Crossed (2 page)

“Cross Enterprises is paying for it. Allie said whatever the charge, bill her.”

I took her aside, far enough so that Allie’s next cause wouldn’t hear me. “You know I’ll do any job for you guys, but this…” I took a whiff. “Emma, I don’t think he’s been washed for years.”

“He’s traumatized.” She looked down at her watch. “Grace. I’ll owe you big time, but I have this thing with this guy.”

“Oh no! You’re not leaving me with it!”

“Grace, I’ll do anything. I promise. Please drive him to this address once you’re done.” She handed me a business card.

“Emma, don’t you dare…”

“Anything, Grace. I mean it. Love you so much. You’re the best friend every girl should have.” Emma was already stepping backward, leaving me with the caveman.

Shit!
I looked back at the man standing on my doorstep. He still hadn’t moved an inch. There was something odd about him. Although he was standing right there, it didn’t seem that he was
all there,
the way he was staring at one spot. I’d never thought that a man of his size, tall and bulky in the shoulders, could appear so weak. When I turned again, Emma was gone and I knew I couldn’t leave him here, in full view of where a client could enter or exit the salon any minute. I swore under my breath, promising to get back at Emma, big-time.

“Come.” I pulled him by the sleeve and dragged him to the back of my salon through the side entrance in the alley. I took a clean towel (which I was sure I’d need to throw out later) and draped it over his head, then added a robe which barely fit over his shoulders, camouflaging him somewhat. The mud-bath appointment was still marinating in the tub with cucumbers over his eyes, so I pulled the caveman into the empty shower area in the next room.

“I’m praying you can understand me. Please, tell me you know how to take a shower.”

A muscle twitched in his jaw and for the first time since I’d seen him, he made a voluntary movement, startling me. Tugging at his first layer of clothing, he removed it from his shoulders. The stiff fabric crumpled to the floor. He then pulled a t-shirt over his head, and another one, revealing his upper body. A fading tattoo peeked through the overgrown chest hair. He not only needed a cut and a shave, but also some major trimming and definitely a wax in some regions I didn’t even want to venture near. And if there was any way I could forget the stench coming off this man, maybe I could stand looking at those bunched muscles in a different way. And boy were they ever hard. His lean stomach sank in a bit, defining a perfect six-pack I hadn’t seen on a man in a while. As my gaze inevitably lowered to where his hands were unbuckling the belt I held my breath. I should have turned around, but I also couldn’t help staring as the buckle opened and his pants slid off his narrow hips, right down to his ankles.

Holy fuck!

He wasn’t wearing any underwear! And why was I still staring?

But how could I not look? His cock was monstrous and it wasn’t even erect. I felt my thighs tense and my mouth dry. As I licked my bottom lip, my gaze slowly made its way up to take him in. Although filthy, he was absolutely beautiful and my heart ached at the thought of what could have happened to a man of his size, who obviously had worked out before, to turn him into a non-responsive zombie. Mr. Neanderthal, who looked like he could kill a wild boar with his bare hands, just stood there, indifferent.

Move Grace, move!

I squeezed in between him and the wall, reaching into the shower to turn it on. My chest lightly brushed against his arm, awakening an odd excitement in my belly. The water cascaded like rain from the expensive shower and I wiggled my way back past him, being forced to squish against him once more, my nipples more sensitive to the touch.

Thoughts of the Stone Age, where cavemen took their women by the hair, dragging them into the bed or whatever its equivalent was, flew through my mind. Two primal beings, all dirty and wild, having sex like animals. Grunting and writhing against each other, the man pounding into the woman with all his strength, barely finding time to remove her clothes and only shifting the skin cloth that covered her ass, because all he knew was that he wanted to be inside her. Sweat would drip off their bodies, leaving clean streaks behind as it washed away layers of dirt collected through the day.

What the hell, Grace?
I shook the stupid thoughts off. If I didn’t get laid soon I’d hump the next caveman who walked through the door. And knowing the way Emma operated, it could be any time.

“You need to wash up before I can cut your hair.” I touched his elbow, gently guiding him inside the shower, where he simply stood.

