So, yes, perhaps her hair looked like a hungry horde of rats had been gnawing on it while she’d slept. That was neither here nor there. A gentleman wouldn’t gawk with the expression of someone who had just been smacked over the head with a baseball bat. “It’s damned hard to cut your own hair.”

“I gather,” he said, the right corner of his mouth quirking upward. “Why’d you dye it?”

“I felt like a change. Stop smirking. I’d like to see you do any better.”

“I wouldn’t.” Now the other side of his mouth was quirking upward as well, and she could see laughter dancing in his eyes. “That’s why I employ a qualified hairdresser.”

“Shut up,” she growled.

Which just unleashed the laughter he’d managed so far to suppress. Watching Mick Talford laugh loosened something that had been locked deep inside. She could feel the low rumble of it rocketing through her. His face was so different in laughter. The unguarded expression made her think of wide-open wheat fields, fresh and full of hope and goodness. Laugh lines she hadn’t noticed before fanned outward from the corners of his eyes. His head was thrown back, exposing the column of his neck. Tan and strong, begging for her to start at the hollow at the base of his neck and caress, lick, nibble her way up to his gorgeous mouth.

She stood there in his kitchen starving for human touch, human connection. Wanting so badly to step closer, press her hands against his warmth as if there were a blizzard outside and his unfettered enjoyment were a roaring fire. Sarah stood there feeling unbearably sad and yet joy filled, too. Spirals of heat and emotion flared upward, warming the tips of her ears, her cheeks, her neck. The heat then shimmied its way downward, dancing through her like droplets of light in a fireworks show to pool in her lower abdomen. Finally, his laughter subsided. He was leaning against the granite countertop for support and was wiping his eyes. “All done?” she inquired oh so politely, as if she were addressing the queen of England instead of this ill-mannered lout whom she so desperately wanted to knock to the floor and have her wicked way with. Apparently, she was losing her touch, because rather than being chastised by her tone, Mick laughed even harder.

“Here.” Still chuckling, he grabbed a pad of paper and scribbled something down, ripped it off, and extended the paper to Sarah. “This is the address of the office. Input it in Google Maps. If you need to grab a quick shower, have at it. I’ll meet you back there. If I’m at a meeting, Paul’s secretary, Harmony, can show you around. And in the future, if the house phone rings and I’m not here, answer it; take a message.”