Making Over Maris Read online

  “It’s…well…the beard is kind of my ‘thing’.”

  She sighed and turned back to him. Tried not to wince at his expression. “It’s been a shield, Jack. Do you think no one knows you hide behind it?”

  He bristled. “I do not.”

  “You do.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Shave it.”

  He put out a lip. She could see the wheels turning. “What about a Van Dyke?”

  Something odd shot through her. Oh. She did like a Van Dyke, the sexy way the moustache and goatee framed a man’s mouth… It made even the most mild-mannered men seem naughty. Maybe other women felt the same. “Okay. We’ll try that.”

  He nearly collapsed at the reprieve.

  So did she.

  The relief surprised her. She had fully expected to end this debacle today but she was glad—oddly delighted—it wasn’t over. Still…

  “Book the trip, Jack. I want the tickets in my hand ASAP.”

  Jack spent the next half hour researching travel options to Paris. It was a bit of a struggle because he’d never researched travel options to anywhere before. Airline websites, he discovered, were terribly inscrutable. Definitely not user-friendly.

  It was a pity Sara couldn’t take a train to Paris.

  Or a slow boat.

  Anything but a plane.

  He hated the thought of her thirty-thousand feet in the air in a nine-hundred-thousand-pound metal deathtrap—

  Kenny interrupted his gloomy ruminations when he burst into Jack’s office—four hours late for work—and dropped into the chair beside his desk.

  Jack didn’t yell at him because Kenny was pale and shaking. And he was kind of glad for the interruption.

  “What’s wrong?” He moved the spider bot he was building out of reach. When Kenny was upset he had a tendency to fiddle with things and when he fiddled with things he broke them.

  “It’s Calvin.”

  “Christ.” Jack dragged his fingers through his hair. “What now?”

  Kenny bounded from the chair and began to pace. “I came home from work last night and he was smoking pot.”

  Fuck. When Calvin smoked pot or had a drink or took a fucking Vicodin, his resolve crumbled. “Was…that all he did?”

  “Yeah. But Jack—”

  “I know. I know. Where is he now?”

  “Home. Still sleeping.”

  Jack sent a quick email to Tristan letting him know he was leaving for the day, grabbed his phone and shouldered into his jacket.

  “Are we going?”

  “Yeah.” Jack clapped a hand on Kenny’s slender shoulder. “Let’s go have a chat with your brother.”

  He could only hope it wasn’t too late.

  * * * * *

  The next day was Saturday. Jack had just finished booking The Trip to Paris, with a couple interesting embellishments, when Sara called to inform him they were going to spend the day together. He was excited…until he arrived at the address she’d given him to discover they were meeting at a hair salon—a hair salon, for God’s sake—to have a stylist make him over.

  The guy was fruitier than a Carmen Miranda headdress but seemed to know what he was doing. Jack closed his eyes as Kriss (with a K) took an enormous pair of shears to his beard—his baby. He couldn’t watch as his longtime companion fell to the floor in unruly hanks. Each snip scored him like an electric jolt.

  He kept his eyes closed most of the time as Kriss trimmed his sideburns and his hair and—holy hell—his eyebrows. The ordeal was all too painful.

  Sara sat in a chair on the other side of the room and every once in a while would pause flipping through her magazine to chuckle. She was an evil wench.

  But it was worth it.

  It was all worth it.

  Because when Kriss was done and he spun the chair around with a flourish, Sara looked at him.

  Looked at him.

  Her eyes widened and her mouth formed an enchanting little O and she sighed.

  She stood and drifted across the room, coming at him with an expression he’d only ever imagined. And then when she was close, she reached out her hand and placed it on his cheek.

  He shuddered.

  It was the first time, the only time—in all the years they’d known each other—that she had touched him. On purpose. Shivers skittered up his spine. His cock stirred.

  “Oh Kriss. What did you do? He looks…” She paused and shook her head, her eyes shining.

  What? He looks…what?

  “So handsome.” She said the word as though she could barely believe it.

  Hell. He could hardly believe it. She’d said he was…handsome.

