“You any good at haircuts?” Marcus asked her the next day as he set down a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with a side of potato chips on top of the piano.

She hadn’t really been working for the last twenty minutes or so. She’d just been noodling around on the piano and trying her best not to think about last night. About his arm around her shoulders or about the sound of his breaths from across the hall, even and full. He’d never know how soothing it had been to her to know he was right there if she needed him. Which, of course, she hadn’t.

She picked up the sandwich and took a big bite as she swiveled on the piano bench to look at him. “I used to cut Owen’s hair before he got all famous and started paying hundreds of dollars for pretty much exactly what I did for free.”

Marcus smiled, quick as a flash. “Alright. Can you fix me up? I can do the front, but I don’t trust myself to do the back.”

Iris’s mouth went a little dry around her sandwich as she surveyed the perfectly straight lines of his haircut, the gold of his skin underneath.

“I can try.”

“Good enough for me,” he shrugged. “Besides, if you screw up the back of my head, you’re the only one who’s gonna look at it.”             

For some reason, that made both of them laugh, hard. His hot chocolate chuckle rolled over her and made her loose, made her laugh even harder.

“I think the cabin fever is getting to us,” she said as she tossed her sandwich back on her plate and rose up from the piano bench.

“The movie was a good idea last night,” he said as he led her out of the room toward the bathroom in his bedroom. “It gave us a window into the outside world.”             

“We should do it again,” Iris said without thinking. She stepped across the doorway of his bedroom and she was immediately swamped in his scent. Just a hint of cologne and sea air. Oh. She couldn’t fight the tightening of the skin on her arms. She hoped that her baggy men’s button-down shirt would hide it. She wore leggings and a tank top underneath and her hair piled all on top of her head.

He had the razor set out on the sink and he grabbed a stool from his room to sit on in front of the sink. He didn’t hesitate to tug his t-shirt over his head.

Iris tried her best to ignore the furious burning magnets that her eyes had become. She wanted nothing more than to stare with her mouth open at his beautiful back and chest but instead she leaned her butt against the sink and busied herself with learning the settings on the electric razor. Luckily it was the same kind that she used to use with Owen. She was confident that she could give Marcus a decent haircut.

He sat himself on the stool and squinted at her. “What shirt is that?” he asked.

She looked down at the roomy plaid button-down she wore and shrugged. “One of Tia’s. I found it in her drawers.”

Marcus frowned, hard. “I’m pretty sure that’s Eli’s, not Tia’s.”

“Really?” Iris asked, with wonder in her voice. She plucked at one of the sleeves, her eyes as big as saucers. “I’m wearing Elijah Bird’s shirt?”

She missed the dark look that crossed Marcus’s face. “Are you wearing anything underneath?”

She blinked up at him. “A tank top. Why—”

She didn’t get a chance to finish her sentence when Marcus leaned forward, gripped the hem of the button-down and peeled it off over her head. Her mouth dropped open, completely stunned as she stood in front of him in leggings and a tight tank top as he tossed the shirt through the doorway and into the bedroom.

Marcus met her eyes with a challenging stare. “Eli is an almost married man,” he said defiantly.

Iris raised her eyebrows at him but said nothing. She was about 150% certain that Eli’s marital status was not Marcus’s issue with her wearing his shirt, but she didn’t have the courage to bring it up.

He’d almost kissed her in the kitchen yesterday, he’d flung an arm around her shoulders during the movie last night, and he’d ripped a shirt off of her because it was another man’s. Yeah, she was naive, but she wasn’t an idiot.

She took her place behind Marcus, conscious that he could see her face in the mirror, and kept her expression as neutral as possible. But she was moderately certain that the man had the hots for her.

Iris bit her lip as she flicked on the razor and placed one hand gently on his neck to steady herself. His skin was hot and smooth and she could feel all kinds of barely restrained energy coursing under his surface.

“So,” she cleared her throat as she faded the hair at the back of his neck and trimmed around the sides of his ears. “What movie do you wanna watch tonight?”

