Backstage Romance: An Austen-Inspired Romantic Comedy Box Set

by Gigi Blume

  “I’m jus’ bein’ cheeky.” Yep, I was bringing out the London street talk now. “I’m all jokes, mate. Rehearse the kiss. As if.”

  He shot up from the floor and offered me his hand to help me up. When I found myself on my feet, however, he didn’t let go. His hand was strong and rough, holding onto me like a charged wire. His thumb traced delicate circles on my wrist, and if I wasn’t already off balance from the proximity of his gloriously sculpted body, the contact would have done me in. I’d have forgotten my name had he not whispered it like a quiet plea.

  “Emma…”

  I wasn’t sure what sound came out of my mouth, but it wasn’t any kind of language known to humanity—unless caveman language counted. It was more of a gurgle, so swamp monster was more like it. He stared at me for what seemed like forever, the flame in his eyes matching the burning sensation in my chest. It lit into a fiery inferno and sent molten heat to every extremity of my body. I thought I might turn into a pile of ash at his touch. What was with this feeling that had suddenly ignited inside me whenever Jaxson was near? I’d known him for years and was never thrown off kilter like I’d been lately. Nothing made sense. It was probably all the pent-up energy from the movie. It was all new territory and putting both of us on edge. But in that moment, I didn’t care how or why.

  He was so close. If he budged one more inch in my direction, we’d be touching in more places than just hands. I could already feel the charged air from his body tickle over the surface of my skin, even through my fabulous spandex workout suit. Even through my leg warmers.

  His eyes searched mine looking for an answer I wouldn’t know. If he looked hard enough, all he’d find would be more questions. At length, he released me, stepping back just enough to give me a choice. To let him in or shut him out. I didn’t want to do either. I liked things the way they were.

  “So…” I tapped his shoulder. “Is the ball in your court or mine, because I lost track?”

  “I didn’t realize we were playing ball.”

  “It’s an expression. I’m pretty sure I’m one up on you since I proved I can lift… well I’m not suggesting you weigh two hundred pounds, but you’re tall and have lots of muscles, and muscles weigh a lot. You’re solid, so yeah. I win that round.”

  He laughed, almost in a way that one did after promising not to do so. “Okay,” he said. “You win.”

  I beamed. “Great. What shall we do next?”

  “Something safe. Maybe you can stay on the stationary bike. You can’t do much damage from there.”

  “You never know.”

  He put on some music, and we each did our own routines in opposite corners of the room. He had so much equipment, we kept ourselves occupied for the greater part of an hour. The exercise was a good outlet to funnel all the crazy I’d been feeling lately. There was nothing like a little physical agony and sweaty pits to put things into perspective. My legs felt like noodles by the time Jaxson shut the music off and asked if I was hungry. Like he needed to ask.

  We ate standing at his kitchen counter because I was afraid to ruin his dining furniture with my soaked unitard. Jax said my perspiration (AKA feminine glow) didn’t offend his smeller, but I kept a good five feet away from him anyway. It didn’t matter, though. There were enough onions in our tacos to cancel out any other offending odour. It was a good thing we both loved onions.

  As we cleaned up after ourselves, I wondered why he hadn’t said what he wanted to talk about. Maybe it was about the changes in the script. We’d already covered those concerns. Maybe he wanted to know what my feelings were on the cuts—if I sided with Frank. If so, he already had my answer, and I wasn’t about to bring it up again. I realized while I was lost in my reverie, Jax had stopped what he was doing and was watching me from across the kitchen. He stood behind the large stainless-steel chef table, resting his fingertips on the edges. One thing about Jax—he considered himself an amateur chef and insisted his kitchen be fitted with professional fixtures. Now, that table stood between us like a formidable silvery barrier. He looked at me with a weary expression on his features. His posture was rigid, and there was something about him, like he was no longer Jax. Like he had taken on the worries and cares of a heartbroken man. And when he spoke, I knew why.

