Karen Kendall - Unzipped?

Shannon stared, too.

“Bueno!” Enrique exclaimed. “Behold Caesar!”

Shannon doubted that the great Julius had ever worn a polyester-blend plaid shirt or hideous glasses, but she didn’t contradict the stylist, who was clearly proud of himself.

Hal, still squinting into the mirror in disbelief, muttered something about the Ides of March.

Enrique made a dive for his glasses again, but Hal blocked him.

“Off!” the little man insisted. “These must go goodbye-bye. They ruin my brilliance. You get the contacts, eh?”

Shannon nodded. “Next stop, Fashionocular.”

Hal began to protest but was soon felled into silence by the magnitude of Enrique’s bill. Shannon hid another smile as he goggled at the charge.

“You’re kidding me,” he croaked. “This is robbery!”

Enrique drew himself to his full height of five foot nothing and puffed up like a blowfish. “Perdón?” His tone was ominous. “Rrrrobbery?”

Hal stood his ground. “Larceny.”

Enrique tilted his head to the side and narrowed his black eyes. “Eh? I no familiar weeth thees word. But is obvious rrrrude.”

Hal looked again at the charge slip and didn’t deny it.

The stylist whirled on one foot, his chest heaving, and glared at Shannon. “He takes back thees insults, or—” he stooped to the salon floor and gathered up two fistfuls of hair “—I glue back thees hairs to his face!”

Shannon laid a hand on the enraged man’s arm, but he shook it off, casting the hair clippings into Hal’s open mouth.

While he blinked, shocked, and spat them out, she said quickly, “Enrique! He didn’t mean it. Robbery—it’s just a turn of phrase. Cute. You know, ha-ha! Hal here was making a joke. Weren’t you, Hal?”

“Uh, no,” he said, blue eyes stormy. He pulled more hairs off his tongue and lower lip. “No, I was not making a joke.”

Enrique hissed like an angry Latin goose.

“Hal!”

“What?”

“You’re not making this situation any better.” She dug into her hobo bag for her wallet, pushing him out the door of the salon. “Wait for me outside while I pay him and try to salvage my relationship with the only top stylist this side of New York!”

AS HAL WATCHED through the glass door, arms crossed and foot tapping, a silent Shakespearean tragedy unfolded inside. Shannon’s lips moved earnestly while Enrique’s back remained steadfastly turned to her. She kept speaking until his shoulder eased a quarter turn in her direction, and he finally nodded.

She waved an obscene wad of cash at him, but he shook his head and made her talk to The Hand. Patiently she entreated his palm until he apparently got tired of extending it, since he rubbed at his bicep.

Hal snorted.

Shannon next said something to Enrique that actually made him smile, though his lips turned downward again and his nose went up as soon as he beheld Hal through the glass. She added a phrase.

Enrique gestured at him in obvious disgust and then nodded. The stylist finally snatched the cash, kissed Shannon’s cheek and strutted off, this time like an insulted rooster.

She opened the door, emerged, and then sagged against it, eyeing Hal with severity.

Uh-oh. He didn’t care much about Enrique, but he’d gone and pissed off the Goddess. Would she zap him with a moon ray, or something? Turn him into a fire hydrant frequented by neighborhood dogs? He squinted balefully at her jacket, at the way her glossy blond hair slid over it and beckoned his gaze to exactly breast level. He looked away from the forbidden zone.

“Tact, Hal. I know it’s a four-letter word, but you need to get some. You put me in a really bad position with Enrique, back there.”

Hal could practically feel his jaw jutting out in stubborn righteousness.

“He’s very proud of his work, and he’s cut the hair of a lot of bigwigs, no pun intended. You can’t tell him that what he charges is robbery!”

“But—”

“It would be like one of your clients saying you overcharge. That your software is garbage.”

Hal chuckled. “Never. That just wouldn’t happen.”

“Uh-huh. Well, I don’t think Enrique’s ever had it happen, either. Have you looked at yourself, by the way? He’s worth every penny!”

“So he cut a few inches off my mop. And what is this Caesar crap all about? Please tell me you’re not hauling me off to be fitted for a toga and ankle-wrap sandals next?”

Shannon’s lips twitched. “No. But believe me, Enrique did a lot more than chop a few inches. He’s truly an artist.”

Snort. “I still don’t see why he’s worth six times what my regular barber charges.” Hal raked his fingers through the new Caesar cut, frowning. “I should charge him—he kept a lot of my hair! He probably runs a good racket selling the stuff for toupees out his back door.”

Shannon closed her lovely green eyes briefly. “Enrique does not sell clippings for hairpieces, I can assure you….”

Though he saw annoyance sparkling and radiating from her irises, he also discerned amusement. Was this Amazon sex goddess laughing at him again, on top of everything? The situation just sucked, plain and simple. He was going to wring Peggy’s neck for getting him into this.

They reached his Explorer and Hal walked around to the passenger side to unlock and open Shannon’s door for her. He supposed it was one of those things a goddess expected. She climbed into the truck one long leg at a time, and he tried not to notice the delicate musculature revealed under the leather pants. Tried to ignore the more interesting creases and crevices where the lucky pants rode her hips and thighs. He failed.

He gave himself a stern internal lecture.

This woman is nothing but a torment sent by my sister and a scourge upon my bank account. I am not interested in her pants or anything inside them.

Like most lectures, it went ignored. Not only was he lying to himself, but he was hard again.

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