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Since the bathroom in the caravan was more of a cupboard than an actual room, Dare had suggested they have their impromptu hairdressing session out in the living area, which was a relief. Grant didn’t particularly want to spend any more time than was necessary in close proximity to Dare’s chemical toilet. It was bad enough having to take a leak in the thing. He couldn’t imagine staying in the room long enough to shower or shave.
But then Dare was sitting on a stool at the table, and Grant was staring down at his head. He ran his hands over Dare’s scalp slowly, feeling velvety fuzziness where he’d expected prickles. Dare leaned into his touch like an animal would and made a contented sound in his throat.
“It’s so soft,” Grant murmured. “Reminds me of a pair of moleskin trousers I had when I was a teenager.”
“Moleskin? Why do I have problems imagining Mr. Posh Suit in that?”
The memories made Grant grin. “I wasn’t always this stylish. Believe it or not, I was a really nerdy teenager. I used to wear these awful knitted tank tops with polo necks underneath. I wasn’t actually all that bothered by clothes, so I just wore whatever Mother bought for me.”
“I always thought you were a bit of a mummy’s boy.” Dare tipped his head back and winked. “So who sorted your clothing out?”
“It was one of Harriet’s conditions when we started going out together. She said all her friends would laugh at her if I didn’t up my game, so she started buying my clothes instead. And then when I started moving up through the ranks, I hired a personal shopper for a while.”
“A personal shopper? What the bleedin’ hell is that when it’s at home?”
“You really don’t have a clue what’s going on out there sometimes, do you?”
“Not if it concerns the lifestyles of those with more money than sense, I don’t.”
“Charming,” Grant snipped, but the urge to educate Dare won over any bruised feelings. “A personal shopper helps you find clothes that suit you. The one I used was a stylist too—she had a great eye for picking out things in colours and styles that really flattered me. After a few trips with her, I’d learnt enough to be able to pick things out on my own. She kind of did herself out of a job, really.”
“I wouldn’t let anyone else tell me what suited me,” Dare rumbled. “Well, except maybe your ex. Picked out a coat for me one time. He’s got a good eye too.”
“You’re right there. Went for me, didn’t he?”
Dare chuckled, and Grant continued gently stroking his hair. It was an incredibly intimate act. Almost more so than what they’d done in the camper van. Grant had never let anyone stroke his own head like this, and if Dare’s little noises of contentment were anything to go by, he was starting to think he’d been missing out.
“What colour is your hair?” Grant asked. It was so short, it was hard to tell.
“Nothing special. Just brown. Mouse brown, my mum used to call it.”
Silver glinted at Dare’s temples. “You’ve got a few greys now,” Grant observed.
Dare chuckled. “Yeah. That’s another reason to shave it off, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know. If you don’t want to go grey, there are dyes you can use. Just For Men and so on.” Oh God, all those years of living with women had really rubbed off on him. Next thing he knew, he’d be advising Dare on his interior décor too. “Not that I’m saying you should dye your hair,” he hastened to add.
“I think I’d be more of a blue or green man myself, if I was going to go down that route.” Dare tipped his head back suddenly. “Hey, is that why you don’t have any greys? You dye?”
“I’ve got a few,” Grant admitted.
“I’ve never seen them.”
Grant huffed and parted his hair at the side where he knew a few lurked.
“Oh, okay. I see them. You’re lucky that’s it so far, though.”
“I suppose. But I quite like grey hair on older men. Makes them look distinguished. Experienced.”
“You look distinguished already,” Dare said. “You don’t need the grey. Although, for what it’s worth, I reckon you’ll look fucking gorgeous as a silver fox.”
“Was that an actual compliment? You’d better watch it or I’ll be round every day, just for the ego boost.”
“I wouldn’t mind if you were.” Dare cleared his throat then and broke eye contact, leaving Grant wondering what was going on. Did Dare really want him round more often? And if so, did he want more than just sex? It was a bizarre notion, but perhaps no more bizarre than the fact Grant was about to shave his head for him.