She glanced up at him in the mirror and saw that he’d closed his eyes against her touch, and the sight of him like that, trusting and soft, did something to her. It pulled something tight inside her that she didn’t dare pay attention to in the moment.

“Nothing as freaky as the one last night.”

“I knew you were freaked out too!” she cried in delight, laughing and catching his eyes as he opened them.

She moved around to one side and fixed it up. He’d said he could do the front, but she was already there, so what was the point in leaving it?

“Yeah,” he smiled a little sheepishly. “I have this thing about little kids in horror movies.”

“Me too,” she shuddered at the memories from the movie. “I should have picked something joyful instead.”

But then there would have been no reason to hold you, Marcus thought to himself. But he said nothing out loud. “I’ll pick tonight.”

“Alright,” she smiled at him as she leaned forward to get a better angle to finish up the front of his hairline.

Without giving it too much thought, Marcus opened his legs to give her space to stand and she stepped right in. They both froze, for just half a second, at the position they found themselves in. One with so much potential. One where all he’d have to do was close his legs an inch. Or all she’d have to do was lower her hands to his shoulders. If either of them moved even so little as that, the nature of the position would change, and all their cards would be on the table.

Marcus ached to ease her down to sitting on his lap. He ached to raise his hands to her trim little waist. More than anything, he ached to tangle his hands in her hair and bring that perfect mouth to his.

But when he looked up at her, she was completely serious. There was no trace of that slightly dreamy look that she occasionally gave him. She stared at his hairline as if she was trying to see right through it, and then she leaned forward to trim him up.

He was sure that she hadn’t meant to give him the perfect view directly down her shirt. But damn, she sure had. Her tank top that she’d worn under Eli’s shirt was tight and scooped low, The very top, lacy edge of her bra peeked over the top and both of her breasts were there, perfect and warm and ten inches from his face.

What fresh hell was this? Marcus slammed his eyes shut as his mouth pooled with saliva. God, he wanted to bury his face there. Smell her in that place between her breasts. He wanted to tug that shirt down, set her free. He wanted to—

She stepped out from between his legs and to his other side to finish the final side of his haircut. Her touch was light and gentle over his ear and Marcus literally had to hold his breath through it. He was losing his fucking mind.

“There you go!” Iris said, just a little too brightly, as she flicked off the razor and set it back on the counter, keeping a wide berth from him. “What do you think?”

Marcus turned his head from side to side and surveyed the damage. “It looks great. Thank you.” Was that his voice? All rough and low? Could it be any more obvious that he’d just been lost in a sex dream world?

“Great,” she said, taking a step back from him like she was a rabbit and he was a wolf. “I’ll leave you to get all cleaned up.”

And then she was gone, out of the bathroom in a flash.

***

So, he had the hots for her. She could handle that. No big deal. That kind of thing happened all the time in the adult world. It didn’t mean that anything had to happen and it certainly didn’t mean that anything would happen.

Iris brushed her hair out as she stood in front of the floor-length mirror in her room. She’d changed her clothes, because the leggings and the tank top was only appropriate when she’d had the big shirt to cover over it. So now she wore an oversized white sweater and short little jean shorts. Her hair tumbled, glossy and brushed over her shoulders.

She wished absently for some mascara, or even some chapstick, but she hadn’t been able to find any makeup in the house.

Which was fine! Because watching a movie with Marcus wasn’t a date! It totally wasn’t. Even if she’d just put the pieces together and realized that he was attracted to her. That still didn’t make it a date. Even if she was attracted to him too. And she had a huge crush on him on top of the attraction. None of that made it a date. So she didn’t need to put makeup on or get nervous or act like a nerd. She could just skip all that and act regular, for god sakes.

She was finally calming down when the memory of the way he’d looked at her during the haircut, of standing between his legs, swamped her and Iris found herself all worked up again. Her blood raced through her veins and there were two spots of high color on her cheeks.

