Style Me Sexy (novella)

www.escapepublishing.com.au

Style Me Sexy
Tara Chevrestt

A charming short story about beauty, the beholder, and believing in yourself.

Bridget knows she isn’t beautiful; her ex made that point abundantly clear. So when her online-only romance suddenly leads to a real-life blind date, she beelines to the salon for a makeover. She’s dismayed and embarrassed when her usual stylist isn’t available and the sexy Javier steps in.

Javier has long been aware of the timid but kind woman, and vows to take this opportunity to make her see that she's beautiful on the outside, as well as in. Will he succeed in keeping his own feelings at bay and style her sexy?

Dedication

Chapter 1

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Bridget sauntered into Mane Modifying on Main Street, her regular salon, with a confident spring in her step. Her life suddenly had purpose and meaning. She, the workaholic, the old maid, the crazy cat lady, had a
date
that night. It was a blind date, and she hadn’t laid eyes on the guy yet, but from their computer conversations and instant messages over the last month, she felt she could honestly say, ‘He’s
the one.
’

As the glass door swung shut behind her, she searched for her usual stylist, Deborah. The short, blonde, perky hairdresser was nowhere to be seen.
Am I early?
Bridget glanced at the gold watch on her slender wrist. Right on time, as usual. She felt a twinge of impatience—after all, she looked like crap and needed to look her absolute best (not that that was much better than the way she looked now) for the upcoming night.
Where in the world is she?

Usually Deborah was awaiting her arrival, eager to escort her to the designated chair. Bridget glanced at the front desk.
That hot guy is manning the desk today. Damn.
She’d seen him every time she came for her monthly appointment, but had never spoken to him. Gorgeous men, especially men with light brown skin, dark chocolate eyes, wavy black hair stopping at broad shoulders, and slender waists above tight buttocks, intimidated the hell out of her. She could handle men in the boardroom when money was involved—the business men she dealt with didn’t look particularly good anyway—and she did so on a daily basis, but in her personal life…no. Especially not men that looked even better than Richard.
Don’t go there, not now…

He’s probably gay. Men that look that good and style hair for a living are definitely gay.
The thought gave her new confidence, and she approached the desk.

‘I’m here for my appointment with Deborah.’

The man turned his smouldering eyes up from the appointment book he had been perusing. His straight, white teeth showed as he smiled, and a dimple appeared in the corner of his cheek. Bridget felt her breath catch.
Gay, gay, gay.
Then he spoke.

‘Miss Langston, Deborah had a family emergency and just called forty-five minutes ago. We tried to reach you to let you know of the appointment change, but you didn’t answer your phone.’ His voice was deep and low. A shiver went up Bridget’s spine. She attempted to ignore it and gulped around the knot forming in her throat.

‘Oops,’ she said, hoping her voice sounded breezy and unconcerned. ‘I had my phone off during a meeting, and I must have forgotten to turn it back on.’ She felt a measure of panic as the implications of the situation dawned on her. ‘Oh—oh.’
My date.

‘You can reschedule, or you can see another stylist right now, today, with a discount as our apology for the inconvenience.’ His mellifluous voice interrupted her worried thoughts. Yes, there was still hope.

‘I’ll use someone else today,’ she spoke quickly, not wanting to let this opportunity pass by. ‘I—I need to look good.’ Her hand went to her lanky hair. How hard could it be to shampoo, trim, blow-dry, and fluff? A new stylist wouldn’t kill her. She’d been planning on getting highlights that day, a new thing for her, but she could just get the usual. Highlights weren’t going to make her a supermodel. Who was she kidding?

The man stood. His chair made a rolling sound on the tiled floor. The scent of a manly cologne drifted up, enticing her nostrils. She wanted to breathe deep, and hold that smell in for as long as she could. It made her think of hot kisses searing across her flesh, of hands holding her own above her head…
What in the world?

‘You already look good, miss, but a cut and some highlights, yes? That will make you look sexy. Sexy is better than good.’ The man smiled and arched a dark brow at her, gesturing for her to follow him to the stylist chairs.

Bridget knew she was blushing. Her face felt as though it was on fire.
That was nice of him…to tell me I look good, but how ridiculous. Does he expect a tip?
She pondered the reason for the man’s compliment as she followed him to a black chair with a mirror in front of it and miscellaneous hair care products on the counter below.
Wait a minute? Is this his chair? Is he going to do my hair?

Flustered, she hesitated, one eye on his black denim clad buttocks and one eye trying to see if there was another available stylist nearby. There wasn’t. Every single stylist had someone sitting in the chair in front of them. Her stomach knotted. ‘You—you’re going to do my hair?’

‘Yes, I am. My name is Javier.’ A brown hand reached out to her. The dimples flashed. She hesitantly took it. It felt warm and firm, like a hand she wouldn’t mind feeling on her body…
Gay, gay, gay. Keep telling yourself that.

‘Is there no one else?’ Bridget glanced around, knowing it was futile, but feeling the need to ask anyway. ‘I—I mean no offence, but I’ve never had a—a man…’ Her words trailed off in an embarrassed silence as she realised how they sounded.
Oh geez.

Javier laughed at her. He
laughed
at her. She should have been offended, but his laughter was so…open and friendly, and sent tingles through her body. She found herself returning his smile and felt her shoulders relax.

‘No worries, miss. I promise not to take advantage of you when you succumb to the perm smells.’

