23. Claire
23
I’ve piss-farted around as long as I possibly can. I stocked shelves, updated our social accounts, took two walk-in clients and swapped with Savannah for the close shift so she could go out and drink away her sorrows. She’s had a sore thumb over some guy she hooked up with weeks ago that won’t return her calls. Just find a new one, girl. Jesus, why are you fixating on some guy? I mean, it’s not like I’ve been killing time here to avoid a guy myself. Absolutely not. That would imply I care about his opinion. Or his face. And that is most certainly not the case.
I tell myself exactly that as I pull into the carpark at the salon just after eight on Friday night.
The way my heart speeds up when I notice a Connors Construction truck still parked there makes me want to bitch slap myself. Wait, I’ve never noticed branding on Leif’s truck any of the times I’ve seen it. Maybe it’s Westley.
Relief spreads through me with just a hint of disappointment that I’m going to flat out ignore as I kick off my sneakers and pull on my pink work boots.
I think back to one of Leif or Lee’s first emails after I had visited the salon, reminding me it was an active site, and I had to wear proper safety gear. My baby pink steel caps are cute as fuck, while making a statement.
There’s soft music playing as I reach the back door. It’s not like the usual hard rock that pumps through during daylight hours. It’s mellow. Soulful. A little sexy.
I smile as I push the door open and promptly gasp at the sight before me.
My future staffroom has the same whisper of pink coating the walls that covers the entire salon, but it’s the big slabs of off-white marble tiles with a subtle gold vein striking through it that has me stopping in my tracks. They’re not laid in a typical square pattern like I was expecting, but diagonally, like a staggered herringbone.
I step closer and notice interspersed in the middle of each cluster there’s a pink mosaic flower tile. It’s so cute and I am so fucking mad he thought of it. Because I just know it. This is Leif’s doing.
He was determined to be right on the floors. He figured out exactly what I wanted this salon to be. The same way he’s been figuring me out over the last few weeks.
My head hurts with fury, my brows clash together on my face. I swat away the single tear that dares to fall from my eye, shaking my head with renewed confidence. I race to the main salon floor to see the whole impact. Now all the tears want to fall. How can he be so effortlessly sweet? He’s good, right down to his core. This looks so much better than my stupid floorboards, and these are waterproof. They would have survived when the salon flooded.
Looking around, I marvel at the floors as they glitter under the temporary lights set up around the room. I’m still waiting for my new chandeliers and track lighting to be installed. One of the last things that will happen along with the doors and cabinetry.
The pretty peony wallpaper on one wall makes the entire space pull together, looking elegant and striking. It’s exactly what I was going for. Exactly the feeling I wanted to evoke in this space. Feminine and confident.
It’s like he knows what I need better than I do. He understands me, and it’s fucking terrifying.
There’s a riot of commotion battling between my head and my heart. I can’t make heads or tails of my emotions.
“What do you think?”
I startle at the intrusion on my thoughts. Confusion clouds my senses even more as I take in Leif, slowly approaching from the direction of my classroom.
He’s still in his work clothes, tan work boots and cargo shorts, the navy-blue Connors Construction T-shirt that makes his veiny forearms and bulging biceps look so beautifully tanned. Reminding me of how warm and strong they are when I’m locked within their grasp. And that backwards cap.
Damn him for being so hot.
I sniff in indifference, turning my head to look around, trying to look unimpressed.
“It’s fine.” I shrug, earning a chuckle that says he doesn’t believe me at all.
“Really? Just fine?” He’s taunting me.
My back stiffens as he steps closer, bringing that delicious leather and sandalwood scent with him. Don’t inhale. Don’t inhale. Don’t inhale.
Goosebumps dance across my skin as it surrounds me, and my lungs fill in delight. Dammit. He smells so good.
“Yeah. It’ll do.” I shrug.
He walks behind me, far too close for what I can handle. The heat from his body radiates off him and kisses my skin.
I’m desperate to melt into him. Horny bitch. It’s been six days since we last slept together. I’ve had far longer dry spells than this. Not that this is a dry spell. I’m just not looking for sex, and I’m perfectly capable of deciding on the frequency with which I get it.
The whole Leif/Lee thing has just rattled me, and I haven’t had time to reset my brain yet. My pussy is also thoroughly unsatisfied with my vibrator because it turns out she has high standards, and those standards peaked with Leif.
