A Husband of Her Own - Brenda Novak Mills & Boon Cherish

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could imagine. It smelled of bleach and acrylic and perm solution—a virtual self-improvement paradise into which few men ever ventured. Until recently, anyway. With the growing popularity of spiked, bleached hair among young boys, Rebecca’s male clientele had grown sharply.

      But Josh looked out of place all the same. His body was too big for the chair, which had been designed twenty years earlier for women, and his well-scuffed boots and the slightly frayed hem of his jeans provided a notable contrast to the muumuus and cotton print dresses Rebecca generally saw sticking out from below her plastic cape. He smelled different, too. More…evocative. A blend of warm skin, leather and soap reminded her of that night a year ago last summer when she and Josh were dancing at the Honky Tonk. While they were swaying to the music, he’d put his hands possessively on the small of her back, drawing her closer, and then he’d kissed her neck just below the earlobe….

      A shiver ran down Rebecca’s spine, and she quickly forced her mind back to the present. She didn’t want to think about that. That night was an exception, the only exception, to the way she normally felt about Josh. And it made her nervous again.

      “Remember when you taped up that Playboy centerfold inside my locker our senior year?” he asked, out of nowhere.

      His comment took Rebecca off guard. She didn’t know how to respond. If she said no, they’d both know she was lying. If she said yes, they’d be back on adversarial ground. “It was just a joke,” she said, mumbling slightly in hopes he wouldn’t pursue the conversation.

      “Someone reported me to the principal before I even knew it was there and I got suspended for three days.”

      She adjusted the water temperature. “Three days? That’s not so long.”

      “It was during finals,” he added dryly.

      She stretched her neck, hoping he wasn’t going to recount their other shared experiences. “Those were crazy days.”

      He made a face. “That’s all you have to say?”

      “What do you want? An apology? It was years ago.”

      “Thanks for the sincere remorse.”

      Remorse. Rebecca was too apprehensive for remorse. The prospect of touching her childhood nemesis was causing an odd reaction in her body. She was trying to convince herself it was revulsion, but sweaty palms and a racing heart weren’t the most indicative symptoms.

      Wetting his head, she poured shampoo into her palm and began to work it through his hair. She told herself to stick to the same routine she gave all her clients—a thorough ten-minute head massage, followed by a gentle raking of the scalp with her nails. She was a professional, after all, with a background in massage therapy, and he was paying for her services.

      But somehow she couldn’t maintain any emotional distance. Having Josh right there, so accessible and pliable beneath her hands, changed the whole experience.

      Feeling a stab of guilt for having such a strong reaction to him—in spite of her engagement—she cut the massage short and quickly rinsed his hair. Then she slapped on some conditioner, nearly spraying him in the face when she went into rinse mode again.

      “What’d I do now?” he asked as she sat him up so fast she nearly gave him whiplash.

      “Nothing,” she said, tossing a towel into his lap. “Why?”

      He swiped at the water that was running down from his temples and dripping onto the cloak. “That was some shampoo. I’ve never seen anyone snap into fast-forward like that.”

      She smiled to cover the craziness inside her. “Well, you know me.”

      He raised his brows. “Somehow you always manage to surprise me.”

      “YOU KNOW, IF WE TOOK a little more off the top, we’d make the most of the cowlick you’ve got right here,” Rebecca said.

      Josh shifted his gaze from the look of expectation on her face to his own reflection. One of Rebecca’s hands held up a section of his hair, the other clutched a pair of scissors. “Are you setting me up?” he asked.

      That cowlick had been a nightmare for him when he was a kid. His mother had waged her own personal war against it, usually armed with a jar of Dippity-do. Up until the time he was six or seven, she’d plastered his hair to his head, making him look more like a young executive than a first-grader. Fortunately it hadn’t taken him long to learn how to compensate for her efforts by visiting the bathroom before class and using the sink to rinse his hair. His bangs always stuck up once they dried, but he hadn’t minded that. What he’d minded was the perennial “wet look” and the way his mother had constantly licked her fingers and combed his hair down, even in public.

      Rebecca rolled her eyes. “It’s only hair. If I botch it too badly, you can always shave your head.”

      “That’s supposed to make me feel better?”

      “Come on, don’t be a wimp. Bald is in. And I’m not going to mess up. I have my reputation to consider.”

      “Your reputation is what frightens me.”

      She sent him a pointed look, and he couldn’t help smiling. After the shampooing incident she’d calmed down a bit and seemed to be hitting her rhythm. But when it came to Rebecca, nothing was ever the way he thought it would be, so he had no idea how long the peace might last.

      “Do what you think is best,” he told her, even though it went against his better judgment to give her so much freedom. Especially when he remembered the time she put gum in his hair while he and Randy were having a sleep-out in the yard.

      He chuckled as the clippings from his hair fell all around him.

      “What’s so funny?” she asked.

      “I was just thinking about that time you snuck over and—”

      “Never mind.”

      “Wait,” he said. “I was just going to see if you remembered putting gum—”

      “No.”

      Obviously she didn’t want to discuss the past, but that incident and several others, while horrific enough at the time, seemed pretty funny now. Couldn’t she see how immature and stupid they’d been? “Don’t want to take a walk down memory lane, huh?”

      “Not with you.”

      “Why not? You have to admit some of that stuff is funny.”

      “Hilarious,” she grumbled. “Only no one seems to remember what you did.”

      “What’d I do?” he asked.

      “You know what you did. Quit playing the innocent.”

      “At least I feel bad about my terrible behavior,” he replied.

      “I’ll bet.”

      She was right, of course. He didn’t feel any worse than she did. She’d pulled pranks on him; he’d pulled pranks on her. After so many years, there was no way to sort out blame—and the thought of even trying to do it bored him. He didn’t care anymore. So why didn’t they just forgive and forget? They were both adults, with separate lives to lead. Yet every time he passed Rebecca on the street or saw her somewhere like Jerry’s Diner, he got the feeling they had unfinished business between them.

      Probably because of that night over a year ago—even though nothing had ultimately happened. He’d gotten Rebecca to go home with him. He’d even managed to remove her clothes, along with most of his own. Then his brother had come home and at the slamming of the front door, she’d suddenly scrambled to her feet, dressed, grabbed her purse and hurried off. He’d been two seconds away from the best sex of his life, so crazy for her he almost begged her to stay. Except he’d known it wouldn’t do him any good. It was as if she’d suddenly come out of a trance and realized who she was with. After that, she didn’t want him anywhere near her.

      But

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