I stood up straight and flipped my loose hair back over the top of my head, out of my face. I clenched the brush in my hand, watching her watch me with wary eyes. Her mouth hung open a little, and she didn’t exactly look mad. I couldn’t figure out what she was thinking.
Dropping the cord, I arched an eyebrow. “Use your head,” I ordered. “Just kill the power next time.”
She crossed her arms over her see-through white pullover, and I could make out a white bikini top underneath. “Well, maybe if you hadn’t rushed to stick your nose into things, I would’ve figured it out,” she snarled, tipping her chin up.
I shook my head, letting out a bitter laugh. “You stuck your nose into my business last night. And I was just trying to help,” I said angrily, yanking the brush through the back of my hair.
“By being condescending and telling me to use my head?” she shot back. “I don’t need that kind of help, Jax.”
“Yeah.” I got in her face. “I was nice to you for years, and what did it get me? You start behaving yourself, and I’ll do the same.”
“Then stop looking down on me!” she shouted.
“Ditto!” I growled back, turning around.
I yanked the brush through my hair again and tied the rubber band back in it, getting ready to climb out the window.
“Stop,” Juliet groaned behind me.
I spun around. “What?”
“You’re …” She pinched her lips together and ran her hands down her face. “You’re ripping your hair apart,” she blurted out. “I can’t watch it anymore. You’re not brushing it right.”
I rolled my eyes and turned to crawl back out the window. “Yeah, I know how to brush my hair, Mom.”
“Sit down,” she commanded, and I heard furniture move behind me.
Turning back to her, I saw that she had moved Tate’s desk chair to the center of the room, and my mouth went dry. “Why?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
She stood behind the chair, her shoulders relaxed, and a nice view of her tight stomach peeked out between her shirt and jean shorts. Her hair was in a messy bun, her face glowed with a thin layer of sweat, and she had on no makeup, obviously having been in the backyard lying out. I wanted to touch her. I wanted to pass the whole afternoon in bed, with her, just us alone.
“Just sit down.” She nodded, her tone firm but patient. “Please?”
I narrowed my eyes. She didn’t want to … My shoulders slumped, and my eyes widened. Oh, hell no.
I shook my head, my pulse throbbing in my neck.
“Go get the poor kid some food. I’ll stay with him.”
No, no, no … I bit down so hard my jaw ached. No one touched my hair. No one.
“Jax, if you’re going to keep your hair long, you have to take care of it.” Her voice was so gentle, and her summer green eyes were patient.
I looked down to the floor, suddenly feeling five years old again. “I know how to take care of it.”
“Yeah,” she sighed. “Using ninety-nine-cent shampoo?” she joked, not realizing that I barely heard her.
How the hell had she switched gears so fast? She was mad, and now she wanted to brush my hair?
My knees felt damn near about to buckle, and my stomach hollowed. This was what it had felt like being at my father’s house, lying in bed, and watching the shadows under my closed bedroom door from the party going on the other side. Wondering if someone was coming in. Wondering if I could sleep and being too scared to close my eyes. Wondering why no one ever helped me.
Juliet wasn’t right for me, and I clenched my fists, reminding myself of that. She made me feel unsafe again.
“No.” I tried to swallow past the tight ache in my throat.
She narrowed her eyes slightly, looking confused, and I hated myself. She got me jacked up, and she jerked me around, and on these rare occasions when she was sweet, I was turning her away. I wanted to sit down. I wanted her to touch me, and fuck, I didn’t want to leave!
She continued to wait, and my fists clenched with the urge to hit something. “I don’t like people touching my hair, okay?” I explained, trying honesty.
“Then why do you keep it long?” she asked.
“Because I don’t like it touched,” I repeated. “Not even by a stylist. I can either shave my head or grow it out, so I grew it out.”
Now, please fucking God, don’t ask any more questions.
She squinted at me, thinking. “You wanted me to trust you last night. Did you think that was a one-way street?” She tapped the back of the chair with both hands. “It’s your turn. Come on.”
I swallowed, wanting and not wanting the same exact thing.