Lord. This was ridiculous to be reacting this way. She was an adult and so was he. But things had been a lot easier when she’d just had a little unrequited crush on a man who’d thought she was a nuisance. Now that she was pretty much certain that there was attraction on both sides, Iris found herself completely off kilter.

After the haircut she’d pretty much hidden in her room all day, needing a reprieve from that tight, undeniable tension that had begun to spool out between them.

But now the sun was close to setting, she’d barely had anything to eat today and to stay up in her room when she’d said she’d watch a movie with him was just plain rude.

So she padded downstairs to the kitchen to find Marcus stirring sauce in one pot and spaghetti in another. He nodded at her as she came in, his eyes flicking briefly to her legs. But beyond a marginally stony silence, she didn’t detect any of the tension from earlier in the day. She felt both relief and disappointment.

She didn’t know that the lack of tension was because he’d completely bullied himself into holding her at arm’s length. Marcus had spent his day down in the workout room and then pouring over files. The entire time he’d berated himself with the truth. It was unprofessional, unethical, and not fair to act this way. He couldn’t ever have her. So he needed to quit being sweet on her already.

It didn’t help that she kept flashing those perfect legs around. Marcus frowned to himself as he served up spaghetti for the two of them. When he turned, she was giving him a shy, tentative smile that seemed oddly…distant.

Wait a second, was she putting distance between them? That was supposed to be his plan, not hers. He frowned even harder as they sat down at the dinner table. She didn’t sit in her usual seat. She sat one further away from his than usual.

What the hell?

She glanced up at him, just the briefest flash of thirst-quenching blues and her peek infuriated him. She was looking at him like he was a wild animal about to pounce on her. He was a civilized human, for god sakes! Maybe he’d taken more than a decent peek in the bathroom when she’d been leaning over him. But he wasn’t about to show up in her bedroom with a rose between his teeth. He had limits! He understood the lines of human decency here.

It irritated him to no end when she sat still as a mouse all through dinner, like she didn’t want to draw too much attention to herself. And it irritated him even more, when after she’d finished up the dishes and come to meet him in the living room, she’d looked relieved to see him already sitting in the La-Z-Boy chair, thereby cutting off the possibility of any couch touching. And it practically lit an inferno of annoyance in his gut when, even with him safely sequestered across the room, she still smashed herself into the seat on the couch farthest from him, her body crammed up against the armrest like he was holding her there against her will.

He thought about ignoring it. “We don’t have to watch a movie if you don’t want to.”

She glanced at him, her eyes skittering across his. “No! No. I want to.” She took a deep breath, as if she was intentionally calming herself and she brought her feet up onto the couch beside her.

He raised his eyebrows at her attempts to play it cool and shrugged.

“What are we watching?” she asked.

“You’ll see,” he replied with a grin that had her blinking hard and blushing.

There. Proof that she wasn’t as immune to him as she was pretending to be. He thought back to the dreamy way she looked at him every now and again. To the way her cheeks had flamed when he’d taken off his shirt today. How her breath had caught when she’d stepped between his legs.

“I’m gonna get something to drink,” he said, rising from his chair. “You want something?”

“I’m alright,” she shook her head quickly.

He needed to be alone with his thoughts for a second. He’d bet money that she was into him. Maybe not head over heels, but enough to make her blush and blink through those long lashes of hers. He grabbed a beer from the fridge and traced his lips with one finger as he gazed back through the house in the direction of the TV room. A thought occurred to him, nice and slow.

He knew he couldn’t sleep with her. He couldn’t date her. He wasn’t going to be making her his woman any time soon. But who was to say that he couldn’t sit close to her on the couch? Smell her hair? Feel the warmth of her body next to his? Who was to say that he couldn’t get a little charge out of making her breath trip or her heart race or her cheeks go pink?

He knew he couldn’t really get involved with her, but did that mean he had to extinguish the shine he had for her? Maybe, just maybe, he could make both of them feel good in the meantime.

It was with that thought brewing in his head and the popped beer in his hand that he reentered the TV room. She’d spread out just a little bit more on the couch, obviously assuming he’d be going back to the chair.