“Well, this isn’t going to work. Here.” I showed him the shampoo on the wall dispenser, pumping a dab onto my hand.

He didn’t move. By this time, my right side had been soaked, but if Mr. Caveman didn’t wash up before my client was done with his mud bath, I’d be in trouble.

I reached for his hand, sliding mine on top of his palm, transferring the creamy mixture. Yet he was as still as a statue.

“Fuck this.” I removed my shoes and stepped into the shower with him. There was no way I could wash his head properly if he just stood there. “Get down.” I pulled on his arms, forcing him to his knees, and thankfully he obliged. Dabbing more shampoo into my palm I spread the goo into his thick curls, washing the external part of his head before dragging my fingers along his scalp, massaging the soap along his head, right into his roots.

For a moment, I thought I’d heard him moan, and I smiled because this happened so often when I washed people’s hair. Most people didn’t realize how sensitive the scalp was and how a simple wash with a massage could relieve pressure and anxiety. Some had said I had magic fingers.

Noticing the caveman was leaning further into my palms, I knew I’d reached the first emotion in him—one that had probably been locked up for a long time. With his hair slicked back, his face became more defined and chiseled. His cheekbones were profound and I wondered about the jaw underneath that long beard. He opened his eyes, their deep blue hue looking up through the falling water right at me. When he left a hot breath against my belly, I suddenly felt vulnerable. What was happening to me?

The caveman stood up slowly, all on his own, without my having to guide him. My back was pressed against the shower wall, and he was so close, I couldn’t deny that caveman daydream running through my mind again. Except this time, the cave had a luxurious shower where he took the woman by her ass, lifting her up onto his hips before thrusting deep into her, pushing with all his might. She’d wrap her legs around his waist and hold on to his neck as he pounded into her, filling her completely each time until she screamed in pleasure.

A strong grasp at my wrist brought me back to the present. The caveman pinned my arm against the wall, right over my head, before reaching with his other hand to swoosh the soap off my palm into his and started washing his chest. Part of me wanted to stay there and watch him lather up his muscles, draw his hands over his abs and lower to wash every inch of him, but another part knew that it was my time to leave and let him be. For the first time since I’d first seen him, he was moving on his own, without guidance and without a prompt.

Drenched, I stepped out of the shower and around its corner and leaned against the wall. Panting, I lowered my hands to my knees, struggling to fill my lungs to their depth. What the hell had just happened? This man had taken me into his world so quickly, completely making me forget who I was and where I was, and that only a few minutes earlier I’d been disgusted to look at him or acknowledge him. But seeing him so vulnerable and at my will did something in my chest I hadn’t felt in a long time. I hadn’t seen that kind of dependence in a man in years, and it tugged at all the right parts of my heart. I had no choice but to help him; and damn Emma. She knew this would happen, too. Well, not the shower part—that was an accident. I hadn’t done that with any of the charity work she’d brought in from Cross Enterprises—ever.

Quickly removing my soaked clothing, I changed into a fresh pair of jeans and a tank top. I’d need to go commando for the rest of the day and without a bra, as I had not planned on showering in the only underwear I had with me. Just as I buttoned up my pants, the shower turned off. The caveman stepped out in his naked glory and my jaw dropped open. He was all lean and washed, and water dripped off his muscled body as if it were oiled. His tan was perfect, but he definitely needed a trim—everywhere. Wet, dark curls clumped on his chest made that swirl of tattoo on his pec a bit clearer. Trailing lower, down a narrow alley, I couldn’t help but follow his appetizing path. It took a while before I was able to hand him a towel to dry off, because in all honesty, at this moment, my imagination was torn from the Stone Age to him and me, right down on this floor, with me letting him do to me as he pleased.

I had a feeling the caveman would become much more than another charity case and I was afraid of what that meant, or more so, of what I wanted it to mean.

C
HAPTER
2

Peeking inside his bag, I thanked the Lord it contained clothes as I wasn’t sure I could find anything large enough around this salon that would fit him.

“You need to change.” I pushed the bag against his chest. Boy was he ever hard. But Caveman remained still.