Oh, I wish you would. Now where did that thought come from?
Bridget shook her head as she sat in the chair.
He’s gay. Good grief.

Javier eyed the woman sitting in his chair. She was pretty but obviously didn’t know it. Unlike most attractive women, she didn’t play up her beauty, didn’t enhance it properly. Instead, she suppressed it with a plain hairstyle of a dull, unimaginative colour and no makeup. With a stylish ’do and some shadow and mascara around those green eyes, she could bring a man to his knees. And those lips…all they needed was a coat of gloss to enhance their natural fullness, to draw the eye. They were lips begging to be kissed.

Stay professional, boy. This chick is as frightened as a mouse.
He continued assessing her as he handed her a magazine of hairstyles and a book of hair colours the salon offered. She was younger than she first appeared. Thirty or so. She dressed modestly and business-like, but her severe dress suit hadn’t hidden the curve of her hips, the roundness of her rear, or the fullness of her breasts when she’d walked in.
She’d look delectable in a short skirt and a cleavage-showing top
.

Feeling a tightening below his belt, he decided he better get his thoughts on other things. Deborah had told him a lot about this woman. He knew she was timid and a loner. She donated money to animal charities, fostered cats, volunteered at the local soup kitchen, visited nursing homes at Christmas, and had a huge distrust of men…for good reasons, so hitting on her would do him no favours.

She shut the book, fingering some of the hair samples sticking out of it, and shook her head. ‘Just my usual.’

Javier felt a twinge of disappointment. She had so much potential. He had caught snippets of conversation during her previous visits, and the stylists tended to gossip in between clients. He knew that as well as being a generous person, she had been mistreated by a previous boyfriend, a controlling boyfriend who had belittled her and ridiculed her before slapping her around to the point he was now in jail.

Such a lovely woman should not be beaten down so. No woman deserved to be treated like that. He felt a rise of anger deep inside him.
So many women hurt by men.
The woman needed to get her confidence back, and he knew just how to start the process—if only she would let him.

‘Fifty percent off all services if you let me have my way with you.’ He hoped his tone was convincing as he buried all of his fingers in her brown hair and began massaging her scalp. The scent of her shampoo, fruity and delectable, rose to meet him. He kept his eyes on hers in the mirror in front of him and rotated his fingers, gently and deeply.
Let me have my way with you, pretty lady. I will treat you right.
Her eyes began to lose their doubt, and her body visibly relaxed as he continued his scalp massage. She was wavering. He could see it.
Come on, princess…

‘Okay,’ she murmured. Then her full lips lifted into a striking and shy smile. ‘I can’t believe I’m doing this, but okay. You can have your way with me.’ She giggled and blushed, and the sound and sight melted Javier’s heart.

I can’t believe I’m doing this, and I can’t believe I said that!
Bridget closed her eyes and pretended she was hiding. The silence grew but was not ominous. It was a comfortable silence. Javier was obviously not a man to chatter while he worked, and she found that refreshing. She grew weary of divulging her innermost secrets as one was wont to do in salons and hated feeling obligated to fill her appointments with mindless chatter too.

The hands caressing her locks would make it difficult to form a complete sentence anyhow. And he was
caressing
her hair. He had the gentlest touch as he separated strands, brushed them, and clipped them atop her head. Every time his fingers brushed the back of her neck, she had to struggle not to visibly tremble or spasm.
Maybe I should open my eyes so that these feelings won’t be so…strong. Loss of one sense enhances another, right? So if I open my eyes and see, I can occupy my vision, and the feelings he is evoking in me won’t be so potent…
She opened her eyes.

His dark fingers were deftly painting strands of her hair, using a brush coated in a thick, light coloured substance from a bowl. She watched his fingers move the brush from her hair to the bowl and back again, watched him fold aluminum paper around the strands, and pick up his brush again. Every time he completed wrapping the foil, his hands landed on her shoulders briefly before continuing with his task. His touch heated her flesh under the cape and her dress. Her bra was beginning to feel tight, uncomfortable. What she wouldn’t do to tug those annoying straps down off her shoulders. They were getting in the way of his searing touch.

Okay, this visual thing isn’t working.

Someone spoke to Javier. His hands rested on Bridget’s shoulders as he turned to talk to another stylist. She felt the vibration of his voice through his hands, felt their warmth, saw the clean and well-groomed fingernails in the mirror, smelled his cologne.
All my senses are consumed by this man.

Too soon, his hands left her. He left her. She watched him take the bowls of hair colour to a room in the back. Now she had to sit and let the colour set, and there was no reason for his hands to be upon her. As she settled down under a hair dryer, Bridget couldn’t help but sigh.

Javier pretended to be flipping through a hair magazine, but really, he was watching Miss Langston.
Should I ask her out after we’re done? Is she anti-male or is there hope? She just needs to heal, and I would love to help her with that and show her not all men are bad. I want to show her how gorgeous she is, make her see it. Dare I?

Then he remembered another woman.

No, I can’t. I need to give this other woman a shot, a fair chance. She’s so nice. How could I just forget about her?
He felt a hot flame of shame shoot through him. The other woman—it was nothing serious yet, but he liked her. There was the distinct possibility that something would happen. Their talks had been so profound, and they had shared so much with each other. Javier shook his head at himself. His lady confidant deserved his full attention, and he would give it to her.