The sound of his voice caught her attention. She'd been so focused on what she was doing that she'd nearly forgotten he was still awake. "I think he'll survive," she said softly. "He's a better cook than hair stylist anyway." By that time she was pretty much finished and she circled to the front of him to survey her work. It was even enough, and she could see those beautiful eyes if he'd open them. But truthfully, she didn't want to disturb him.
Before he could realize she was finished, she returned to her position behind him and set the scissors down. And with slow, purposeful strokes of her fingers, she began rubbing her way over his scalp and down the more tense points in his neck. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps he had given her all the power over him. She'd found what made him into a puddle and she was going to use it. But not as any leverage, but a way to make him happy. It was so rare that she'd heard his voice so free of tension. She wanted to keep him there, at least for a while.