palm.
She applied the lather to his cheeks, jaw, top lip, throat…and lingered. She shouldn’t have lingered, but the skin underneath the short bristles darkening his face was warm and inviting, and it had been so long since she’d touched a man’s face, intimately.
It was that last word— intimately —that shook her from the illicit little stroll her mind had started taking and shocked her back into the present. The makeup chair wasn’t supposed to be intimate, it was supposed to be work. Where the hell was her professionalism today?
Not that Declan seemed to notice, oblivious to the turmoil messing up her insides. She knew better than to give in to weakness where a man was concerned.
She washed her hands, letting out a carefully controlled breath as she turned back to her workstation. All that yoga had to be worth something more than simply maintaining her flexibility. Zen. Be freaking Zen.
The razor caught the light when she lifted it from the counter. Dark eyes widened. “Wait. Wait a sec. We’re doing this the old-fashioned way?”
“Um. Yes?” She studied the razor, which she had to admit, could have doubled as a prop in Sweeney Todd . “I’ve done this before.”
“That doesn’t make me feel better, Fiona.”
Her stomach fluttered when he said her name. “I promise not to slit your throat.”
“Not helpin’.”
“Just hold still.”
“Famous last words,” he muttered mournfully, eyes squeezed shut. She had just lowered the blade to his neck when he shook his head. “Nope. Nope, can’t do it.”
Scowling, she pulled the razor away. “Are you kidding?”
“If you decapitate me, I’m gonna have a hard time doing this film. Can’t imagine them being happy with you if they had to recast again .”
“I’m not…I wasn’t going to decapitate you.” This was her job. He might think she was a flake for not knowing about the whole Lunsford-drug-arrest situation, but that didn’t mean she went around slicing necks willy-nilly like a Dexter wannabe.
He lifted his hands from under the drape and raised them pleadingly on either side of his head as he pinned her with an intense gaze. “O’ course not. But I’ve changed my mind on that whole ‘living dangerously’ thing. Can we, I dunno, not and use a safety razor, instead?”
He looked so ridiculous sitting there, tired-eyed and lathered in white foam, hands by his ears as though she were holding him at gunpoint and demanding his wallet. Worst. Stickup. Ever. “It won’t be as close a shave.”
“That’s kinda what I’m countin’ on, darlin’.”
The laugh escaped her before she even realized she wanted to laugh, not at him but with him. He grinned through the shaving cream before lowering his hands to the arms of the chair. Actors Being Actors? Maybe. Or maybe he was simply a funny guy. A funny, nice guy.
A funny, nice guy whom she needed to get cleaned up, more for her own peace of mind at this point than anything else. “You still want me to do it?” she asked, rummaging through the same plastic bin from which she’d pulled the electric trimmer until she found a fresh, old-school safety razor that would’ve done someone’s grandfather proud.
“Yes.” Just yes, nothing else, and that single syllable soothed the feathers he’d ruffled by accusing her of trying to kill him. Though he couldn’t possibly have been serious about that.
It was the work of a minute to scrape the stiff bristles from his throat, cleaning the blade as she went. The underside of his jaw was quickly revealed with each quiet swipe of the razor. Her fingers under his chin urged him to present his right cheek, then, a few moments later, his left. Each gentle flick of her wrist removed a layer of camouflage, not only from him, but from herself.
Intimacy . The word came to mind again, brilliant and dangerous, but everything in her rebelled against reacting. Three years ago, she’d made a choice about intimacy and decided
She applied the lather to his cheeks, jaw, top lip, throat…and lingered. She shouldn’t have lingered, but the skin underneath the short bristles darkening his face was warm and inviting, and it had been so long since she’d touched a man’s face, intimately.
It was that last word— intimately —that shook her from the illicit little stroll her mind had started taking and shocked her back into the present. The makeup chair wasn’t supposed to be intimate, it was supposed to be work. Where the hell was her professionalism today?
Not that Declan seemed to notice, oblivious to the turmoil messing up her insides. She knew better than to give in to weakness where a man was concerned.
She washed her hands, letting out a carefully controlled breath as she turned back to her workstation. All that yoga had to be worth something more than simply maintaining her flexibility. Zen. Be freaking Zen.
The razor caught the light when she lifted it from the counter. Dark eyes widened. “Wait. Wait a sec. We’re doing this the old-fashioned way?”
“Um. Yes?” She studied the razor, which she had to admit, could have doubled as a prop in Sweeney Todd . “I’ve done this before.”
“That doesn’t make me feel better, Fiona.”
Her stomach fluttered when he said her name. “I promise not to slit your throat.”
“Not helpin’.”
“Just hold still.”
“Famous last words,” he muttered mournfully, eyes squeezed shut. She had just lowered the blade to his neck when he shook his head. “Nope. Nope, can’t do it.”
Scowling, she pulled the razor away. “Are you kidding?”
“If you decapitate me, I’m gonna have a hard time doing this film. Can’t imagine them being happy with you if they had to recast again .”
“I’m not…I wasn’t going to decapitate you.” This was her job. He might think she was a flake for not knowing about the whole Lunsford-drug-arrest situation, but that didn’t mean she went around slicing necks willy-nilly like a Dexter wannabe.
He lifted his hands from under the drape and raised them pleadingly on either side of his head as he pinned her with an intense gaze. “O’ course not. But I’ve changed my mind on that whole ‘living dangerously’ thing. Can we, I dunno, not and use a safety razor, instead?”
He looked so ridiculous sitting there, tired-eyed and lathered in white foam, hands by his ears as though she were holding him at gunpoint and demanding his wallet. Worst. Stickup. Ever. “It won’t be as close a shave.”
“That’s kinda what I’m countin’ on, darlin’.”
The laugh escaped her before she even realized she wanted to laugh, not at him but with him. He grinned through the shaving cream before lowering his hands to the arms of the chair. Actors Being Actors? Maybe. Or maybe he was simply a funny guy. A funny, nice guy.
A funny, nice guy whom she needed to get cleaned up, more for her own peace of mind at this point than anything else. “You still want me to do it?” she asked, rummaging through the same plastic bin from which she’d pulled the electric trimmer until she found a fresh, old-school safety razor that would’ve done someone’s grandfather proud.
“Yes.” Just yes, nothing else, and that single syllable soothed the feathers he’d ruffled by accusing her of trying to kill him. Though he couldn’t possibly have been serious about that.
It was the work of a minute to scrape the stiff bristles from his throat, cleaning the blade as she went. The underside of his jaw was quickly revealed with each quiet swipe of the razor. Her fingers under his chin urged him to present his right cheek, then, a few moments later, his left. Each gentle flick of her wrist removed a layer of camouflage, not only from him, but from herself.
Intimacy . The word came to mind again, brilliant and dangerous, but everything in her rebelled against reacting. Three years ago, she’d made a choice about intimacy and decided
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