Page 53 of Trusting the Fall
The pretty peony wallpaper on one wall makes the entire space pull together, looking elegant and striking. It’s exactly what I was going for. Exactly the feeling I wanted to evoke in this space. Feminine and confident.
It’s like he knows what I need better than I do. He understands me, and it’s fucking terrifying.
There’s a riot of commotion battling between my head and my heart. I can’t make heads or tails of my emotions.
“What do you think?”
I startle at the intrusion on my thoughts. Confusion clouds my senses even more as I take in Leif, slowly approaching from the direction of my classroom.
He’s still in his work clothes, tan work boots and cargo shorts, the navy-blue Connors Construction T-shirt that makes his veiny forearms and bulging biceps look so beautifully tanned. Reminding me of how warm and strong they are when I’m locked within their grasp. And that backwards cap.
Damn him for being so hot.
I sniff in indifference, turning my head to look around, trying to look unimpressed.
“It’s fine.” I shrug, earning a chuckle that says he doesn’t believe me at all.
“Really? Just fine?” He’s taunting me.
My back stiffens as he steps closer, bringing that delicious leather and sandalwood scent with him. Don’t inhale. Don’t inhale. Don’t inhale.
Goosebumps dance across my skin as it surrounds me, and my lungs fill in delight. Dammit. He smells so good.
“Yeah. It’ll do.” I shrug.
He walks behind me, far too close for what I can handle. The heat from his body radiates off him and kisses my skin.
I’m desperate to melt into him. Horny bitch. It’s been six days since we last slept together. I’ve had far longer dry spells than this. Not that this is a dry spell. I’m just not looking for sex, and I’m perfectly capable of deciding on the frequency with which I get it.
The whole Leif/Lee thing has just rattled me, and I haven’t had time to reset my brain yet. My pussy is also thoroughly unsatisfied with my vibrator because it turns out she has high standards, and those standards peaked with Leif.
His minty breath assaults me as he leans over my shoulder and whispers right next to my ear. “I think you like it more than just fine, Bombshell.”
“Don’t call me that,” I say, throwing it over my shoulder as I walk away. It doesn’t hold the usual insistence I throw at it. In fact, I hate that I kind of love it. And miss it.
As I creep further into the salon, taking in the changes, I can’t stop the bubbles of excitement that simmer in my belly.
So much of the space has come together in a short time, and I can’t help but think a lot of it has happened because of Leif’s influence. He’s taken over my salon while Westley’s been on holiday. Not that Westley hasn’t been working hard here. He has, and I’ve enjoyed coming to visit him and trusting him with my dream. But Leif has taken it personally.
I don’t know why. What’s in it for him? Is this how he is with everyone, or just me?
It takes me back to when I first learned his name and questioned why he told me to call him Leif when everyone else calls him Lee. What makes me so special? So different?
Is that why he keeps suggesting all these changes at the salon, because he sees something I don’t? Something in me? Us?
God, I’m not ready for that level of vulnerability.
I’m so trapped in my thoughts that when I turn back to him, I don’t notice a pile of offcut tiles in my path. Before I can think, I feel my steps faltering, trying to regain balance, but it’s no use. I’m going down. I crash to my knees and land with an awkward roll over my arms.
“Shit, Claire!” Warm hands land on my hip with a gentle reverence. “You’re bleeding. Hold on to me, baby.”
His hands guide mine behind his neck before he scoops me under my back and knees, carrying me towards the back room. Slow and careful, he sits me on a workbench set up in the middle of the room.
“Are you hurt?” he asks, holding my cheeks firmly between his rough and warm hands.
“Just my pride,” I say, staring deep into those blue eyes.
He looks over me, assessing before sucking in a breath.
