Trace of Fever - Lori Foster [53]
“Hairdresser—” Priss spoke through her teeth, deliberately insulting, her temper frayed and her volume elevated “—you’re not listening to me. There will be no waxing.”
The sleeping dogs lifted their heads, alert to the new tension in the room. Liger gave her a wide-eyed stare.
Molly cleared her throat, but didn’t move.
Eyes downcast and brows raised, Chris slipped across the room and out the door to the back. He closed the door quietly behind him.
Priss just knew he was slinking off to tell Trace about her refusal, but so what? Yes, she understood that this was part of Murray’s game to test her, and she knew Murray wouldn’t be pleased, that he might even be done toying with her, if she disobeyed a single command.
But in this, she didn’t care.
Staring at that closed door, she muttered, “So Chris knows where Trace is, but he wasn’t going to tell me? What a complete butthead.”
Matt stood his ground. “At the very least we have to do your eyebrows, legs and underarms.”
Incredulous that he hadn’t yet let it go, Priss swiveled around to face Matt. “I can damn well groom myself.”
Rolling his eyes, Matt put his hands on his hips. “You do not want to be an unrefined girl. And I do not want to do half the job. It makes no sense to be so beautifully polished in parts, but to remain so…bohemian in other ways.”
Mortification tightened her chest. “Come at me with hot wax.” Priss stared right into his eyes, her voice soft, deadly. “I dare you. Really, I do. Try it, and let’s see what happens.”
His expression looked comical. “You’re threatening me?”
“I’m telling you that you’ll be wearing hot wax if you don’t let it go.”
He threw up his arms. “Fine. Be that way. Go about like a troglodyte, like a…an ape. See if I care.”
“Thank you.” Troglodyte? Sheesh. With that settled, Priss’s tension eased enough that she could breathe freely again. She stood, checked her fingernails and her toenails and declared herself dry. “Looks nice,” she said while admiring her hands.
“At least I got something accomplished,” Matt grumbled.
Priss stretched. “Molly, you got any music? It feels dead in here right about now.” And she didn’t want Trace to find her all out of sorts. The guys said to be less obvious, so that’s what she’d try to do.
Molly rushed to a small panel on the wall, relieved no doubt to have something to do. “I can play my favorite tracks on surround sound. It’s in every room. Decadent, huh?”
With a glare at Priss, Matt said, “Nothing but the best for Dare.” He blew Molly a kiss. “And that includes you, doll.”
Priss laughed at the veiled insult. “You might as well have said I’m in the category of the worst. But all things considered, I forgive you for the slight.”
Matt made a face. “Oh, wow, I’m so grateful for your benevolence.”
The music started, and it was a song Priss loved. “How long will I have this stuff on my hair?”
“Depends. I’ll check it in twenty.”
Twenty minutes to liven up her disposition. “Do you dance, hairdresser?”
At five feet eleven inches, and with his bleached-blond hair adding an inch more, Matt stared down at her. “Challenging me?”
“Why not? I’ve never had much opportunity to dance, so I’m sure you’re better. But I feel like cutting loose a little, and we’ve got twenty minutes to waste. What do you say?”
For her part, Molly had already set aside her drink. “I’m in!”
So were the dogs. They anxiously awaited direction, ready to leap on anyone who showed interest in the game.
Priss caught Matt’s chin and gave it a squeeze. “Come on, hairdresser. Lose the sour expression. It doesn’t suit you.”
“No.” He still appeared peeved. “It doesn’t.”
“Look at it this way—” she held out a hand “—you can further polish me with a few lessons.”
“You’ve truly never danced?”
There was a lot she’d never done, but once she took care of Murray, that would change. “Only in the privacy of my own room, and even I was appalled at how bad I am.”
His mouth twitched before spreading into a grin. “Oh, okay. But when I’m all done with you, I better see some sincere appreciation for the transformation.