Page 72 of Slapshot Bride

His gaze moves slowly from my raised arm to the hairbrush, drops briefly to whatever ridiculous position my hips have ended up in, and finally returns to my face.

I lower my arm as much dignity as I can muster, which isn’t much considering I’m standing in his bathroom wearing nothing but a towel after he just witnessed my one-woman tribute to Aretha Franklin.

Easton presses his lips together, but his shoulders have already started shaking.

I glare at him. “How long have you been standing there?”

That’s all it takes to destroy whatever control he had left.

His laughter bursts out, loud and completely unrestrained, and he tips his head back while my entire body catches fire with embarrassment.

“Not long,” he manages eventually, although he’s laughing so hard the words barely make it out.

I narrow my eyes. “Define not long.”

“I came in while the shower was still running. Thought I’d join you.”

He looks at the hairbrush again, which sends him straight back into another fit of laughter. “But then I saw...” He gestures helplessly at me, apparently incapable of finding a word that adequately describes what he witnessed.

“You saw nothing.”

“I definitely saw something.”

“No, you didn’t.”

His grin spreads wider as he wipes beneath one eye. There is an actual tear there, which is frankly insulting.

“Baby, you know I support you to death, but stick to photography. Music...” He sucks air through his teeth and slowly shakes his head. “Not for you, my love.”

My jaw drops. “Get out.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “This is my bathroom.”

“Fine.” I point the hairbrush at him like a weapon. “You can stay, but we never speak of this again. Clearly, you just don’t know how to appreciate fine art.”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure I appreciated it plenty.”

“Easton.”

“All right.” He raises both hands, although the grin on his face does absolutely nothing to reassure me. “My lips are sealed.”

I’m caught somewhere between wanting to be angry with him and wanting the marble floor to split open and swallow me whole, but then he wipes another tear of laughter from his cheek and something about the sheer delight on his face breaks through my humiliation.

A laugh escapes me before I can stop it.

Easton’s grin softens as he watches me, and I shake my head. “You should know that if you think telling me something isn’t for me is going to make me give it up, then you really don’t know me.”

“Oh, is that so, my love?”

“It absolutely is.” I point a finger at him, but he’s moved closer while we’ve been talking, and instead of accusingly waving it in his direction, I end up poking him directly in the chest. “I should warn you, Easton Mysterious Blake, Little Miss Riley Brooks does not back down from a challenge.”

I tap his chest again for emphasis, but this time, his hand closes around my finger before I can pull it away.

“Mmm. I see.” His eyes remain on mine, amusement still sparkling in them. “And you’ve certainly proven yourself, love.”

“You have no idea.”

“I’m starting to.”