I wanted what my brother had and what Madoc had. I wanted to be close to someone.
I saw the way my brother loved Tate. How he smiled at her even though she was walking away and couldn’t see him. How he was always looking for a reason to touch her. And how when he held her, he closed his eyes and looked as if he’d just found a life raft in the middle of the ocean.
I saw Madoc and how he loved Fallon. How he couldn’t keep his eyes off her. How every time he had to walk away to talk to someone, to go get a drink, to do anything, he had to grab her hand and drag her everywhere as if she were attached to his body. How he’d stop in the middle of a conversation and kiss the shit out of her.
Juliet wouldn’t hurt me. Juliet couldn’t hurt me. I was in control. I was powerful. I was worthy. And I was strong.
I exhaled. Fucking fine. I inched toward the chair. “Take off your shirt,” I ordered.
Her eyebrows shot up, and she plastered her hands to her hips as I came to stand right in front of the chair.
If she wanted me vulnerable, then I needed something to distract me. I didn’t think she’d do it.
But then she crossed her arms, grabbed the hem of the shirt in her hands, and lifted it over her head, revealing her smooth, golden skin in a white halter-top bikini featuring a hole in the center to display her ample cleavage.
“And take down your hair.” I kept my face even, but my voice turned deep. I couldn’t help it. She unwrapped her bun, and all her deep brown locks tumbled down around her shoulders.
The ten-ton weight in my stomach turned into a full-blown hard-on in my pants, and I imagined her and her hot little body straddling me on the chair.
Good enough.
I cleared my throat. “Just try to be quick, okay?”
CHAPTER 12
JULIET
I was shameless. Absolutely without any pride, and I should lock myself up until I stopped going into heat every time this guy was around. Every damn time.
Tate’s older-than-dirt CD player had some kind of alarm clock on it, and I accidentally hit a button and then the damn thing wouldn’t shut off when I jammed the power button. Several times. And then I started hitting other buttons. And then I turned the volume down. And turned it. And turned it. And turned it. And nothing.
And then Jax had climbed over, his long hair hanging in his face and looking straight off the cover of one of those romance novels where the superhot savage is ripping off the petticoats of the pampered city girl, and I froze.
Frickin’ froze, and I didn’t want him to leave.
He picked up the chair with one hand and moved it into the bathroom.
“What are you doing?” I asked, following him.
He sat down, facing the mirror. “I need to be able to see you.”
See me? What was he so afraid of? I thought to myself. But I kept quiet, knowing he wouldn’t tell me even if I asked.
From the moment I’d offered to do his hair, he’d stilled and looked scared, and for the second time, Jaxon Trent backed away from me. The first being two years ago when I’d asked about his lack of tattoos.
I came up behind him, trying not to smile at his huge frame in Tate’s small bathroom—but one look at his wary eyes staring back at me through the mirror, and I stopped. He looked as if he was ready to bolt at any sign of danger.
I placed my hands on his bare shoulders, wanting to show him that I understood his apprehension. I didn’t like to be groomed, either.
“Do you know I purposely failed a test senior year so you would have to tutor me?” I blurted out, trying to distract him as I gently pulled out his hair from his brown rubber band—the ones you get in the office supply section that are terrible for hair.
I looked up and met his eyes again, keeping my face even. He watched me like a hawk, his heavy breaths making it very clear that he was still uncomfortable.
“We shared a math class,” I said, setting down the rubber band and threading my fingers through his gorgeous black-brown hair that was longer than mine. “You tutored kids in the morning, and I wanted to spend time with you, so I failed a test on the chance that you’d have to help me.”
He leaned back in the chair, relaxing a little more, and my stomach fluttered with the sexy little smile curling his lips.
“Yeah, but it blew up in my face,” I laughed nervously, spraying some detangler in his hair. “My mom found out and hired a personal tutor at home.” I held his cold locks in my hand, piece by piece, spraying. “So that sucked. I had to waste an extra hour three times a week for a month for a test I could’ve passed. It was embarrassing.”