Her eyes popped wide and shocked when he eased down right in the middle of the couch, not more than six inches from where she sat. He threw his arm over the back of the couch, like the night before, and casually boxed her in, spreading his legs before him. He could have sworn she made the tiniest peep. He could feel her ocean bright eyes on the side of his face but he didn’t turn to her. He bit back the smug little smile that threatened to give away the game.

Holding the beer up to her for a second, he set it back on his thigh. “We can share if you want,” he told her and was completely obliged to see her throat bob as she gulped.

Iris hit play on the remote she held and clapped her hands in delight when the Jaws theme song started to play. “I love this movie! And I haven’t seen it in years. Good choice.”

His chest seemed to want to swell with her words but he beat those feelings back. He’d chosen the movie because it was a tiny bit scary, but not in the way of the freaky-ghost-child-burlap movie they’d watched last night.

Iris wasn’t exactly sure what was going on, except to say that her heart was skittering around her chest like a stone over an ice rink. She’d really, really thought, during dinner at least, that they had both tacitly decided to go the same route. Careful avoidance of what had become painfully clear during the haircut. It was clear they were attracted to one another, so they were going to nod their hats respectfully to the feeling and just kind of…ignore it.

This, however, was not ignoring it. Her entire right side felt singed with the heat of him, even through their clothes, even though they weren’t touching. No, he was careful not to touch her, but he was basically surrounding her. If she shifted in the least, even to stand up, she would brush or press against him.

It was because of that she was sitting so still, so completely frozen. And then it hit her. She was sitting there like a dang mouse hiding from a dang fox, which was exactly what she’d sworn she’d stop doing. Before all this attraction mess had started, she’d done a darn good job of talking herself into acting at least semi-normal around him. They’d been able to be in the same room without her awkwardness, or her mondo crush, taking up all the extra space. She’d worked hard for that ease! And now it was completely gone. She was sitting there, rigid as hell, her eyes glued to the screen like she’d go up in smoke if she looked away.

Well, screw that. She was going to chill out. So what if he was attracted to her and she was attracted to him? Just because it was a little bit undeniable right now didn’t mean that it had to run the entire show, did it? Right. She could just take a chill pill and ignore the mousy part of her.

Iris took another deep breath and allowed her back to recline onto the couch behind her. She could just faintly feel the weight of his arm against the cushion at her neck. She propped her feet up onto the coffee table, alongside his. With a hand that only trembled once, Iris pointedly reached across his lap and plucked up the beer that he had pinned against his thigh. She took a quick sip and handed it back.

And the world didn’t end. The fabric of her shorts touched the fabric of his shorts and she wasn’t plummeting through the gates of hell and he wasn’t tearing her shirt off or professing love. This was going to be just fine.

That was when she felt his eyes on the side of her face. Her posture was much more relaxed, sure, but she didn’t dare turn to look at him. She kept her eyes glued to the television, which was a little bit hard considering this was the part in the movie where they revealed the girl’s remains in a box in the morgue.

Her nerves strung tight as a bow, Iris jumped just the tiniest bit when, his eyes still on the side of her face, Marcus’s fingers picked up a lock of her hair.

She could feel it tugging, gently, at the root. And then she felt the slow slide of the hair being lifted off her neck as he played it through his fingers. After a minute, his eyes went back to the screen but his fingers kept playing with that hair. The small, tugging reminder that he was casually touching her was starting to do funny things to her breath.

“I’m gonna get some dessert,” Iris rose up from the couch suddenly, making herself turn to look at him. “You want something?”

He shook his head, silently, his eyes burning up into hers. Iris looked down at the couch and blushed when she saw firsthand how small her space had been. When she saw exactly how much he’d been crowding her.

She scuttled away into the kitchen and immediately opened the freezer, let it cool her overheated skin. She needed to get a hold of herself. What was she freaking out about?

Oh, just that the hottest man she’d ever met was slowly and methodically getting closer and closer to her.