  Jack turned his head so he could see his reflection in the mirror and his breath stalled in his chest. Some guy, some hunk sat there—admittedly, wearing a pink smock—looking hot.

  And blurry.

  Jack scrambled for his glasses and put them on.

  Oh. Dear. God.

  He did. He looked…hot.

  Kriss had tamed and styled his mane, cutting the unruly mop close to his head. His beard had vanished, except for the stylish Van Dyke ringing his mouth. With the hair gone it was easy for Jack to see the results of all his hard work over the last month. His cheekbones were sculpted and lean. His neck defined.

  The zits that had prompted the need for the beard in the first place—in high school—were nonexistent.

  He unsnapped the smock and brushed the strands from his shoulders. Turned his head this way and that. Holy hell. What a difference. Who’da thunk it?

  He caught Sara’s gaze in the mirror. She was still staring.

  Damn but he liked the feel of her eyes on him.

  They drifted over his chest.

  Oh yeah. He liked this a lot.

  But then she frowned.

  His heart plunged into his belly. Didn’t she like—

  “We’re going to have to get you some new clothes.”

  Oh. Yeah. What a relief. That hadn’t been what he’d expected her to say.

  And then came something else he’d never expected—not in a million freaking years.

  She wove her fingers through his hair.

  Ho-ly fuck.

  “Have you ever thought about contacts?”

  “What?” He could barely concentrate on her words. She probably didn’t even realize what she was doing but the feel of her fingers against his scalp was making him dizzy. Good thing he was sitting down. Oh. And good thing the pink drape was pooling in his lap. You know. So she couldn’t see.

  “Contacts? Do you have them?”

  Numbly, he nodded. Resisted the urge to lick his lips. Oh God. Her hand trailed down the back of his head and she stroked the nape of his neck. She was ostensibly brushing away some stray hairs but did she need to linger like that? A shiver walked through him. He glanced up and caught Kriss’ assessing grin.

  “New clothes and contacts will help,” the stylist said, thrusting out a hip and tapping his mouth with a comb. He probably didn’t mean it to be suggestive. Probably.

  Jack stood and brushed himself off. He crumpled up the pink drape and tossed it into the next chair. “We should go.”

  Sara stood there next to him, gaping up at him. Her mouth was making that O shape again but now he found it annoying. It made him…twitchy. She blinked and looked away. “Yes. What? We should go?”

  “Clothes shopping?” he reminded her with a nudge.

  “Oh. Yeah.” She swallowed. “Right. Clothes shopping. Yes. Let’s, um, go.”

  Jack tossed a fistful of twenties at Kriss and nodded his thanks, following Sara from the salon. She kept glancing back at him and blinking and her lips would part and then she’d remember herself and face forward again.

  Still, she walked into the door.

  * * * * *

  The clothing store she’d picked was one he would never have visited before. It was full of what Jack referred to as “metro clothes”. Button-up shirts and cable-knit sweaters and khakis. Not a snarky black t-
shirt to be found.

  Sara installed him in a dressing room and, with the help of a chirpy sales assistant, brought him outfit after outfit to try on. And he did. Dutifully he tried each one on, studying his reflection in stunned silence as the transformation took place.

  It was strange, seeing his body—his new body—decked out in clothes he wouldn’t normally have worn. They weren’t baggy or comfortable and he certainly didn’t feel like himself as he tried on sweater vests and argyle for Sara’s review.

  Each time he marched out in a new getup, she and the sales assistant would critique the style. Jack felt like a human mannequin. They would tug at this and prod at that and talk amongst themselves about his form as though he wasn’t even there.

  But then…

  Then he walked out wearing an Irish cable-knit sweater that clung to his body and outlined his shoulders and flat belly and Sara just stared. The sales assistant stared too.

  And that was when things changed.

  Because all of a sudden Molly—or Missy, or Maria, or whatever her name was—started flirting.

  She sauntered over to him and stroked his chest, murmuring to herself, or to him, or to someone, about how warm the sweater looked. Then she squeezed his upper arm. He couldn’t resist flexing.

