*****
Zak lay back on the sofa, which seemed to have become his space, while Chloe sat with her knees drawn up to her chin on the cushioned chair, which seemed to have become her space of safety. Once again, her appetite was non-existent. He, on the other hand, had almost had an orgasm over this pizza she had ordered. He’d watched her carefully as she’d ordered the food over the phone, just like on the TV, and in the time it had taken her to make herself a coffee and take a shower, a young man had arrived at the door with the delectable smelling pizzas. He felt bad watching her hand over money for the pizza, wishing he could offer to pay her back sometime soon, but he wasn’t sure he’d be around to pay her back . . . The best he could do was thank her.
He was hungry as hell, but forced himself to wait while she set the pizzas down beside the plates and napkins on the coffee table. His first instinct was to dive into those boxes and stuff himself with as much of this pizza food as he could, but he remembered men coming back from the wars, ramming food down their throats like animals and he didn’t want to be one of them. It took ruthless self-control, stomach growling, saliva drenching his mouth; he waited until she’d dished the pizza onto his plane before beginning to eat. He sat there chewing at least five times prior to swallowing, drinking the divine fizzy liquid she’d ordered in between mouthfuls.
His eyes caught sight of her plate, just one triangle of the divine pie had she eaten, same as yesterday. “You need to eat more, or you’ll lose your strength.”
She laughed; a sexy laugh that put him on edge. “I’m just not hungry, Zak,” she said, her hair was loose and he loved the way it fell against her face in long silky strands every time she moved her head. “Being kidnapped in your home by a man who moves through steel bars can do that to a girl.”
Zak squeezed the napkin in his fist. “I told you, I won’t be here long and then you can get back to your life again.”
Her feet were bare and his eyes were drawn to them; her toenails coloured a soft, pink colour he found incredibly sexy. Like nothing he’d ever seen He wanted to kneel down in front of her, kiss and suck each one of those delicate toes before moving up to her knees, her thighs . . . Zak’s body quickened and he lifted his gaze to stare into her honey-gold eyes; keeping his expression deliberately blank.
So do you have a plan on what you’re going to do next?”
“I know what I’m going to do next.”
“Can you share it with me?” Her expression turned serious; she was so easy to read, so different to anyone he’d ever known. He should never have gotten her involved in this.
“Do you have a scissors?”
Her face paled and it was like a punch in his stomach, knowing that she was physically afraid of him.
“W-what do you want a scissors for?” She almost managed to sound calm.
“I need to cut my hair,” he answered, watching the colour slowly return to her face.
“That’s not going to stop people from recognising you, Zak.”
He loved the way she said his name, imagining her saying it under different circumstances . . . Shaking his head, trying to steer his one-track mind in a different direction, Zak replied, “I’m not doing it so that people won’t recognise me, it’s getting on my nags.”
She laughed and he felt it all the way down to his groin. “You mean getting on your nerves.”
He dropped his gaze, before she caught the hot desire in his eyes; instead he stared at those slim, shapely feet with those delicious coloured toenails. “Getting on my nerves – yes that’s it,” he paused, slowly lifting his eyes. “So, do you have a scissors?”
“Are you going to cut your hair yourself?”
“Sure, why not?”
She stood up, gazing down at him as he rested his head against the back of the sofa, enjoying the view. “I’ll get my hair scissors - and cut it for you.”
Zak stiffened, the idea of her holding a scissors close to his head, his throat, did not seem like a good idea. “You’re not going to try anything stupid, are you?”
Standing with her hands on her hips, she sighed – frustrated. “I’m going to cut your hair, if that’s what you want.”
“Okay, just don’t try anything stupid.” Zak was pretty sure she wasn’t the type to get violent, even if it meant a possible escape, even with a pair of scissors, she wouldn’t have a chance against him – not physically anyway. Emotionally was a different story though, he had the uncomfortable feeling that if she wanted, she could bring him to his knees emotionally. He should be leaving today, he knew it, had had it drummed into him a hundred times during the training and prep. But he was stalling, and that could be a lethal mistake, stalling because of a woman, a woman who made him feel more alive than he ever had in his miserable life
She made him sit at one of the kitchen stools and placed a square, framed mirror in front of him. He stared at himself in the mirror not very happy with what he saw there; it wasn’t his long, shaggy hair that was bothering him, it was the heated excitement in his eyes, heated excitement that equalled weakness, and he couldn’t afford any weaknesses, not on the most important mission of his life. But idea of her cutting his hair, having all her attention as well as her hands on him, was just too tempting, and he was giving into that temptation, allowing his body to rule his head. Unable to bear the pathetic truth revealed in those eyes reflecting back at him, Zak turned away. Chloe was exiting the bedroom carrying a rectangular black box and a small, pink towel. As he watched her move with towards him, his mind seemed to shrink, unable to focus on anything but her.
“Were you a hair-cutter before?” he asked, as she placed the black box on the counter beside him.
She laughed, and for a moment their eyes met in the mirror; heat pooled in his groin before she looked away, a frown marring her smooth forehead. Was she regretting her offer to cut his hair? Was it normal for women to cut men’s hair in this world? For him it felt like a very intimate act. Where he came from men cut their own hair, he wasn’t sure about the women. He usually borrowed a large metal scissors from the old lady who repaired their clothes, and cut his hair in front of a triangular piece of mirror stuck to the wall in the communal bathroom.
“We call them hairdressers,” she was saying, and Zak brought his mind back to the present, trying to catch her eye in the mirror again, but she kept her gaze lowered.
“Hairdressers,” he repeated, as she covered his neck and shoulders with a small pink towel. “So were you a hairdresser before you started working for the police?”
“I don’t work for the police,” her eyes flickered up and then quickly down again. “And no, I’ve never been a hairdresser, I just used to cut my fringe myself before I decided to let it grow.”
Zak wasn’t sure what a fringe was, but he didn’t want to bombard her with trivial questions, didn’t want to sound stupid or alien, even if he was an alien in this world of hers.
“What is this for?” he asked, fingering the fluffy, pink towel.
“It’s to stop the hair from getting onto your clothes and your skin,” she explained.
He thought about it for a second, then nodded, it made sense. She leaned over, her body brushing against his, and Zak’s senses surged, he could smell her; that sensual, distinctive fragrance that got him hard within seconds. Thank God he was sitting down, or she would surely see the effect she was having on him; linking his fingers, he settled them on his lap, covering the erection growing beneath his jeans.
Reaching for the black box, she flicked it open and withdrew a long slim, shiny scissors. It was beautiful, nothing like the big, rusty one he normally used. Zak stared at it, as she threaded her slim fingers into the two loops, opening and closing it, steel against steel emitting a clear, sharp sound.
“It’s beautiful,” he said softly, catching her eye in the mirror.
“What, the scissors?”
“Yes, is it very sharp?”
Her golden eyes widened. “You don’t think I’m going to
use it as a weapon, do you?”
Zak smiled, shaking his head. “No,” he replied. “You wouldn’t have a chance against me anyway. It’s just – like no other scissors I’ve seen before.”
“It was quite expensive.” She stared at the scissors, then back at him through the mirror, pausing for a beat. “Do you want to feel it?”
He ignored the way his body jumped at the suggestive question, nodding instead. “If you don’t mind.”
She hesitated, then closed them and laid them on the soft palm of her hand, offering them to him.