a few days.”
Her mouth twisted. “Um. Not sure I want to meet him. He’s scary.”
I couldn’t help it—I chuckled. “So you’re afraid of Nik, but not me?”
She glanced at me sideways. “He’s got that look like he’d slit your throat just for standing too close.”
“And me?”
“You’re more of a—” she thought about it for a moment. “If you push me far enough, I’ll break your face type of guy.”
A laugh tore out of me. The kind I hadn’t heard from myself in a long time.
At least she was talking—even joking.
It was good to see her lighten up a little before she had an aneurysm.
She picked up the hairbrush next, smiling a little as she turned it over. “This is cute.”
She started working it carefully through the strands of her hair, easing out the tangles one section at a time.
I reached over to the nightstand, grabbed the blow dryer, and plugged it in.
She was halfway through working the brush through her hair when I took it from her hand.
Scarlett went still and shot me a suspicious look. “Excuse me.”
I tilted my head and smirked. “Turn around and sit still.”
That earned me another skeptical look, but she shifted anyway, angling her body so her back faced me. I stepped closer and began brushing carefully, slow strokes, easing through the tangles instead of ripping through them.
She relaxed as I worked.
Then, I began drying her hair, lifting sections with my fingers and guiding the warm air where it needed to go. When I finally shut the dryer off, she began to turn.
“Stay,” I said.
She froze.
“I’m not finished.”
I set the dryer aside and gathered her hair a little above the crown and divided it neatly. My fingers moved without thought, muscle memory taking over as I braided—smooth, even sections straight down the back of her head, all the way to the ends of her long red hair.
When I tied it off, I paused, looking at the finished braid.
“Your hair’s unreal,” I said quietly. “That fiery color…it’s hard to ignore. Just like you.”
She let out a small, embarrassed breath. “I hated it when I was a kid,” she said. “It was different. Everyone else blended in, and I never could.”
She shifted slightly on the bed. “Funny thing is, after wearing a habit for so long—hiding everything, trying to disappear—that’s what I missed the most. Being seen. Being…me.”
I held the braid in my hand. “You were never meant to blend in. When I first saw you in the church, I didn’t expect a nun to look like you.”
She snorted. “I never envisioned you going to beauty school, but here you are, a jack of all trades, huh?”
I chuckled. “I was raised on a farm in Ireland.”
She glanced at me over her shoulder. “What does that have to do with braiding hair?”
“We had horses, sheep, chickens, and every other critter you can imagine,” I said. “You learn fast how to work with things that don’t sit still, and it was my job to braid the horses’ manes and tails. It kept them from tangling. From getting caught on fences or tree limbs.”
She huffed a laugh. “I would have never guessed that a man with such ginormous, rough hands could do braids.”
I released the braid, then my hand slid up her shoulder until my fingers curved lightly around her throat. Not tight. Just a gentle test. My thumb brushed over the steady line of her pulse.
She froze.
Her heart rate jumped beneath my touch.
“Do you trust me?” I asked quietly.
She didn’t answer right away.
“By now,” I said, my fingers tightening slightly, “I could’ve killed you a thousand different ways.
If I were a lesser man, I would’ve done whatever I wanted with you.
But I haven’t. And I won’t.” My thumb moved once more along her thrumming pulse.
“You don’t need to fear my hands. I know exactly how much force to use—and when not to. I never lose control with women.”
“Remove your hand,” she said calmly.
I complied, resting it on her shoulder instead.
She took a slow breath and relaxed her shoulders again, as if I’d passed a test. “Thank you. Most men wouldn’t have listened.”
“I’m not most men.”
She nodded, fingers worrying the belt of the robe, the fabric twisting and untwisting. Whatever she was about to say made her nervous enough to hesitate, so I braced myself for it.
“So,” she said, quieter, “if Aria is only a professional relationship…are there other women in your life? Are you married? Divorced? Dating?”
She didn’t look at me when she asked, but her cheeks flushed, and that curiosity tightened something low in my gut. She wanted to know more about my love life—but didn’t want to overstep.
I gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
“I was broken by a woman a long time ago,” I said, not entirely sure why I was telling her—only that I wanted her to understand.
“I chose to cut my heart off from anything that could make me hurt like that again. So I don’t do relationships,” I huffed, a short laugh.
“But maybe…maybe I’m startin’ to mellow. Can’t imagine bein’ alone forever.”
I grunted and stepped back. “Maybe we both need to lighten the fuck up.”
She laughed softly. “So now you’ve surprised me twice, Mr. Shadowman. First, you’re a secret hairstylist. Second, you’re a man with layers—not just a brawny thug doing what his boss tells him.”
“Yeah, well, you can’t judge a book by its cover.
How about you get dressed? There are clothes in those bags.
” I nodded toward the table. “Then we’re getting food in you.
You haven’t eaten since you cooked us brunch—and you barely touched that.
I’m taking you somewhere nice. You need to get your mind off everything and get some rest before tomorrow. ”
She stood from the bed, crossing her arms and arching a brow at me. “What’s tomorrow?”
I met her gaze. “Judgment day.”