Obsessive Boss (Bratva Brothers 4) - Page 45

"Have you done this before?" I ask.

"I don't generally make it a habit of hanging around pretty ladies and cutting their locks, no." A smirk adorns his face as he stands in front of me, checking the length, making sure that my hair is even. "I'm going to have to cut more. You still look too much like you."

That wouldn't be bad if we weren't trying to evade the feds and the bratva. "Go for it. I trust you."

He glances at me, pinning me with his gaze.

I inhale a sharp breath.

Should I trust Anton?

I've put my life in his hands, running across the country, hiding with him in the mountains in Montana. I could have fled, left him, and returned to the FBI.

I'd done nothing wrong. I was taken as a hostage, but now the story on television that we saw made me out to look like I was involved. That I may have had something to do with Anton's break out and the bratva intercepting Anton.

Who had been behind that report? Had that dick agent decided to point the finger at me to protect his career and reputation?

"You look pissed," Anton says. He continues cutting off the additional length, inch by inch, stalking around to ensure that it's even, or nearly even, before opting to go shorter.

"I just keep thinking about that weasel dirtbag," I say.

Anton grins. "You should curse more."

"Are you making fun of my insults?" I glance back at him.

He gestures for me to turn around as he stands behind me. "Quit moving, or you'll get a buzz cut."

"Don't you come near my hair with that thing," I say and point at the counter where the clippers are still plugged in. The red light flashes as it continues to charge.

"Relax."

I try to take his advice, but it's not that easy. When he's finally finished cutting my hair, I hop back in under the shower spray to rinse any extra hair that clings to me.

I spend almost no time in the shower, since the hot water has barely had time to replenish. It's not icy cold, but it will be soon.

I shut off the shower and step out. Anton is trimming his beard at the sink.

"Do you have enough of a charge?"

"We'll find out." He manages to trim his beard to nothing before the electric razor dies and has to be plugged in again.

Anton grumbles.

I bite my lip from telling him that he should have waited longer. He still needs to trim his hair, although I'm not sure how much he plans to take off. It's not like he's got long hair like I did before he cut it back.

I get dressed in a dark pair of jeans and a white shirt with a light floral print. The shirt is cute but not what I'd typically wear. Maybe it better fits my new personality. Will Declan insist on a name change for both of us? I can't imagine that we can continue being Savannah and Anton when it feels like everyone is after us.

I wrap my damp hair in a towel to keep any dye from transferring onto the fresh white shirt. We'll probably owe Declan a few towels, at the very least, in addition to a huge thank you for helping us.

I search around the apartment, find a few cleaning tools in the closet, then sweep up the hair and toss it into a bag in the trash. After Anton is finished, there's more to do, but at least some of it is cleaned up.

When I'm finished, I collapse on the sofa, exhausted.

The electric razor buzzes loudly from the bathroom as Anton trims his hair, trying to change his appearance like I did. When it shuts off, I hear him curse. I try not to laugh. "Out of battery power again?"

The man isn't incredibly patient, waiting for it to charge fully.

He's got half of his head trimmed, and the other half is still full of hair. "Nice look." I try to refrain from laughing.

"It's not going to keep me under the radar," he mutters.

"We're not going anywhere for a while. Let it finish charging." I gesture for him to take a seat on the sofa beside me.

He slumps down on the sofa, brushing against me. I shift around, turning to face him, my fingers running through his hair and teasing along the back of his neck. "I swear if you tell me I look hot like this and to keep my hair this way, I will scream."

I shift my weight forward, my lips grazing his. "I wasn't about to suggest that," I whisper against his lips.

"You were going to suggest something else?" He raises an eyebrow. "Because I could get on board with that." His heated stare makes me shiver, and he pulls me onto his lap. I can feel his erection pressed against his jeans, straining to break free.

"Do you have a thing for redheads?"

"Just one," Anton confesses. "She could be bald, and I'd still want to fuck her."

"Well, let's hope, for both our sakes, that's not in the cards." I grind my hips against his.

Anton groans, and his hands caress my hips, gliding briefly up under my shirt. His touch is warm and methodical. It's both calming and arousing, sending my body into overdrive.

This isn't an assignment anymore. He isn't just a man I'm sleeping with for information. Crossing that line again, it's for me, because it's what I want. He's what I want.

"You've been teasing me all afternoon," Anton says. His face is red, and I can sense his urgency. I feel it, too, needy, desperate, wanting release more than anything.

His fingers caress the tip of my ear, teasing the lobe before his mouth sucks on my neck. I whimper and squirm, my insides heating up from his ministrations. "You like that?" he whispers against my neck.

I mumble incoherently, and my eyelids grow heavy. I'm hot. The apartment is stifling, but I think it has more to do with Anton's presence than the temperature in the room.

He untangles the towel from my hair and lets it smack the floor. He guides my shirt up and over my head. He pinches the back of my bra, unclasping the metal contraption, and slides the straps over my shoulders.

I lift my hips long enough to unbutton my jeans and let them fall to the floor in a heap. "You have too many clothes on," I say, complaining that I'm nearly naked and he's fully clothed.

"You're the sexy one," he whispers against my ear and tugs on the bottom lobe.

I groan, and my insides melt from his words.

"Undress me," Anton commands, and I willingly oblige. My fingers graze his abs as I lift the black t-shirt over and off his head, tossing it behind the sofa onto the floor in the middle of the room. I lift my hips and swing around to one side of him while I help him remove his pants and boxers. "That's a good girl," he says, pleased I've followed his orders.

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