  She cooed—this cheerleader who wouldn’t have noticed him two months ago—and licked her lips.

  Licked ’em real slow. As though they tasted good.

  Jack heard Sara’s snort from the other side of the room.

  He liked the snort. Liked what it meant. So he decided to play this up. He edged closer to the salesgirl. “Do you like it?” he asked.

  “Oh…” Her hand drifted lower to his belly. “Yes.”

  “Maybe I should get it then.”

  “Oh. Definitely.” She sidled up against him. He could feel her heat. Taste her intent. Smell her arousal. It was weird.

  Weird because having a hottie pant all over him was definitely a departure. But mostly weird because even as this chickadee drooled all over him, his full attention was on Sara.

  Sara glaring.

  It was awesome.

  And frightening.

  Because Sara was pissed.

  “Better keep going,” he said, stepping away from the sales assistant, grabbing the next outfit in the pile and heading for the dressing room.

  “Mmm hmm.” She licked her lips again.

  Jack escaped. But barely.

  He stepped into the dubious safety of the dressing room and pulled off the sweater, putting it into the “keep” pile. Definitely keep. He was yanking a pair of tight black jeans over his hips when the curtain screeched open. He spun around in shock.

  “Oh!” Molly—or whatever her name was—brought her hand to her mouth, her eyes glued to his chest. “Oh. Sorry. I thought you were…ready.”

  Jack glanced up, past her, to find Sara standing there, arms filled with new outfits. Her gaze was riveted too.

  Jack could only assume it was riveted on his milky whiteness. He cringed and grabbed the sweater, covering up the pale expanse.

  Tanning.

  He was going to have to invest in tanning. Maybe spray tanning like they did on those pageant shows he didn’t tell anyone he watched.

  He glared at Molly and yanked the curtain shut.

  Damn it all. He wasn’t ready for Sara to see him half-naked. Not nearly ready.

  Molly had probably ruined everything.

  Chapter Four

  Oh. Holy. Crap.

  Sara swallowed the pool of drool in her mouth.

  Yeah, she’d been surprised to see the new Jack during Kriss’ amazing transformation. Losing the beard and that mop of hair had turned him from a sulking nerd into a pouting hunk. But she hadn’t been prepared, not nearly prepared, to see his chest.

  Why had she assumed he’d be doughy and soft? Doughy and soft—he was not. In fact he was buff. His pecs and abs were well-defined ridges and when he’d grabbed that sweater, his biceps had bulged, catching her eye. The boy had muscle. Who knew?

  She turned away and riffled through the outfits in her hands. Not because they needed riffling but because she didn’t know how to face Jack when he emerged.

  Her attention had been snared by the sight of him—Jack Maris, for God’s sake—slipping into a pair of tight jeans. His ass had been firm and tight and, when he turned around, with the zipper undone, it had been like a scene from a hot-guy photo shoot. Like the ones she favorited in her browser.

  She longed to fan herself but didn’t. Instead she diligently reminded herself this was Jack. Jack Maris. The computer nerd from work, the friend who had hired her—hired her—to make him presentable. And damn it, she was doing a good job.

  Too good of a job, judging from the panting sales associate. For heaven’s sake, did she have to paw him like that? Sara nearly growled when Jack emerged from the dressing room wearing the black jeans and another sweater. Molly went right up to him and squeezed his ass. His ass, for God’s sake. Sara was only slightly mollified when he jumped and uttered a stunned squawk. He shot a panicked glance at her. She thought perhaps his lips formed the words “help me”.

  Sara frowned. She was done with this. Plenty done, thank you very much. They had a few good outfits and that would have to do. She couldn’t bear to continue.

  Odd thing was, she wasn’t quite sure why.

  “I think we’re done here,” she said, dropping the selected clothing on the counter.

  “Oh?” Molly’s face fell. “What about…underwear?” Her gaze flitted over to Jack and her lashes fluttered.

  Sara swallowed her gorge. She grabbed a packet of briefs and slapped them on the counter. Glared at Jack. “There. Done. Ring us up.”

