CHAPTER 18
Jannie
“You’re still not telling me anything?” Jannie finished applying moisturizer and reached for the mascara, eyeing the leather toiletry case Nick had placed on the double vanity sink.
It felt so good to go out as herself, without the wig and heavy makeup.
Sharing a small space with Nick was new, and she had to admit she liked the intimacy of it.
She met his gaze in the large mirror. Her eyes drifted to his chest, deliciously visible because the provided bathrobe was too small and gaped open. Not that she minded. It revealed more of him. She smiled, remembering how he’d looked that day in her Donald Duck robe.
“Not telling you a thing. This weekend is all surprises, and my lips are sealed.”
“Are they?” Slowly, she capped the wand. Turning to him, she slipped one hand inside his open robe, her fingertips gliding over his waist. “Let me test that.”
Hooking a hand behind his neck, she drew him to her, running her tongue along the seam of his lips. He chuckled, pressing them into a tight, unyielding line.
Without warning, he picked her up and set her on the counter, nudging her knees apart and stepping between them. She braced herself with her hands, forced to lean back as he bent over her to kiss her neck and blow into her ear, drawing a shudder from her.
“I’m tempted to sweep all this stuff to the floor and take you right here on this counter,” he said against her throat.
Oh.
“But we’ll be late.” He nipped her earlobe.
“What for?” She might not care about missing out on whatever it was if he kept this up.
“For what I arranged for us tonight.” He gave her a quick peck on the lips. “We need to get ready.”
He set her down again, and Jannie swallowed back her disappointment.
She uncapped her lip gloss. “When do we need to be out the door?”
“In about forty-five minutes.” He reached inside his toiletry case and pulled out a small brown jar.
She eyed the label: beard gel. He turned the tap to hot and, when the water was steaming, ran a small towel under the stream. He folded it carefully, set it aside, and then withdrew and unfolded …
Jannie stared.
A straight razor. The gold-etched steel blade gleamed under the bright overhead lights, the black handle shining. Dovo was imprinted in black on the tang.
“What’s that for?” she asked.
“Lining up my beard.”
“You use a straight razor?”
“Well, yeah. It’s the only way to get a sharp line.” He unscrewed the jar and scooped some blue gel, applying it to his cheeks.
“I haven’t seen one of these in years.” A nostalgic smile spread across her lips. “My grandfather used a straight razor.”
“Your grandfather knew how to shave properly.”
She studied the blade, inscribed with Solingen Best Quality in gold. “His was very similar but had a wooden handle.” She reached for it, then hesitated. “May I?”
Nick nodded. “Careful. It’s sharp.”
“Oh, I know how sharp these are.” She ran her thumb over the smooth handle. This razor was high quality; she could tell. “I used to steal it.”
Nick stopped rubbing his cheeks. “Steal it?”
“OK, borrow it. I loved how smooth it left my legs and armpits.”
Nick winced. “Yikes. I’ll bet he loved that first stroke after you got done with it.” He held out his hand, and she passed him the razor.
“He never said a word. I think he knew; he always sharpened it before he used it. I liked to watch him use the strop.” A sad smile spread across her face as she remembered her handsome grandpa Sven skillfully wielding the blade on his sharp jaw.
She didn’t need to know what her brothers would look like in thirty years; she already knew.
“We had a lot of good talks while he shaved. He really listened to me. Said I could be anything I wanted to be, if I set my mind to it and worked hard.”
“Sounds like a good guy. Open-minded for his generation.”
“He was the best. He was an ace fighter pilot in World War II. Founded LarsAir with a single Cessna Skylane and grew it beyond his wildest dreams. But in his seventies, he got really sick, and his hands shook. Shaving himself became dangerous, so I did it for him.”
Nick paused, razor halfway to his face. “Parkinson’s?” he asked softly.
She shook her head. “A stroke.”
His dark eyes met hers in the mirror. “I’m sorry.”
“Thank you. The worst part was that he could no longer fly. It was a tough time for us. He did recover from that stroke, but it took a long time.” She sighed. “I miss him. We all do, especially my grandmother. They were married for fifty years.”
“Fifty years. Wow.” Nick began to sculpt his cheek line with quick, precise strokes. His biceps flexed, he smelled fresh after his shower, and somehow, he managed to make shaving look hot.
The man definitely did not remind her of her grandfather. But how she wished he’d go ahead and shave the whole thing off.
His hands paused mid-stroke. For a moment, he studied her closely, narrowing his eyes slightly before continuing, stretching his skin with one hand while shaving with the other.
He finished quickly and, to her delight, finally uncovered the secret of why he smelled so good, pulling a bottle of Hermès H24 cologne out of his toiletry bag.
Jannie picked up her blush brush, feeling all warm inside as she watched him sparingly spray it. Her senses flooded with the fresh smell of grapefruit and wood, which softened into something intoxicatingly unique as it settled, mingling with the scent of his skin.
Getting ready together in the same bathroom was new yet somehow felt so comfortable, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Suddenly, she realized why: Nick made her feel safe.
Not only could he protect her, which he had proved and was obvious, given his physique, but around him, she could be herself without worrying about saying or doing the wrong thing.
And there was something else, too, something she couldn’t quite define, that made her calm and content just to be near him.
These were feelings she had never experienced before.
She’d gotten too close, too fast, to Nicholas Kent.
Her four weeks off were almost up.
What was she going to do when this was over, and she had to return to Orlando, where real life and an empty house awaited her?