Star Struck

Chapter 1

Yes, it was an end of shoot wrap party, but this one was different. Normally it was a round of drinks followed by a round of hugs, and as the drinks got more frequent, so did the hugs, but all interspersed with the knowledge that a few months and they’d all be back together. But not this time. This was the end of the series and the end of the whole show.

Kim was stood with Eoin, Katie and Alex who were arguing about who had the best death.

‘But I died with Sir Percival’s hands on my face,’ Eoin protested. ‘On my face!’

‘Tom’s hands could cover your whole head,’ Katie said.

‘But not your whole arse,’ Eoin retaliated.

She swiped at him, but he ducked behind Alex and it was him she caught on the side of his head.

‘Ow!’ he said.

‘You deserved that,’ Eoin said over his shoulder. ‘You killed Arthur.’

‘If you ask me, it was Merlin who killed Arthur,’ Kim said. ‘Not calling the stupid dragon in time.’

‘A very good point,’ Eoin said, smiling at her over Alex’s shoulder. ‘Hey, your glass is empty.’

He grabbed her by the wrist and practically dragged her over to the bar, ordering her a gin and tonic and himself another Guinness. ‘Let’s sit down for a minute,’ and he flopped onto one of the bench seats at the side.

She watched him take a gulp of his drink, his fingers firm on the glass, his lips caressing the rim, the white foam sliding slowly back down as he placed it on the table. He ran his fingers through his hair, leaving gleaming grooves in it before giving it a quick shake and turning towards her.

‘Hell, sweetheart, I can’t believe this is the end.’

‘Nor me.’

‘I’m going to miss you. I’m going to miss your hugs.’ He looked up at her, smiling, totally relaxed, pulling one leg up onto his knee, stretching the denim across his thigh. Her eyes couldn’t resist flicking there, to the stitched seam and then up to where the panels of material met in a cross but were distorted by the contents of his jeans. She could see where a single stitch had been pulled and longed to pick at it with her nail. In fact, she longed to scrape her fingernail along the full length of the seam so that he could feel her touch through the denim.

She returned her look to his face, taking in the glossy waves of hair, a strand resting on his cheek that she could so easily have stroked out of the way, the high cheekbones and trimmed beard that was just crying out to be touched. He was wearing a linen shirt, open at the neck so she could see the Egyptian icon and his father’s wedding ring on the chain resting in the hollow between his collar bones, then down to the soft strands of his chest hair. There wasn’t a single part of him that she didn’t want to touch.

She sipped at her drink, the ice cubes clinking. She longed to take one, to press it in that hollow and lap the liquid that trickled down his breastbone while she stroked her fingers through the fine curling hair of his chest, smoothing over the muscles. That triangle was a little part of perfection. But then, he had so many. Some obvious, like his hair. Some just noticeable to Kim. Like his wrist bone which made her want to cry with its vulnerability, so perfectly was it sculpted.

A couple of the crew came over to say they were leaving. They hugged Kim first and then Eoin. From the back she watched the hair curling onto the top of the shirt, and then the way his jeans hugged his hips. He sat back down, giving her thigh an affectionate squeeze, and there was a waft of his aftershave. Citrus. And him.

‘You’re very quiet,’ he said, his arm drifting along the back of the bench seat.

‘It’s just . . . I can’t believe it’s all over.’

‘I know,’ and he bumped his head affectionately against hers, and then stayed there, his forehead leaning against hers.

She only had to turn her head and their lips would meet. A simple contraction of a few muscles. A movement of what? A few centimetres at most. And then . . .