  Molly pouted but did as she was asked. She took her time though, Sara noticed, slowly scanning and folding each garment, stroking them with loving fingers and mooning at Jack all the while. She processed the payment and slipped everything into a big bag and handed it to him, not so surreptitiously stroking his hand as she passed it over. “You will come back now, won’t you?”

  Jack grunted and snatched the bag. Then he grabbed Sara’s elbow and dragged her from the store.

  “Well,” Sara huffed as they emerged onto the street. “That was interesting.”

  Jack glared at her. “It was mortifying.”

  Why the hell was he in a snit? He’d just been hit on by the hottest chick in town. Granted, she was probably a junior in high school but she was hot. “Come on, Jack. You liked it.”

  He shot her a dark glower. “She touched my ween.”

  “What?” Sara couldn’t help it. A laugh bubbled out.

  “She did a reach around, Sara.” His outraged expression was comical. He was so put out…that a hot chick had grabbed his pecker. Sara wasn’t sure why the whole situation lifted her mood. Molly had copped a feel and he was annoyed about it. It shouldn’t elate her. But it did. “She touched my…privates. Isn’t there a law about that?”

  Sara hooked her arm in his. “There is a law. It’s called the law of nature.”

  He shot her a confused frown.

  “You look great, Jack. I can tell you’ve been…working out.” She caressed his upper arm and then squeezed it. He stumbled on the sidewalk. “Molly could tell too. She wanted a piece of you.”

  For some reason his frown darkened.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t want strange women grabbing my junk.”

  “Jack, isn’t that the point of all this? To make you hot? So women notice you?”

  He shrugged. “Not all women.”

  She stopped and he, perforce, stopped with her. “Which women?”

  He shrugged again.

  A blinding realization struck her.

  There was someone.

  Someone he wanted to attract.

  Ah. Hell.

  Her mouth went dry.

  Not Molly, obviously, and certainly not herself. Who could it be? Sara’s mind spun. This was Jack Maris
. He had no life outside of work, right? So that meant whatever woman he’d met—whatever woman had captured his attention, spurred this desperate attempt to be more attractive—had to be someone at work.

  Her heart fell. An icy ball formed in her chest where it had been.

  It had to be Jenny.

  Yeah. Jenny. She’d noticed Jack ogling her in staff meetings, nerd-flirting with her in the lunchroom. She’d always assumed he was ogling Jenny because of the piercings or the tattoos. Or the hair that changed color from day to day.

  Jenny was a free spirit, a wild child. A very talented artist. It made sense that Jack would be attracted to her. They were two of a kind.

  Why this knowledge hurt, shafted through her tinged with something that tasted a lot like depression, was a mystery.

  She didn’t like Jack. Well, she liked him. She loved his snarky humor and that he was so damn smart. She laughed at his jokes and appreciated his insights. Absolutely adored their movie nights. But she didn’t like like him. Like that.

  At least she hadn’t. Now she wasn’t so sure.

  Now when she noticed his lips she didn’t think about two fat worms writhing in a nest of twigs. Now they seemed…full, lush. Tempting. The trimmed beard—that mouthwatering Van Dyke—brought them wickedly to the fore. And with his hair out of his face, she could see the lines of his cheekbones, the muscles on his neck and…

  Oh dear God.

  She did.

  She did like like him.

  No doubt it made her the shallowest person on the planet. A haircut. Some muscles. A snazzy outfit. That was all it took for her opinion of him to totally flip. To make her want him.

  And she did. She wanted him. Really wanted him.

  And he had the hots for Jenny.

  Shit.

  Sara had dropped into a dead silence when they left the clothes store.

  Jack shot her a glance. What was she thinking? Had the sight of him half-naked completely turned her off? Damn it. He’d been making progress. Or he thought he’d been.

  He’d always hated the way he looked, especially how white his skin was—hot guys had tan skin, didn’t they? It was usually quite brown. And shiny. His skin wasn’t shiny at all. Why hadn’t he been more careful?