Page 17 of Penny
Emily
His eyes were hooded but attentive. They made my heavy limbs lighten, and I lifted my head.
“You were meant to bring a man to his knees,” he said confidently, studying me like I did to a favorite art piece. It’s what I needed to latch on to for my safety, and his praise empowered me. My body was a weapon, and I planned to make it lethal.
“Thank you,” I whispered, stepping toward him, wanting to look at him from under my lashes. I knew the darkness of my brows and eyelashes contrasted with the lightness of my eyes, making them entrancing.
He looked at my chest, and I hissed in a breath of air between my teeth, pushing out my breasts to press against his white shirt. His muscles weren’t as large as Connor’s, but his pecs were toned, outlining his strength through his shirt that made a shiver roll down my spine. I lifted my hand to hover over his forearm. The heat of his skin seeped through my pores, and his dark eyes looked down on me, reminding me, with his flecks of amber lighting his stare, that he was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, and I was his prey.
The doorbell chimed, and I took a step back. Cold air blew across my heated skin, reminding me of my situation.
“I’ll go get the hairdresser and bring her up here. Make yourself comfortable in the bathroom. You may want to find something to sit on,” he recommended, sweeping my hair behind my ear and turning to leave.
The door shut, and I hurriedly rushed through the room, wanting to find something to sit on. If a stranger was coming, I wanted to be prepared for someone as equally as brutal as the twins. Finding an ottoman, I pushed it into the bathroom, squaring off my shoulders and digging in deep with a grunt to shove it across the space. What was up with rich people’s furniture being so heavy? It wasn’t like the kind I built from a box that weighed twenty pounds.
My breath was a little heavy, but I sat on the chair in the massive bathroom, folding my legs and running my hand down my dress, wanting to appear put together. I supposed I was put together as much as any kidnapped woman would be.
The hairs on the back of my nape lifted, and I looked into the mirror, preparing myself. A tall blonde turned the corner into the bathroom, wearing a black long-sleeved romper. Her confidence was radiating from her stance and examining glare. I wondered if she was that confident when she had to pee and that romper took forever to take off.
“I can fix this,” she announced, knocking me down a few pegs. She leisurely looked over at Liam, and through the mirrored reflection, I saw his scowl.
“You do as she says, and you are enhancing, not fixing. Say something like that again, and I will force you to work at the studio as an actress and not as a stylist,” he growled, shifting away from her to focus his attention back on me.
The stylist’s face fell.
“Well then, uhm, let's begin. What would you like done to your hair?” she stuttered, replacing her shocked face with a placating endearing expression.
I looked at her through the mirror, debating what I wanted. My need to cut off my hair vanished, and it was replaced by the desire to tame my curls.
“Pretend she’s not here and tell me what you think you would like,” Liam cooed, shutting the toilet lid to sit on it.
“I used to want to cut off my hair,” I mumbled, wondering where my honesty came from. His eyes bulged, and his mouth fell open in shock. “I said,I used to want to.” I laughed with a brittle shake, feeling exposed.
“Why did you want to do that? Your hair is stunning,” he asked, tilting his head and furrowing his brows. His expression was honest and raw, like he genuinely cared.
“I was without a shower, so my hair became unmanageable. Not having to brush it would save me that stress,” I muttered, reluctantly confessing something he couldn’t relate to.
“Selfishly, I am glad you didn’t cut off your hair, but part of me is surprised you didn’t if it would have helped. Do you get your hair from your parents?” His arms folded over his chest, and he rocked slightly as he spoke. Each nervous shift of his hips made my defenses lower.
“No, well, maybe? I grew up in the system,” I quickly shot out, wanting that conversation done with. “Do you mind giving me a healthy trim and help me manage my curls?” I asked the hairdresser, looking over my shoulder at her.
“What do you think about me giving you a blowout today? It will last a few days with little maintenance, and then I’ll leave behind some products with notes to help you manage your natural curls,” she chimed, plastering on a grin.
I nodded, not caring really what she did as long as she gave me a trim. She draped a few protective robes around my dress, a towel behind my neck, and leaned me into the sink, rinsing my hair. The water was soothing, reminding me of rain.
Liam’s attentive gaze tickled my cheek, and I forced myself to ignore the urge to look over at him. Her hands massaged my scalp, and the flowing water soothed my chaotic emotions.
“It’s nice to see you like this,” Connor rasped from the doorway, making me lift my head up from the sink.
“Like what?” I smirked, not wanting to be presumptuous.
“You seem relaxed, and not all uptight like a stick is shoved up your ass,” he marveled, stepping into the bathroom to lean against the wall.
My brows furrowed, and I ignored his jab. Kind Connor from this morning was gone, but it did make me wonder if I was relaxed at that moment. My first day here was a roller coaster, and I constantly had to tighten my safety belt so I wouldn’t plunge to my death. Calm wouldn’t be a good word to use, but optimistic might be. I hummed in contentment to answer his statement, wanting for him to believe I was at ease.
“You done with work for the day?” Liam asked with a bite to his tone.
I had a strong feeling that if I looked over at him, his forehead would be wrinkled and his lips would be puckered.
