A revolver. Holy f**k! I had no idea Christian owned a gun. I take it out, slip the release and check the cylinder. It's fully loaded, but light . . . too light. It must be carbon fiber. What does Christian want with a gun? Jeez, I hope he knows how to use it. Ray's perpetual warnings about handguns run quickly through my mind. His army training was never lost. These will kill you, Ana. You need to know what you're doing when you're handling a firearm. I put the gun back and find the scissors. Retrieving them quickly, I bolt back to Christian, my head buzzing. Taylor and Mrs. Jones . . . the revolver . . . At the entrance to the great room, I run into Taylor.
"Mrs. Grey, excuse me." His face reddens as he quickly takes in my attire.
"Um, Taylor, hi . . . um. I'm cutting Christian's hair!" I blurt out, embarrassed. Taylor is as mortified as I am. He opens his mouth to say something then closes it quickly and stands aside.
"After you, ma'am," he says formally. I think I'm the color of my old Audi, the submissive special. Jeez. Could this be more embarrassing?
"Thank you," I mutter and dash down the hallway. Crap! Will I ever get used to the fact that we're not alone? I dash into the bathroom, breathless.
"What's wrong?" Christian is standing in front of the mirror, holding my shoes. All of my scattered clothes are now neatly piled beside the sink.
"I just ran into Taylor."
"Oh." Christian frowns. "Dressed like that."
Oh shit! "That's not Taylor's fault."
Christian's frown deepens. "No. But still."
"I'm dressed."
"Barely."
"I don't know who was more embarrassed, me or him." I try my distraction technique. "Did you know he and Gail are . . . well, together?"
Christian laughs. "Yes, of course I knew."
"And you never told me?"
"I thought you knew, too."
"No."
"Ana, they're adults. They live under the same roof. Both unattached. Both attractive."
I flush, feeling foolish for not having noticed.
"Well, if you put it like that . . . I just thought Gail was older than Taylor." "She is, but not by much." He gazes at me, perplexed. "Some men like older women - " He stops abruptly and his eyes widen. I scowl at him. "I know that," I snap.
Christian looks contrite. He smiles fondly at me. Yes! My distraction technique successful! My subconscious rolls her eyes at me - but at what cost? Now the unmentionable Mrs. Robinson is looming over us.
"That reminds me," he says, brightly.
"What?" I mutter petulantly. Grabbing the chair, I turn it to face the mirror above the sinks. "Sit," I order. Christian regards me with indulgent amusement, but does as he's told and sits back down in the chair. I start to comb through his now merely damp hair.
"I was thinking we could convert the rooms over the garages for them at the new place," Christian continues. "Make it a home. Then maybe Taylor's daughter could stay with him more often." He watches me carefully in the mirror.
"Why doesn't she stay here?"
"Taylor's never asked me."
"Perhaps you should offer. But we'd have to behave ourselves."
Christian's brow furrows. "I hadn't thought of that."
"Perhaps that's why Taylor hasn't asked. Have you met her?"
"Yes. She's a sweet thing. Shy. Very pretty. I pay for her schooling."
Oh! I stop combing and stare at him in the mirror.
"I had no idea."
He shrugs. "Seemed the least I could do. Also, it means he won't quit."
"I'm sure he likes working for you."
Christian stares at me blankly then shrugs. "I don't know."
"I think he's very fond of you, Christian." I resume combing and glance at him. His eyes don't leave mine.
"You think?"
"Yes. I do."
He snorts, a dismissive yet content sound, as if he's secretly pleased that his staff may like him.
"Good. Will you talk to Gia about the rooms over the garage?"
"Yes, of course." I don't feel the same irritation I did before at the mention of her name. My subconscious nods sagely at me. Yes . . . we done good today. My inner goddess gloats. Now she'll leave my husband alone and not make him uncomfortable.
I am ready to cut Christian's hair. "You sure about this? Your last chance to bail."
"Do your worst, Mrs. Grey. I don't have to look at me, you do."
I grin. "Christian, I could look at you all day."
He shakes his head exasperated. "It's just a pretty face, baby."
"And behind it is a very pretty man." I kiss his temple. "My man."
He grins shyly.
Lifting the first lock, I comb it upward and snare it between my index and middle finger. I put the comb in my mouth, take the scissors and make the first snip, cutting an inch off the length. Christian closes his eyes and sits like a statue, sighing contentedly as I continue. Occasionally he opens his eyes, and I catch him watching me intently. He doesn't touch me while I work, and I'm grateful. His touch is . . . distracting.
Fifteen minutes later, I'm done.
"Finished." I'm pleased with the result. He looks as hot as ever, his hair still floppy and sexy . . . just a bit shorter. Christian gazes at himself in the mirror, looking pleasantly surprised. He grins. "Great job, Mrs. Grey." He turns his head from side to side and snakes his arm around me. Pulling me to him, he kisses and nuzzles my belly.
"Thank you," he says.
"My pleasure." I bend and kiss him briefly.