curious look on the way out, but the wolf paid him zero attention.
Once she’d cleaned her station, she gestured at the chair. “Ready when you are, GQ.”
Muscles bunching and rippling, he stalked toward her with a predatory purpose that sent a delicious little shiver down her spine. Warmth bloomed low in her stomach because damn if he wasn’t twelve levels of pure deliciousness.
She kept her smile professional and friendly, ensuring she looked unaffected by the visceral force of sexual chemistry that had snapped the air taut and sent her nerves haywire. And now he was looming over her, giving off all kinds of pheromones and generally muddling her thoughts.
“Want coffee or anything?” she asked.
“I’m good, thanks.”
That liquid-sex voice slid over her skin like caressing fingers. As he sank into the padded chair, his brooding eyes met hers in the large mirror, and the heat there made her stomach clench.
It wasn’t the first time that a good-looking guy had sat in her chair. Hell, there had been plenty over the years. They’d smiled and flirted and stirred her hormones, but none had ever rattled her. This one did, though. He made her feel . . . hunted.
She clipped a cape around him and then covered his nape with a neck strip. His hair was classically styled—short at the back and sides while the slightly longer hair on top was upright and swept ever so slightly to the left. She sifted her fingers through the silky strands, a little annoyed that such a simple thing made her nerve endings tingle. “It could do with a trim.”
“Which is why I’m here.”
She snorted. He was there because she’d turned him down, and his ego couldn’t quite handle it, but whatever. “Hmm.”
As she used the clippers to trim the back and sides of his head, Dominic asked, “How long have you worked here?”
“My lawyer told me I don’t have to answer that question,” she said, deadpan.
Dominic’s mouth twitched as amusement trickled through him, soothing the jagged edges of his mood. Yeah, this was just what he needed. Even his wolf began to relax, steadied by her sense of calm.
Dominic’s gut clenched as her tongue peeked out just enough to touch her lower lip. He couldn’t help picturing that tongue lapping at the head of his cock. “I heard your pride mates are big on supporting each other’s businesses and that very few of you work for outsiders. Is that why you work here and not at a salon somewhere?”
“No, I work here because it has great substance abuse coverage. Plus, having a job keeps the parole officer off my back.”
Dominic smiled. Anyone else might have thought the witty responses were her way of being friendly, but it was her way of avoiding answering personal questions. He recognized the little trick because he’d used it himself plenty of times. “You weren’t part of the battle on Mercury Pack territory.” He’d have remembered her. Remembered that voice.
“No, I was out of the country at the time.”
“Where?”
Eyes lit with mock paranoia briefly flicked left then right. “Why, what did you hear?”
“Sources say you were at the Playboy Mansion.”
She snickered. “I was in Russia visiting family.”
“The wolverine side?”
“Yes.” Mila said her goodbyes to Evander’s client as the jaguar shifter left. Then, putting down the shears, she lifted a spray bottle and spritzed water on the uncut strands on the top of Dominic’s head. “Stop staring at my mouth.”
“But it’s right there. And it looks so lonely. Does it want to meet mine?”
“Not in this lifetime.”
Chuckling, Dominic watched as she pinched his hair between her fingers and held it straight while snipping at the ends in short spurts. He let himself relax, listening to the snip of scissors, the low music, and her shoes clicking along the hardwood floor. “How long have you been singing at clubs?”
“A while.”
Dominic’s cock twitched as her tongue again peeked out to lightly touch her lower lip. He was gonna end up biting that delectable mouth if she kept that up. “Not big on giving real answers, are you?”
“Ask me an interesting question, and I’ll give you a proper answer.”
“All right. Are you dating anyone?”
Her brows drew together. “That’s not an interesting question.”
“I find this topic very interesting.”
“No, ‘interesting’ is that the fifty-star American flag was designed by a high school junior for a class project—and his teacher gave him a B minus.”
Dominic felt his brows lift. “Where did you hear that?”
“My earlier client mentioned it. He’s a schoolteacher.”