Chapter 12: Drying her hair
She blinked, a flush creeping into her cheeks at the authority in his tone. With a resigned sigh, she pushed herself off the couch and followed him upstairs, muttering under her breath about bossy men. Nicholas’s presence was commanding, and he didn’t wait for her approval, making decisions for both of them with a confidence that both irritated and intrigued her.
Nicholas led her to his bedroom, a sleek, masculine space dominated by dark tones and minimalistic decor. The room was immaculate, each piece of furniture placed with purpose. A king-sized bed with crisp white sheets sat against one wall, the dark leather headboard stark against the soft glow of the bedside lamps. A large window offered a view of the rain-drenched cityscape.
He walked into the en suite bathroom and returned a moment later with a hair dryer in hand. "Sit," he instructed, gesturing to a chair near the corner of the room. His tone was calm but authoritative, and Ella couldn’t help but feel a flutter of annoyance at the command.
Ella crossed her arms, her reluctance written all over her face. "I can do it myself."
"I’m sure you can," Nicholas said with a smirk, his eyes glinting with amusement. "But you won’t. So sit."
There was something in his tone that made it impossible to argue. His words were not a suggestion but a quiet order that left her with little room to protest. With a huff, she plopped down in the chair, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. She glared up at him, daring him to say something more, but the playful smirk on Nicholas’s lips only deepened.
Nicholas chuckled softly, the sound rich and warm, as he plugged in the hair dryer. He tested the settings before stepping behind her, his presence suddenly close, far too close. "Good girl," he murmured, the teasing edge in his voice sending an unexpected shiver down her spine.
Ella’s cheeks warmed, her usual sharp retort dying on her lips. "Don’t push your luck," she muttered, though the words lacked their usual bite, the warmth spreading through her body too much to ignore.
He switched the dryer to a gentle setting, warm air rushing through her damp hair as his fingers combed through the strands. The sensation was oddly soothing, the warm air against her scalp and the gentle tug of his fingers a strange comfort.