His minty breath assaults me as he leans over my shoulder and whispers right next to my ear. “I think you like it more than just fine, Bombshell.”
“Don’t call me that,” I say, throwing it over my shoulder as I walk away. It doesn’t hold the usual insistence I throw at it. In fact, I hate that I kind of love it. And miss it.
As I creep further into the salon, taking in the changes, I can’t stop the bubbles of excitement that simmer in my belly.
So much of the space has come together in a short time, and I can’t help but think a lot of it has happened because of Leif’s influence. He’s taken over my salon while Westley’s been on holiday. Not that Westley hasn’t been working hard here. He has, and I’ve enjoyed coming to visit him and trusting him with my dream. But Leif has taken it personally.
I don’t know why. What’s in it for him? Is this how he is with everyone, or just me?
It takes me back to when I first learned his name and questioned why he told me to call him Leif when everyone else calls him Lee. What makes me so special? So different?
Is that why he keeps suggesting all these changes at the salon, because he sees something I don’t? Something in me? Us?
God, I’m not ready for that level of vulnerability.
I’m so trapped in my thoughts that when I turn back to him, I don’t notice a pile of offcut tiles in my path. Before I can think, I feel my steps faltering, trying to regain balance, but it’s no use. I’m going down. I crash to my knees and land with an awkward roll over my arms.
“Shit, Claire!” Warm hands land on my hip with a gentle reverence. “You’re bleeding. Hold on to me, baby.”
His hands guide mine behind his neck before he scoops me under my back and knees, carrying me towards the back room. Slow and careful, he sits me on a workbench set up in the middle of the room.
“Are you hurt?” he asks, holding my cheeks firmly between his rough and warm hands.
“Just my pride,” I say, staring deep into those blue eyes.
He looks over me, assessing before sucking in a breath.
“Don’t move,” he says, then he’s rushing out the back door.
I look down at my knees, where I can feel a stinging sensation. One has blood running down my shin, the other is only a little scuffed up.
Leif comes rushing back in with a first aid box in hand. He places it on the bench beside me, and I notice he’s still wearing that black beaded bracelet with the collection of gold letters.
I bite my lip as he pulls out some gauze to clean up the blood and then dabs some antiseptic solution over the grazed sections.
“What does your bracelet mean?” He looks at me before studying the beads around his wrist. The ones I love to fiddle with.
“Twenty-first birthday present from my sister.”
“Twenty-first? What the fuck?” I say in a panic.
No way can he be that good at commanding my orgasms at twenty-one. Besides, I’m only twenty-four. I can’t be entering my cougar phase yet.
He chuckles. “Relax, I’m twenty-seven. I’ve just never taken it off.” He continues to tend to my wounds with a delicate touch, focused on his tasks while I take him in with a more assessing eye.
Who is this guy that I’ve become so intimate with in so many ways but barely know in others?
“What do the letters stand for?”
“First letters of our names. Me, my twin sisters, Astrid and Thyra, and my cousin, Tristan. I was moving out of home around my twenty-first, so Ty made it so I didn’t forget them.”
I smile at the way he speaks with such love for his family. It’s been my mum and me my whole life. I didn’t have cousins, aunts or uncles.
My grandmother was around a lot, but she and my mother were often at odds. I think she always tried to encourage Mum to move past the hurt my dad caused with his lies, wounding her dignity and her heart.
It wasn’t a close, loving family like I suspect Leif had experienced.
“Are you the eldest?” I don’t know why I’m asking.
Don’t know why I’m trying to know more about him. I can’t help it. My mouth, head and heart are all fighting for dominance.
“I am. Astrid and Thyra are six years younger. Tristan moved in with us when he was fourteen. He’s two years younger than me.”
“Tristan?” My mind fixates on the name, knowing it’s familiar.
“The same Tristan that drew up your plans and recommended my business for your reno,” he says.
“Oh my god, he led me right to you. My biggest nightmare.” The fire has left my teasing words, leaving me smiling in the end, which Leif throws right back at me.
“He doesn’t have the same last name as you?” I ask.
“No, his mum and my dad are siblings, so he’s got his dad’s name. Not that the sperm donor earned it. He took off when Tristan was really young.”
“Hmm, I can relate to that.” He puts a butterfly strip over the worst cut, then covers it with a bandage before leaving a kiss on my knee.
