Cullen's Bride Read Online Free PDF Page A

by worry. Worry for the boy who’d attacked her.
    â€œThank you,” he said, a dark warmth filtering into his deep voice. “If you’d made a formal complaint, Dane wouldn’t have stood a chance. With his record, they would’ve locked him up.”
    â€œBut he does need help.”
    â€œHe needs a lot of things, but at the moment it’s all academic. He’s in hospital. His father beat him so badly he can barely walk.”
    Rachel could feel her eyes widening, her system responding to the sudden dousing shock of such brutal violence. She knew this stuff happened—in cities it was a given. But in Riverbend? Cullen’s rebuke about small towns and big cities came back to her. It stung to realise that she was still reacting naively That he’d been right about her. Vaguely, she heard Helen hustling the reluctant Reeses and Janine out the front door, the bustling, tidying sounds the younger woman made as she swept the floor clean. “Will he be all right?”
    â€œPhysically, he’ll heal.”
    Rachel released a breath she hadn’t been aware she’d been holding and began working the tight skin at the edge of Cullen’s hairline, just above his temples.
    Cullen wondered if Rachel realised just how long she’d been washing his hair, or how sleekly sensual her fingers felt sliding across his wet scalp. He almost sighed with relief when she began rinsing him off, glad for the candy pink plastic cape covering his lap. It had been a mistake succumbing to the temptation to bait her, to have her touch him. He’d never had his hair washed so well or for so long, and he wondered if Rachel Sinclair got this close to all her male customers. If she did, there must be a town full of frustrated men.
    She’d implied that Helen was the draw card. And he supposed that if short, tight dresses and a slick line in sexy banter was what you were chasing, then she could be right. But Cullen had had his fill of women who wanted nothing more from him than stud service and the chance to fulfil their bad-boy fantasies.
    As if he’d conjured her up, Helen sauntered into view.
    â€œEverything’s shipshape ” She fixed Cullen with a considering gaze. “Unless you need a hand with something out here?”
    The water went off. Rachel reached for one of a half-dozen bottles on a shelf. “Mr. Logan’s only in for a cut.”
    â€œIf you say so,” Helen murmured, shooting Cullen another lazily assessing look as she wiggled her fingers at Rachel. “See you in the morning.”
    Cullen heard the sound of a bottle being squeezed, caught the scent of something resinous, masculine. He clenched his Jaw against another groan as Rachel began weaving her elegant hands through his hair again. After an eternity the water thumped on, and he would have sold his soul to immerse his body in the lukewarm wetness.
    The water went off with a shudder of pipes; then she began to towel his hair dry with firm regular sweeps that shouldn’t have been sexy. Aside from the scalp massage, it was about the sexiest thing that had ever been done to him. She hovered over him, her loose dress tightening across breasts and hips that were unexpectedly full for her petite build. And as she worked, her feminine warmth and scent wrapped him, her thigh brushed against his, and more times than he could count, her breast came whisper-close to his taut bicep.
    â€œShort or just a trim?” Rachel asked with a brisk profession-alism that was just a little too bright, too impersonal.
    Cullen concluded that either she was physically scared of him, or the raw, sexual awareness that was tying his gut into knots cut both ways. As soon as he’d considered that Rachel could be afraid of him, he discarded the thought. She hadn’t shown any fear in the darkness and confusion of the alley last night, and her actions since he’d stepped into the salon had reflected curiosity and