At the sound of Nisha’s husky voice, his mouth went suddenly dry. Maybe he should have taken that water, after all. The moment he laid eyes on her, he was overwhelmed by needful yearning. Even in her simple, all-black outfit, she blew him away.
Not that anything about Nisha Jackson was ever simple. She toed that line of professional and sexy, showing just a hint of skin to drive a man wild. The fluttery top she wore today had short sleeves and a dip right in the front that gave him a very much appreciated glimpse of her cleavage. Her tight pants highlighted her thick thighs and that fat, spankable ass that made his brain go numb and his dick stand at attention. He wouldn’t let himself imagine what she was wearing under those pants. He could only control himself so much, and if he started thinking about running his hands over her plump bottom and giving it a good smack before diving in with his tongue—.
“Ten?” Nisha's brows drew together.
“You all right?”
"Yeah. Sorry.” His face flushed, and he was certain she knew exactly what he was thinking. She narrowed her eyes a bit. Fuck. Busted. In a rush, he blurted out, “You look beautiful today. Not just today,” he hurriedly clarified. “Every day. Always.” Blyad. “What I meant to say—.”
“Bro,” Billie cut in dramatically and slashed her fingers across her neck. “Stop digging.”
“Right.” His ears were burning, and he felt ridiculous and flustered like he was fourteen again, his voice cracking when he tried to ask out Daria Kwiatkowski in front of all her friends.
Nisha smiled gently. “Come on. Let’s get you in my chair before you open that mouth again and say something really silly.”
Billie giggled, and he shot her a glare. Most people would immediately clam up and apologize, but not this girl. She was like an annoying kid sister who always had to poke and prod.
When they reached Nisha’s station, he warily eyed the chair. “I’m not sure I’ll fit.”
“I fit,” she said reassuringly.
He frowned. “You’re also a foot shorter than me.”
“But a foot wider,” she remarked lightly.
“Hardly,” he grumbled, not at all happy that she would put herself down like that. Feeling more confident now that they were alone in her corner of the salon, he lowered his voice so only she would hear. “I meant what I said, Nisha. You’re beautiful. Today. Yesterday. Tomorrow. You’re the hottest fucking woman in this city.”
She gulped with surprise. “Ten.”
He stepped closer than he had ever dared. When she didn’t immediately step back, he took that as a good sign. She wasn’t putting up walls today. She was letting him in, and he was going to go as far she would let him.
Her perfume drove him wild, and he wanted to lean in and drag his nose along her neck and pulse points, to scent her like the dirty dog he was. “You smell good.”
She swallowed hard again, and her gaze dropped to his chest. “It’s Lost Cherry.” She finally dared to lift her gaze to his. “Tom Ford.”
He made sure to burn that piece of information into his brain for later use. He locked eyes with her, taking in the dark pools that seemed suddenly hazy. Feeling bold, he admitted, “I didn’t come here just for the haircut.”
“I figured as much.” Her gaze flicked to his mouth and then back to his eyes. “You’ve never been subtle about your interest, even if I don’t understand why a man like you would want anything to do with me.”
“Stop,” he commanded, not wanting to hear any of that nonsense. “Let’s get real, Nisha. You’re my superior in every way. I’m lucky you’re even letting me stand this close.”
She lifted her chin. “I’m considering letting you get even closer.”
His lips twitched with a smile. “How close?"