It didn’t mean that anything was going to happen between them. It just meant that he wanted to sit close to her on the couch. Play with her hair. And if she was being honest with herself, it felt nice. Really nice.

Iris knew that her fears were fears of the future, not of the present. That had always been her problem. Right now, was she scared of Marcus flirting with her? Snuggling her? No. Not at all. Actually, she desperately wanted it. So what was she gonna do? Make this a big awkward deal and not get what they both wanted tonight just because she was scared of what might happen in the future?

There was one question she needed to ask herself. Was Marcus going to romance her tonight, make her fall in love tonight, and then cheat on her and break her heart tonight? No. Absolutely not. Then she had nothing to fear tonight.

Iris took a deep breath and unwrapped a grape Popsicle. She marched back to the TV room, where she saw Marcus had paused the movie. He hadn’t moved from his place on the couch and Iris was glad. That meant that she could do what she’d just talked herself into doing. Which was to slide right back into the small space on the couch that he’d made for her.

She could feel his surprise in the way his eyes landed on the side of her face. She was sure that he’d expected her to go to the chair and avoid the tension between them. But tension was heart hammering and delicious and, if she was being honest with herself, she wanted it. So Iris snuggled herself back into the couch, just a hair closer to Marcus than she’d been before. It wasn’t just the fabric of their clothes touching, it was the bodies beneath them. Her knee pressed against the outside of his thigh and her shoulder notched itself just under his armpit, his arm stretched along the back of the couch.

His eyes were hot on her, and Iris forced herself to turn and give him a little smile as she settled in. There was a knowing smile on his face, one that seemed to question and challenge her at the same time. She raised her eyebrows back, gave him an innocent look.

“I’m sorry, did you want some?” she asked, holding out the Popsicle to him.

He shook his head and she shrugged, popping the Popsicle back into her mouth. His eyes followed the movement for a second before skipping back to the movie he’d just un-paused.

Yes! Score one for Iris. She smiled to herself as she watched the shark terrorize the town of Amity. Marcus’s hand immediately resumed stroking over that same piece of hair. It wasn’t until the shark swam into the seaside pond and went after the children on the skiff that Iris jumped. The remains of her Popsicle fell off the stick and plopped directly onto the beautiful white sweater.

“Damn!” she yelled, hopping up and grimacing at the purple stain. “Oh crap. I really hope this isn’t going to stain.” She yanked the sweater off, grateful she was wearing a tank top underneath, and ran to the laundry room.

Neither she nor Marcus had done any laundry since they’d arrived, so there was a healthy pile of clothes to step around. She’d do her share tomorrow, Iris decided as she grabbed the stain stick from the shelf above the washing machine and went to work on the purple stain. The good news was that it didn’t look like it was going to stain. The bad news was that she didn’t currently have any other sweaters to wear. She’d worn them all over the last two weeks. She frowned down at the pile of her dirty clothes on the floor of the laundry room and tossed them quickly into the washer. There was Marcus’s pile of clothes as well.

She supposed there was enough room in the washer for both piles, so she tossed his in there as well. She closed the laundry room door behind her to cut the noise and commanded herself to remember to switch the laundry before she went to bed that night. When she got back to the TV room, she searched around for a blanket or something. It was hot during the day, but the evenings were cool and she wasn’t wearing enough clothes right now.

“What are you looking for?” Marcus asked from his spot on the couch, eyeing her like a hawk eyes a rabbit.

“A blanket or something. That was my last clean sweater. I put in a load of laundry by the way.” Iris lifted up the lid of a chest on one side of the room but found only pillows, no blankets. She frowned and turned, scanning the room.

“Here,” Marcus said sitting up. And then he did something that burned itself into Iris’s brain for all eternity. He did that incredibly hot thing that men sometimes do. When they reach one hand back to yank a shirt off over their heads. He pulled off his worn, blue hoodie and held it out to her.

“Oh, that’s alright,” Iris said, taking a step back like he was holding a rattlesnake out to her.

