Undone by His Touch

‘Of course, Mr Carstairs. I’m happy to help. But I should warn you, I’ve never shaved anyone.’

‘Then I’ll be your first.’ His mouth widened in a slow smile that snagged her heart mid-beat. ‘A first for us both.’

Not once in these last weeks had he smiled at her properly. Chloe wished fervently he hadn’t decided to begin. She sagged against the worktop, her hand to the pulse trembling in her throat. Just as well he couldn’t see her.

Even blind and scarred the man was devastating. What would he be like if he set his mind to seducing a woman?

She should be grateful for his usually brusque manner. It was a buffer to what she guessed could be formidable charm. His rare smile set her heart hammering.

‘Shall we say my bathroom in five?’

Though she’d lived with Mark for almost a year, Chloe hadn’t realised how intimate shaving a man could be.

Standing between Declan’s splayed knees as he sat on the bathroom stool, jammed between the basin on her right and the wall at her back, she felt hemmed in. Not by the room, but by his proximity.

Her breathing shallowed as she slid the razor over his foamy cheek, too aware of the soft puff of his breath against her shirt and the heat of his legs around hers.

Her hand trembled and slowed.

‘Like this.’ His hand closed on hers, guiding her. She tried to concentrate on the shape of his jaw, the need to be careful. Yet her mind kept straying to the way his long fingers encircled hers.

‘Got it?’ His hand dropped and she sucked in a breath.

‘I think so.’ She cleaned the blade then made herself lean in, stoically ignoring his citrus scent and concentrating on the next stroke of the blade.

He sat statue-still and she told herself this would get easier. Except she made the mistake of looking into his eyes between strokes, intrigued to find they weren’t blank as expected. Even unseeing they fascinated her. Deepest brown, so dark they hinted at blackness, yet rayed at the centre with a rim of golden shards.

‘Chloe?’ The question in his voice focused her wandering thoughts.

‘Yes, Mr Carstairs?’ This time she dared to tilt his chin for better access, telling herself the faster she got this done the sooner he’d leave and she’d be alone, safe from these unsettling feelings.

‘Just checking,’ he murmured. ‘Given the circumstances, you can drop the “Mr Carstairs”. It sounds too formal when you’re holding a razor to my throat.’

Chloe rinsed off the razor and tilted his head further to the side, trying to ignore the fact his face was bare inches from her breasts. And that her nipples puckered flagrantly against the lace of her bra.

‘You are my employer,’ she protested, clinging to formality to counter the rising tide of utterly inappropriate feelings. She looked down, registering the way his jeans clung to solid, muscled thighs and felt a jab of longing deep in her belly.

‘So, if I don’t mind you calling me Declan, there’s no reason to refuse.’

Silently she shook her head and ventured another stroke down the hard line of his cheek. The scrape of the blade against his skin was curiously sensuous. There was something intriguing about revealing the strong contours of his face with each careful stroke.

‘Do it, Chloe.’ The words feathered the bare flesh above the top button of her shirt and a line of tingling fire ran from her tight breasts to her groin.

‘Sorry?’

‘Say my name.’

‘I really don’t think …’ It was stupid to refuse, but at some instinctive level she knew she’d be crossing into dangerous territory from which there’d be no retreat.

‘Are you contradicting me?’ His deep voice slid like silk across her skin.

‘Are you ordering me?’

She watched his mouth lift at one corner.

‘How did you get this job when you’re so unwilling to comply with reasonable requests?’

It was on the tip of her tongue to say that calling him Declan wasn’t reasonable. That it might reveal the pent-up longing she’d been trying so hard to repress, the very unprofessional thoughts she’d been able to hide only because he couldn’t see.

‘If that’s what you want,’ she said grudgingly.

‘I want.’

His eyes lowered. Did he realise he appeared to be looking straight at her breasts? Was that why a smile flickered at the corner of his mouth? She made to step back, only to find his thighs imprisoned her. A pulse of sensation throbbed low in her body.

‘As you wish.’

‘Out loud, Chloe.’

She drew a deep breath, telling herself she was making a mountain out of a molehill.

‘Declan.’

There. It was done. The word was easy and she sounded confident.

So why did she lick her lips as if she’d just tasted a forbidden delicacy? Why the jitter of excitement at the echo of his name on her tongue?

‘Good. Now, stop delaying. I know it must look appalling but it’s just dead skin.’

For a moment Chloe stared, uncomprehending. Then finally she realised. His scar. She’d stopped before shaving there. He thought she was wary of touching it.

Carefully she rinsed the razor.

‘It doesn’t look appalling.’ The words emerged, a hoarse whisper, before she knew they’d even formulated in her mind.

‘Don’t give me that!’ The lingering trace of amusement died and his lips thinned in a cruel, hard line. ‘I don’t need lies to keep me sweet. I know I look like the very devil.’

‘No.’ The choked protest welled from her.

That long, mobile mouth twisted in a sneer. ‘No?’ His nostrils flared as he dragged in a breath that pumped his whole torso. ‘Then what, pray tell, does it look like?’ Cynicism skeined through his words like silk.

The venom, the strength of his anger, was a vibrant, living force, pulsing from him in waves. Instinctively Chloe stepped back, or tried to. His thighs, iron-hard and unmoveable, trapped her. Something hot twisted low in her belly.

‘Come on, Chloe,’ he taunted. ‘I deserve to know.’

Her mouth flattened at his baiting tone, even as she realised his fury stemmed from issues that had nothing to do with her. That he was still coming to grips with the legacy of the accident that had blinded him.

‘I didn’t say it’s beautiful.’