Chapter 3

I laughed out loud at that comment. Once you can get past the on-my-God-it’s-Jon-Bon-Jovi, he’s really just an incredibly funny guy with a good sense of humor. “You’re too much. Now, what do I call you? You going formal on me, Mr. Kidd, or can I use your given name?”

“Jon is fine with me,” he said, laughing.

“OK, Jon, let’s get you washed. Follow me.” I led him to the back of the salon to the row of sinks fronted by armless salon chairs. “Take a seat.” I reached over his head for a towel to wrap around his neck, and a smock to cover his clothes. I gathered his hair up and told him to lean back and to just relax. He settled into my sink and closed his eyes. His fingers were laced together over his chest, his legs slightly parted. Down girl. I turned on the faucets.

As I picked up the sprayer, he said on a groan, “I just love the sensual feeling of having your hair washed by someone else. It’s my very favorite guilty pleasure.” I jumped and hit the trigger on the nozzle, spraying cold water all over myself. Shrieking, I reached over to turn off the water. As I was bent over, damned if Jon didn’t jerk upwards and collide with my, um, shall we say, ample endowments? God, I was mortified. I jumped back, tripped over one of his feet, and fell flat on my ass.

“Shit, are you alright,” he asked. He was containing his laughter, but just barely.

I took one look into those eyes, the little laugh lines around them, and the twitch in one corner of his mouth and lost it. I threw my head back and laughed. Laughed my ass off. “Gimme a hand up,” I said, extending a hand for him to grab. Once safely on my feet, I scowled at him. “Dammit, Jon, you can’t say stuff like that. Not in that sexy voice of yours. Jesus, it’s a wonder I didn’t drown you with my hose.”

He let the laughter he’d been holding back loose now, rolls of it. That threatened to put me back on my ass. “Sorry, darlin’,” he said, not at all sorry.

I called him on it. “No, you are not sorry.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” he agreed. “That was too much fun. I don’t know why, but it gives me great pleasure to discombobulate you.”

“Ooooh, a fifty dollar word. So you’re more than just a pretty face, are ya?” I reached up to re-secure some of the hair that had fallen from the clips during my oh-so-graceful-ass-plant, and Jon’s laughter dried up. Shit. Did I cross the line with that remark? I looked in his eyes for some sign of what I did wrong. Gulp. They had narrowed a little, and darkened to the color of a perfect August afternoon sky. “Hey,” I asked, “what’s wrong?” Then it dawned on me. I swear, you could hear the light switch flicking on. Take pale pink cotton, add cold water, and what do you get? A peep show, that’s what. I think I turned the color of ketchup. Maybe the color of a Coke can; I’m not sure which.

“Oh my God!” I screeched. “I’ll be right back.” I all but ran from the salon (real professional, right?) into the back room. I stopped in front of the mirror back there and groaned. Yep, there was pretty much nothing left to the imagination here. The cotton was molded to my body; the outline of my bra clearly visible, not to mention my nips. Great. So didn’t need this embarrassment today. Not any day for that matter.

I chanced a glance back through the door into the salon, and saw the nearly empty chair. In place of that gorgeous hunk of man was a discarded smock and towel. Oh well. I guess I don’t blame him for taking off. This’ll still be a hell of a story to tell the girls tomorrow.

I turned my back on the salon and started unbuttoning my shirt, heading toward the laundry area and a warm, dry towel. I had slipped the wet shirt to the floor, and was bending to take a towel from the dryer when I heard a sharp intake of breath at the doorway, then a man’s voice. His voice.