“Iris, you’re cold and we’re never gonna finish this movie if we keep going on like this.”

Not a mouse, she reminded herself and stepped forward, accepting the hoodie. She yanked it on as she sat back down on the couch and tried her hardest not to swoon. It was warm from his body and smelled like him. Like cologne and just the smallest trace of sweat. She licked her lips and yanked the hood down. She slid her hair out from under the collar of the hoodie and was just gathering it up to put it into a bun when she felt Marcus’s hand on hers, stilling her.

She looked up and he looked down. His head gave the tiniest, most resolute shake. Don’t put your hair up, he was telling her. She listened.

With her hair spilling between them, surrounded in his hoodie and fenced in with his body, Iris turned her eyes back to the screen. His hand instantly went back to her hair and she felt that familiar little tug as he slipped the same lock through his fingers over and over.

The movie went on and Iris tried to relax as she felt his hand move closer to her head. A few minutes passed as he made steady progress up her hair until finally, finally, the pads of his fingers landed at her scalp. Iris was very glad she’d washed her hair that afternoon. She couldn’t help the little groan of satisfaction that made its way out of her. And she couldn’t help but let her eyes fall closed at the feeling of his rough fingertips making gentle circles over her scalp.

She hadn’t been touched in a long time. Over a year. And she hadn’t been touched like this, well, ever. With this level of awareness and care. This faux-casual affection. His touch was a revelation for her and, eyes still closed, she found herself leaning back into it. She was relaxing into him even as the hairs on her arms rose up. She was grateful for the bagginess of the hoodie, so he wouldn’t see the skin all over her body tighten for him.

Marcus kept his breathing even as he traced his fingers through her hair, over her scalp. She was so hot and soft and everything was like silk. She’d yet to open her eyes again and the look on her face, pure, surprised pleasure, was enough to have him shifting his hips against the couch. He fought the need to adjust himself. Because as electrifying as this moment was, he knew that if he made it sexual, it would dry up in a second. He was extremely aware of not pushing her too far. He knew that if he took more than she was ready to give, he’d crush her like a flower not ready to be picked.

So he just kept circling his hand, taking as much pleasure in the innocent motion as she was. But when she hummed again, loose and satisfied, Marcus squeezed his own eyes closed for just a second.

The movie went on, longer than either of them had remembered. About a half an hour from the end, even with the clashing violins and the epic battle against the shark, Iris’s eyes began to get heavy. She yawned, hard, a few times before Marcus gently guided her head to his shoulder. If he were a different man, he might have turned off the movie and insisted she go to bed. But he hadn’t had sex in over a year and he was going to feel the weight of Iris’s head against his shoulder if it was the last thing he did.

And it was everything he wanted it to be. His hand still threaded through her hair, her even breaths washed over his neck as she fell asleep almost instantly. She was curled up toward him, her knees pressing against his thigh and her hands bunched up against his side. He watched the end of the movie but barely saw a scene of it. He was completely concentrated on her soft, comfortable warmth beside him. It wasn’t just that it was the only action he’d gotten in a year, it was that it was the best effing snuggling he’d ever done in his entire life. She was just that sweet.

When the credits rolled, Marcus turned off the movie and paused for a second. He half expected the sudden silence to jolt her awake, but when it didn’t, he shifted, sliding his arms underneath her.

Marcus rose with her and his heart tripped when he realized how light she was. How small. He made his way up the stairs easily, pausing only for a second in the hallway between their two rooms. A year ago, he wouldn’t have paused, he would have taken her right to his room. Actually, a year ago, he wouldn’t have given her his hoodie, he would have taken her tank top off on the couch, licked her head to toe. But it wasn’t a year ago. It was today. And he quietly carried her into her own room, flipping back her covers with one hand and setting her gently in her bed, covering her over.

He closed her door halfway and did the same for his. For a few long minutes he stood in the darkness of his bedroom. One hand lifted of its own accord, to the place where her head had pressed against him.