“Listen, I know you can understand me, and I’ll only say this once. I can’t… I mean, I won’t dress you. You need to get dressed yourself. And I’m sending in someone to help you shave and trim your nails and all before I can cut your hair.”

All of my hair stylists were booked up. Besides, I couldn’t let them work on him. They’d never forgive me for giving them a low-class job.
I,
on the other hand, had had more than my share of experience with low-income hairstyles. And honestly, at this point, I was curious myself to see the face he hid under that beard of his.

And I guess my asking him to suit up didn’t help. He was like a frickin’ statue.

“And Frankie’s into men. So if you don’t want to be taken advantage of, you better put some clothes on.”

A crooked smile lifted on his mouth. I tried to keep my eyes focused on his face because wandering any lower would mean I’d need to look at that sinfully built body of his and if I did, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to function properly for the rest of the day, or even a week. In response to the look in his eyes and another sign of understanding I lowered the backpack in front of him, inadvertently catching another glimpse at him below the belt. My stomach tightened as unexpected excitement filled me. I rushed to stand up, getting light-headed.

“Good. I’ll… They’ll call me when you’re ready for me. I mean, for my cut. A cut, ready for a cut.”

And I left him. For his sake I hoped he’d get dressed. Breathless, I made my way over to Frankie who had just finished with his last appointment and was ready to go out for lunch.

I tapped him on his shoulder, saying, “I need a favor.”

Frankie spun around on his heel, the purple tips on his blond head shimmering in the light. “Anything for my girl.”

“There’s someone in the back who needs
the works
.”

“The works” was a code word for
this one needs everything done
.

“Who is it?”

“He’s not a celebrity, but he’s in need of a major cleanup. I had him shower in the back. And I need you to keep this quiet so that other clients don’t get scared.”

“Let me guess. Emma was here?”

“Yup. Please, Frankie, you’re the only one I trust here not to spill the beans about our place taking on more than people of high stature. And this caveman could definitely ruin me.”

“Caveman?” Frankie’s brows rose and eyes widened with sudden interest. He clapped his hands as if he were a kid getting a free pass at a toy store. “You should have said that in the beginning.”

“It’s not what you think. He looks like he literally played with a saber-tooth this morning.”

“And did you go for a swim in the lake with him?” He pulled on my wet strands of hair, suddenly curious about my lack of style.

“No,” I lied. “I need to get my hair done too. Just send him over when he’s all trimmed and shaved and waxed, ready for a cut. And Frankie, I owe you.” I gave my friend a hug. He’d been with me since the day I opened my business, when he stepped into my store in reply to the help-wanted advertisement in the window. Fresh out of beauty school, Frankie was looking for someone to give him a chance, and I was looking for someone with his talents and people skills to take my business to the level it was at now.

“You owe me nothing, honey. Please get yourself looked after, or you’ll start scaring clients as well.”

“Thank you.” I strolled over to Frankie’s station at the side and started blow-drying my hair. As the sound of the hot air muffled everything else around me, a memory of the caveman’s taut body flashed in my mind. I should have at least asked Emma to tell me his name and what had happened to him. I’d wondered what he’d been through to get to the state of numbness he was in. And did it really only take a scalp massage to revive a part of him? Once every few months Emma had brought someone over for a haircut or a makeover. And most of the time they were women who’d been hurt by sex traffickers or abusive husbands and rescued by the branch of Cross Enterprises headed by Allie, who was Emma’s sister-in-law. And, up until now, Emma had been the one who took them back to rehab. Why all of a sudden was she so insistent on my driving the caveman afterward? Her job was her life. While Emma may not have been assigned the cases she wanted, my friend was a wonderful private investigator at her family’s firm.

I removed the business card Emma had given me from my back pocket, noting the
Inpatient care for mental health treatment
description of Holland’s Wellness Center, with an address and a phone number. Was the caveman not all there in his head? A tumble of nerves swept through me. Maybe I shouldn’t have gotten so close to him? Was he dangerous? Part of me thought that was a possibility. The tight grip on my wrist had initially scared me, but the gentleness with which he tucked my hair behind my ear and removed the soap from my hand eased my worries. How would they deal with him at the clinic? Would they feed him pills and make him go to therapy?