Sparked (city2city: Hollywood) by Edie Harris Page A

that, rather like the whole concept of “fun,” her supply had run out. No bottomless well of it lived inside her.  
    Alone was easier, safer.
    Using a fresh damp towel, she wiped the remaining lather from his face and neck. When she lifted the warm towel away, she wanted to smile, because there was so much about his face worth smiling over. “Aw, look at that. You’re kind of pretty, after all.” Cheeks pink, jaw sharp, eyes bright regardless of their dark circles of fatigue, Declan Murphy was…vibrant.
    No wonder he preferred the beard—without it, he was prettier than Christopher Lunsford.
    “Hush your mouth.” He adopted an affronted expression even as he poked a finger between her ribs, teasingly.  
    Except that it didn’t feel like teasing when her lips parted and his hand curled into the bottom of her shirt. Not aggressive, not pulling, just holding on, and it did the strangest thing to her insides. “You struggle with physical boundaries, don’t you?” As evidenced by his thumb over her knuckles, his hand on her wrist, his face in her palm, and now this. Not touching her, per se, but with the excess fabric of her shirt caught in his fist, she was coaxed closer.
    Her pulse sped up when her knees bumped his.
    He slowly shook his head. “Not usually.” His hold on the chambray loosened, fingertips barely skimming the hidden curve of her hip. “But I think I want to misbehave.”
    Nibbling at her bottom lip, she allowed their knees to touch again. “Did I give you any indication I wanted you to make a pass?” Prickles of heat danced over the exposed skin of her wrists and forearms, made vulnerable by the rolled-back cuffs of her shirtsleeves.
    “No.” His hand passed over her hip once more, firmer now but making no demands.
    “Yet here you are, making a pass, anyway.”
    He froze, eyes darting over her face, studying, assessing. “Should I stop?”
    The prickles morphed into flames, flickering and low but flames nonetheless. The section of her brain that refused to bend to her need for control rolled around in the heat between them, like a puppy in a pile of leaves. “Would you, if I asked?”
    “Yes.” There was that yes again, an almost exotic sound from his lips. This one word carried so much weight that she suddenly felt crushed beneath it. Nothing simple about that yes, not how he said it and certainly not how he meant it.
    Because he did mean it, she could tell. “Why?”
    “Why would I stop?” Frowning, he dropped his hand.
    She caught his wrist, her grip too tight, but she was helpless to relax her fingers. He didn’t seem to mind, his lips parting, an audible breath whooshing from between them. Of its own accord, her thumb found the underside of his wrist and decided to pay him back for that first touch when he’d shaken her hand.  
    Shaken her hand, and shaken her foundation. “Why are you making a pass at me?” she clarified, needing his answer. Actors Being Actors she could forgive, and lay down the ground rules for working together over the next few weeks. If this was real, however, if this zing lighting up her bloodstream was an actual thing , then she had some thinking to do. Though how it could possibly be a thing, she didn’t know, since she’d only met the man this morning.  
    Stuff like this only happened in the movies.
    A flush, all too obvious thanks to his fair skin, spread over his cheeks. “Because I like your laugh.” Slowly, so as not to dislodge her hold, he twisted his wrist until he could grip her forearm. Blunt fingertips swept over sensitized skin, and she shivered. “Because,” he murmured as he tugged her closer, “I want to make you laugh again.”
    This was crazy. She was crazy. “I don’t feel like laughing now.”
    “Good. Neither do I.” He perched on the edge of the chair. She leaned down, until the puff of his breath buffeted her lips.
    Footsteps sounded behind her. “Fiona?”

Edie Harris studied English and Creative Writing at the