Thinking of which... “How do you want me to do this? Should your head be wet first?”
“Too right. I don’t want you to go in dry. As with all the best things in life, you need plenty of lubrication.” Dare picked up a mug of water, which Grant had assumed was there for him to drink. “Here you go. Just splash that over me. Not the whole lot in one go, though. I’ve got a flannel you can use.”
Grant contemplated upending the mug over Dare’s head just to see what reaction he got, but common sense got the better of him. He didn’t do things like that, after all. He wasn’t the reckless kind of man who soaked tough-talking men. He wasn’t reckless at all.
Except around Dare.
But he didn’t want to be reckless right now. He wanted to prove what a good job he could do with this. So he wetted the flannel thoroughly and gently rubbed it over Dare’s bristly scalp. Then he picked up the soap and shaving brush. “I’ve never used one of these,” he admitted, wetting the brush and then swirling it over the soap. “I always go for gel. Seems so much easier.”
“I like the brush, though. Often, the traditional, slower way of doing something brings me more satisfaction.”
A couple of months ago, Grant probably would have poured scorn on such a hippie-dippy remark. But watching the shaving soap foam under the bristles was incredibly satisfying, and thinking about Dare performing this ritual seemed just right. There was something curiously old-fashioned about him at times.
Grant brushed the soap over Dare’s scalp slowly, swirling the brush to create more foam. By the time he’d finished, Dare looked like he was wearing a white, woolly cap. “I should do your chin too,” Grant mused. “Could really go for that whole Father Christmas vibe.”
“Ho, ho, ho.” Dare grinned up at him. “Come and sit on my lap, little boy, and tell me what you want for Christmas. I’ve got a big candy cane for you to suck on afterwards.”
“Pervert.”
Dare leered in response.
Thinking about sucking Dare off was too distracting right now, so Grant changed the topic. “I can’t imagine how cold your head must get in the winter.”
“Why do you think I always wear a hat?”
“And then in summer, what about the sunburn?”
“I’ve got a hat for summer too.”
“What kind of hat?” Please don’t let it be something awful like a baseball cap.
“I’ll show you in a minute,” Dare said. “Are you done with the soap?”
“Yes, I think so. Anywhere in particular you’d prefer me to start?” Grant picked up the razor.
“Wherever you like. And don’t worry too much about going in the direction the hairs grow in. I never bother. I just do it whichever way I can manage to reach.”
Grant took a deep breath and placed the razor to Dare’s forehead, then pulled it back towards his crown. He’d cut a swathe of pink through the foam, and so far, not a single nick. He relaxed a little. Okay, this was a big responsibility but he was equal to it.
Soon he’d shaved the whole top of Dare’s head, and now he had to negotiate the tricky, bonier areas at the back. “You have a great-shaped skull,” he mused as he eased the razor over the dips at the top of Dare’s neck.
“Thanks.” Dare sounded amused.
“I mean it. I bet I’d look ridiculous if I shaved my head. It would probably look too small or pointed or something.”
“What, like your little head?”
“Are you accusing me of having a small dick?”
“Only compared to mine.” Dare cupped his groin. “Don’t worry. I’ve never been with a bloke who was bigger than me, anyway.”
“Might do you some good if you did,” Grant bitched. “You’re way too cocky.”
“Nine inches of cocky, I think you’ll find.”
“Stop rubbing it in.”
“I’ll rub it into you later, if you like.”
“Shut up.” Grant adjusted his erection and tried to steer the conversation back from smutty waters. “Anyway, we were talking about the shape of my head. My big head.”
“There’s only one way to find out what it really looks like,” Dare teased. “We just need to swap places when you’ve finished with me.”
“Not going to happen. Not in a million years.”
“Nah, you’re right. Your hair’s great the way it is.”
This time Grant didn’t comment on the compliment but lapped it up anyway. He could get used to this softer side of Dare. The one who let his guard down a bit.
“Problem?” Dare asked.
God, had Grant really just gone all mushy like a teenage girl with a crush? He started up with the razor again. “No, just thinking.”
“About?”
