Page 41 of Love Wells Kept

“I’ve never had to shave your face, no. But I have plenty of experience shaving much more…delicate areas. I’ll be careful.”

His eyes go wide and his cheeks turn a brilliant shade of red. “On me?”

My guttural laugh echoes through the small space. “Oh my God, no. I’ve never shaved your balls, Jackson. I would, if you really wanted me to, but maybe we should make sure you’re happy with the job I do on your face first.”

“I d-don’t…no,” he stammers, blush spreading to redden his ears and create splotchy red marks down his neck.

I pick up the trimmer and smile at his reflection. “I love this. I haven’t seen you this flustered since we first started dating. Used to be my favorite hobby—making you blush.”

His hand scrubs his cheek. “So you’ve always been a bully.”

Moving to stand directly in front of him, I flick the power switch on the trimmer and it hums to life. Buzzing fills the air. “Bullied the hottest cowboy on the ranch into sleeping with me.”

Jackson’s quick to avert his gaze. So much like the young, shy boy I met when I first moved here, who couldn’t get through a simple interaction with me without turning into a sun-ripe tomato. And I was much more covert with my attempts to make him blush then—certainly no comments about shaving his balls or convincing him to sleep with me.

I move in closer, until Jackson can’t decide where is safest to look, so after a tiny glance into my eyes, he opts to close his. Two fans of eyelashes, tipped in gold, flutter slightly when I cup his chin to angle his face to the left.

“Can I say…I actually think you look really good with a beard. Not anything that might get you mistaken for a member of ZZ Top, but if you wanted to keep it neatly trimmed instead of clean-shaven, I wouldn’t complain.”

“Are you going to keep trimming it for me?”

“Anytime.” With a soft exhale, like I’m blowing out a candle, I clear the loose hair from his cheek to make sure I didn’t miss a patch.

“You’re the boss. I’ll keep the beard.”

It’s not long before the searing heat in my lower back is distracting. I stretch. His eyes open to meet mine, and we quietly study each other. Complexion no longer infused with pink, he’s more pale than usual. Even his freckles have faded to a dull tawny color. A lack of long hours in the sun, home-cooked food, and proper sleep will do that, I suppose.

I bow my back in a cat-like stretch, then arch it the other way. “Sorry, this chair is so low, my back feels like it’s going to snap in half.”

“You don’t have to do this.”

I raise a brow at his half-shaven face. “You’re incredibly handsome, but I don’t think you can pull off this look.”

“Okay, well…will it help if I stand up?”

“And risk you getting dizzy? Absolutely not.”

“What if you just…” His knees knock together, and he hesitantly pats his lap.

I consider making a risqué comment. It would be so easy to bring some life back into his face. But instead I straddle his thighs and lower myself onto his lap. It’s more of a squat, since I don’t trust his strength or this rickety old chair to support both of us, but it takes some pressure off my lower back and puts me at the perfect height to finish trimming his overgrown beard.

But here, I’m close to him. Closer than I’ve been in weeks. The heat of his breath unfurls something deep in my core, and the dark expanses of his eyes melt me. I silently remind myself that I can’t treat him like the husband I know and love right now. It takes everything in me to keep from kissing him. Grinding against his lap. Running my hands all over his body and feeling his touch all over mine.

Who knew shaving his face could be this intimate?

I take a deep breath before resuming the beard trim.

Jackson cuts through the silence. “Was this what it was like when you took care of my mom?”

“Yes, I also frequently shaved her face.” I laugh, my finger tilting his chin up. “No. This isn’t the same at all. For one, because by the time I arrived, there wasn’t any hope to be found here. My job was ensuring she was comfortable for her last few months. And for two, because that was a job and this is me upholding my end of our wedding vows.”

“Mom didn’t make it to our wedding, I’m guessing?”

“We eloped, so nobody came, actually.” The memory of that day inflates my chest. “But no, we didn’t get married until a few years after she’d passed. She knew how I felt about you, though. I didn’t have anybody else around here to confide in, and Lucy was such a romantic. She loved hearing every little detail—the first time you and I sat up talking all night, our first kiss, all of it. She ate it up.”

I feel the weight of his gaze as I start trimming the hair on his upper lip. At one point I’d tried hard to convince him that a mustache would look good, and he argued until he was blue in the face that he’d look like he belonged in a seventies porn movie. This would be the perfect opportunity to run away with the trimmer, but I don’t think he’d fight me on it. And oddly enough, that makes the idea of him sporting a mustache so much less exciting to me.

Once I’m confident I haven’t missed patches of hair, I tilt back slightly to check that his sideburns are even, and Jackson’s large hand instinctively comes up to brace my back. I feel the burn of his splayed fingers through my shirt. The protective grip of his fingertips firmly pressing into my flesh. Heat prickles from my core down the fronts of my thighs.