Redemption Island (Island Duet Book 1) by L.B. Dunbar

Author:L.B. Dunbar [Dunbar, L.B.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-09-14T16:00:00+00:00

19

Day 33 – Juliet

My hands shook as I took the blade from him. He sat on the stump seat and offered me the mug with soap. Holding the mug, he poured water over the shaving soap. He lathered his own jaw, and I stared at the motion. His cheeks filled with thick suds. Holding the brush, he flicked the remaining soap away from us.

“Stand behind me. Work the blade against the grain, like shaving your legs.” I chuckled as it had been a while since I did that. Today had been the first time in a week. I walked behind him and tipped his head by cupping his chin to rest against my belly. His green eyes looked up at me as the blade rose to his neck. Quickly his hand rose and stopped my wrist.

“I trust you,” he said again, then pulled my wrist to his lips and pressed a kiss over my pulse point. He closed his eyes, and with shaky hands, I began to slide the blade over his skin. The gritty sound echoed in the stilling evening. Once the first strip was complete, without nicking him, I continued in a steady pattern of cleaning the blade and shaving his jaw. His eyes remained closed, a peaceful look on his face. For a moment, I thought he’d fallen asleep.

“Finished,” I whispered after a long silence. His lids opened slowly, revealing the deep moss color that narrowed in on me. My heart skipped a beat with the longing in them. He reached for a towel he’d set to the side of him and wiped the excess soap from his face.

“How do I look?” he asked, and I swallowed my reply. He was gorgeous. Cut from clay, and molded to perfection, his cheeks were accentuated by narrow bones and an edgy jaw line. He had a subtle tan line, his skin appearing to easily brown.

“You look good,” I said, attempting to hold my voice steady. He looked almost as clean cut as he looked on that night.

“Hair next? I don’t have scissors, so you’ll have to just hack at it with the blade.”

I laughed. “I can’t do that. I’ve never cut hair. I don’t want to mess it up.”

“Anything is better than this mess,” he said, gripping his hair in his hand. I did the best I could, razor-cutting off long strips of his hair and letting it fall at my feet. The process was daunting as I hacked at locks surprisingly silky despite our rugged conditions. The tips were sunbleached, and the removal of them restored him to his rich, brown color. It was choppy looking, but he rustled his hand through the strands, leaving it to lay as it fell in a fashionably messy way. The grizzly man was gone with this cut, but he didn’t match the polished man he’d previously been. A stylish boy remained.

“How am I now?” he asked. I sensed the inquiry dug deeper than his appearance. He looked amazing, but the cutting of his hair softened his features.

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