Grant scrambled for a safer topic of conversation. “You know, what I was saying about setting up an estate agents. I was thinking, it’s not like I’d have to wait to lose my job to do something like that. I could just leave. Set up on my own. People do it all the time.”
“So why don’t you?”
Grant sighed. “It’s a guaranteed income, and I’ve got Harriet and the girls to support. They’d have to change their lifestyle if I couldn’t give them as much. They might have to move house too. Mind you, they might have to anyway if the court orders us to sell up and split the profit.”
“Just how big is this place of yours?”
“Not huge. It’s a five-bedroom farmhouse. Four reception rooms. Quite modest, really.” It was compared to some of the families they knew, anyway.
“For three of them? Bleedin’ hell. You do know me, my brother and my dad all lived in a two-bedroom house, don’t you? Only one bathroom as well. And here I am, perfectly happy in a caravan. I’m sure they could cope moving somewhere smaller.”
“Yes, but it’s different if you’ve grown up being used to somewhere smaller. My girls haven’t. And Harriet, her parents’ place is almost a mansion. They have so many empty rooms, I don’t know how they don’t get lost there.”
“Then why don’t Harriet and your girls move in with them?”
It was a good question as they were relatively local. The girls wouldn’t even have to change schools. But still... “How would you want to move back in with your parents at this age?”
Dare huffed out something like a laugh, but it sounded bitter. “If it meant my mum was still alive, I’d do it at the drop of a hat.”
“Christ, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
“Nah, you’re all right. To be honest, if it meant moving back in with my dad and Jase, I’m not sure I could hack it anyway.”
“You don’t get along with your brother, then?”
“Not really.” Dare’s answer was curt, and Grant got the feeling this was a more touchy subject than his parents’ deaths.
“So, are you almost done?” Dare asked.
“Nearly. Just got to go round your ears. Do you want me to do your face too?”
“Nah, just stop at the sideburns. I can handle the rest.”
Grant drew out the last few strokes of the razor, wanting to prolong the experience as much as possible. But then it was over, and he didn’t have any more excuses to be touching Dare’s head in this strangely intimate manner. Unless... “Hold on. Let me wipe away the rest of the foam,” he insisted as Dare moved to get up.
Once Dare’s head was clean again, Grant ran his fingertips over the clean, shiny skin. “Wow. It feels so smooth.” Dare’s hand moved up to check too, and somehow they ended up with interlaced fingers.
Dare tipped his head up, his eyes crinkled at the corners. “Thanks, I appreciate it.”
A strange bashfulness overtook Grant. “Don't blame me if your head gets cold.”
“I’ll wear a hat, I promise.” Dare’s eyes twinkled. “I was going to show you my summer hat. Hang on.” He disappeared off to the bedroom, Grant heard muffled cursing and the sound of things falling out of cupboards, and then Dare was back, looking for all the world like a young Indiana Jones in his battered fedora.
“My God.” Memories poured back to Grant. Of his childhood obsession with those films, and the renegade archaeologist in particular. “Did I ever tell you about my very first crush? I mean, I didn’t think of it that way at the time, but I was absolutely obsessed by Indiana Jones. God, it would have made that whole dig experience in Bath so much more pleasant if they’d had him in charge.” Real-life archaeologists hadn’t been anywhere near as appealing.
Dare guffawed. “I look nothing like Harrison Ford.”
Maybe not, but still... “It’s not so much your looks, but your whole vibe. There’s something kind of dangerous. A fuck-you attitude.”
Dare smiled that cocky smile and sauntered forward. “I’d be very happy to fuck you. You know that.”
“Then why don’t you?”
“Maybe I will, next time you come round. If you ask really nicely. I’ll even wear the hat if you beg me to.”
“I might just do that.” Grant felt light-headed, dizzy, even, as Dare closed the space between them and kissed him. Not a full-on passionate kiss, but one that held promise and affection.
It took his breath away.
“Come on, mister. Time I walked you home.” Dare tipped his hat and winked.
Grant’s heart flipped over. What the hell was going on inside him?