The action has fireflies dancing in my belly, fluttering around and warming me with comfort.
“You were raised by a single mum?”
“Yeah, I don’t know my dad at all. I was a product of an affair, and he went back to his real life the second Mum shared the news. That was the start of her man-hating spree.”
Leif’s brows pinch, and I hate the way he’s looking at me. He’s trying to figure me out.
No. Not trying. He’s realising that’s the reason I push people away. Why I don’t let men get close.
All I’ve ever been told is men were liars and cheats. If I control the narrative, then I can’t get hurt. I can’t let them get close enough to break me if I always hold them at arm’s length. Only give them the opportunity to make me feel good. Nothing deep. Nothing personal. Nothing real.
Leif stands between my legs, a palm resting on either side of my legs, thumbs stroking against the bare skin there.
“Him walking away has nothing to do with you,” he says.
I can’t meet his eyes.
I draw in a breath, tonguing my cheek to distract my emotions from spilling out. He puts a hand under my jaw and forces my gaze to meet his.
“Claire,” he says.
Not Bombshell. No matter what he calls me, both names have so much weight. Or maybe it’s every time he’s in my orbit, hijacking my attention, that it seems to hit me with an unrelenting strength I can’t prepare for. I just take the direct hit and hope for the best.
“It’s not on you. Just because your mum was hurt and betrayed doesn’t mean you’ll meet the same fate.” When his mouth hooks up on one side, I feel myself relaxing.
“What idiot would do that to you?” he asks. “Who would be stupid enough to take for granted a woman who’s so smart?” His mouth places a kiss against my neck, punctuating the words.
“Confident.” Under my jaw.
“Determined.” The other side.
“Audacious.” My cheek.
“Beautiful.” The corner of my lip.
Tears well in my eyes, hearing all the ways he sees me. It makes me feel appreciated in a way I don’t think I’ve been before.
Lex gets me, but she’s my soul sister. She’s the only person in my life I’ve truly been open with.
I guess I’ve been more vulnerable with Leif than I intended, or maybe for the first time, I’ve found someone who I can effortlessly be myself around. Feel safe to let my walls down with.
“So utterly consuming,” he whispers against my lips, and I move.
I press my lips against his, throwing my arms around his neck. Matching my need, he picks me up and moves us over to the wall.
Our tongues are a riot of violent hunger. The way my body has missed him is evident in the way I pull him closer into me, trying to fold him into my soul with clawing hands.
I groan as he pulls open the button of my shorts and yanks them down my legs.
I bring one leg up, struggling to get my boot free from my shorts. Leif helps to untangle my foot and as soon as it’s free, he’s pushing me harder against the wall, gripping me under one knee, holding me open as his other hand covers my pussy, desperately rubbing at my wet centre.
I gasp into his mouth, digging my nails into his neck as he continues his punishing assault against my embarrassingly wet pussy. Two fingers push inside me, and I can hear how slick I am.
When his palm presses against my clit, my eyes roll back at the heightened sensation because of my piercing and I’m instantly clenching around him.
“Can anyone else make you this wet, Bombshell?”
I bite my lip to stifle the building scream, whimpering and holding on for dear life as I feel my supporting leg quiver beneath me.
“Huh? Have you ever come as hard for anyone else as you do for me?”
He knows the answer. Of course I haven’t. He owns my body, my pleasure, in a way no one else has ever come close to.
“Coat my fingers, then try to lie to me, Claire.” He bites my neck, and I’m done for.
I can feel my body wanting to close in on itself as I’m powerless to stop the pleasure that erupts.
My eyes stay closed as I drag in steadying breaths. I hear the rumble of a zipper and the crinkling of a foil packet.
“Open your eyes, Bombshell.” I count to three before I obey his command. There’s a fire in his swirling blues. “Admit it.” He wraps my leg around his waist as his cock nudges at my entrance. “No one’s ever made you feel like I do.”
I contemplate the weight of that admission, the handing over of that power. Accepting the truth, not only to myself but offering it to another person. To hold and use as they decide.
As his eyes bore into mine, a million different reasons shout at me to lie. Don’t concede.
The whispered confession slips out before I can even understand what I’m saying.
“No one.”
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Re: Project Update
How about Lover?
Tell me Bombshell, what did you think of the floors?
L x
PS. What’s the most daring thing you’ve done to get someone’s attention?