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Her auburn hair looks darker because it’s damp, falling in curls around her face and down her back. My breath hitches in my chest when I look at her, fresh-faced and clean. She’s gorgeous. That’s half the reason I feel strange about her, surely. Because she’s probably the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and I’m a normal, hot-blooded male.
But it isn’t lust that makes me reach out for her, tug her down onto the bed while she has a comb in her hand.
She squeaks, like a little mouse, and it makes me chuckle.
“Let me do it.” I take the comb from her hand.
She frowns. “I am perfectly capable of combing my own hair.”
“Shut up, I’m trying to be nice.” I position her between my legs, her back to my chest.
She’s only wearing a towel, and her damp skin against mine makes need clench in my lower abdomen.
“Since when are you nice?”
“Since always.” I hum as I drag the comb through the ends of her hair, and then the middle.
Bree scoffs, but she doesn’t move, and I smile as she settles back against me.
“How do you know to start at the ends?”
“I do have two sisters, you know?”
“I have a hard time believing that nannies didn’t do the hair brushing.”
“Sometimes,” I say. “But there was a time when Paige wouldn’t go to sleep at all unless me or Gray brushed hers out. Her curls could be difficult, and she wouldn’t let the nanny touch her with a ten-foot pole.”
“That’s actually kind of sweet,” she murmurs. “Rory would never brush out my hair.”
I chuckle. “What can I say? I’ve got a soft spot for Paige.”
“Everyone does,” she agrees.
“Even you?”
“Especially me.” She shifts, turning to look at me, and I take her chin in my hand and turn her face so that I can get to the baby hairs at her temple.
“Paige is easy to love.”
Bree goes quiet, as if she doesn’t want to continue the conversation, so I change the subject.
“Did you have fun in Vegas?”
She’s still silent for a long moment but then she finally answers, “Yes.”
“Me, too. I never thought of Vegas as a honeymoon spot, but it turned out all right.”
“Have you ever thought about honeymoon destinations?”
I shrug. “Not really. I never thought about getting married.”
“I did,” she whispers, a hint of sadness in her voice, and I feel a pang of guilt.
“What did you imagine?”
“A white dress. My father walking me down the aisle.”
“He doesn’t seem like the type of man to do a daddy/daughter dance,” I comment, and she pulls away from me, frowning.
