Chapter 7

J.T.’s lower lip jutted out. His eyebrows lowered. I plugged in the hair dryer, handed it to him, and toweled the rest of him dry the same way I’d towel off a wet horse. His scowl deepened as I ignored his cocked hips and spread legs.

“You need to shave,” I said, running a hand along his jawline. He didn’t have a lot in the way of a beard, but I wasn’t much of a fan of that “five-o’clock shadow” look. “A gentleman never appears in public looking like he hasn’t shaved in two days.”

I let him use my electric rather than risking a nick with my good straight razor. There’d be time to teach the lad the finer points of toiletry once I got him back home. Once that was accomplished, I instructed him in the proper application of after-shave and cologne. I’d been right: I stopped him just before he poured out a handful of Acqua de Parma to anoint himself with.