  “Penelope.” His voice was transformed from his easy Aussie cadence to the clipped American dialect of Colonel George Donwell. He took a tentative step around the counter, spine erect, shoulders back, and waited for the reaction I was supposed to give. Penelope’s action was to cry, overjoyed to see her fiancé come home from a senseless war. But I wasn’t interested in crying, especially after wiping the perspiration from my face earlier. Nope, wasn’t gonna cry. But that didn’t stop Jax. He approached and stroked his thumbs along my cheeks to dry the imaginary tears, cupping my face in his hands.

  “Tears are in the past, Penelope. Words are for the future. Say you’ll have me.”

  Okay, so the dialogue was a work in progress, what can I say?

  Then his lips touched mine—tenderly at first, a feather-light caress as if a question. I answered back with breathy sighs, walking the line between the script and my visceral reaction. It was a perfectly natural response; the man caught me unawares. Well, maybe not completely. I did, after all, make this very request. But that had been hours ago and now that I was sweaty and oniony, I was just so unprepared for this. Maybe that’s what he was going for—to see what kind of authenticity he could use in the film.

  He brushed his warm lips softly against mine, exploring and caressing them. It was agony—wanting this and knowing it wasn’t real. My heart thundered in my chest as he took his time, branding me with excruciatingly slow, sweet kisses. I involuntarily let out a small moan, and that seemed to drive him to deepen the kiss, capturing my mouth with more intensity until a growl escaped the back of his throat. I clung to him, afraid my liquefied legs wouldn’t hold me any longer, and he slid his arm around my waist in response, keeping me from falling into a shapeless heap on the floor. My skin burned, overwhelmed by the sensations coursing through my body like a tidal wave of longing. I was a ball of hot want under the sizzle of his touch and gave back his kisses tenfold, layering the performance in potency with each pass of my lips on his.

  Jaxson pulled away for a brief moment, catching his breath—his eyes, dark and stormy, moved over my face with a hazy, unfocused gaze. I thought for a moment he’d come to his senses and was considering a way to end whatever this was without too much awkwardness. But we were way beyond that. I mean, I was really committed to my role and if it meant practicing our love scene over and over—well, we’d just have to do it until the director was satisfied. And by the all-consuming look on his features and his laboured, ragged breathing, I could tell he certainly wasn’t satisfied. Oh, well. We needed a lot more practice. Pucker up.

  My thoughts wandered to the many screen kisses I’d had. They were all meh by comparison. Knowing Jaxson was usually behind the camera, I wondered fleetingly how much experience he had with love scenes because, dang… he was bloody good at it. Somewhere inside my brain, I was giving the man a standing ovation.

  Bravo. Bravo. Bravissimo.

  This was some serious award-winning material. If only there was a category for best on-screen kiss, Jaxson would win by a landslide.

  Before I knew what was happening, he’d backed me up to the kitchen counter and pressed his body flush against mine as he ravaged my mouth. His hands roamed all over like they didn’t know where to land, his fingers igniting tiny fireworks wherever they touched. A shudder coursed through me as his kisses became more immediate and demanding. I was fluid, lost in the time space continuum, sparks of light exploding behind my eyelids. His body was hot, the hard lines of his muscles an anchor in the tumultuous, raging sea we were navigating. I grabbed at his t-shirt, desperately trying to hold on lest I drown. Perhaps that wouldn’t be such a bad way to go, come to think of it. His kisses turned wild and savage as his fingers kneaded at my back, pressing me int
o him until I was sure our bodies were fused together. Welp, there was no turning back now. I clawed at his shirt, eager to feel the contact of his skin and was rewarded by miles of rippled muscle where my fingertips found purchase.

  I was sure that part wasn’t in the script—or even historically accurate since he’d probably be wearing an Army uniform. At that moment, I couldn’t care less. He broke away from my lips to trail steamy kisses along the curve of my jaw and down to my neck. Holy smokes, that felt nice. I trailed my hungry fingers up the length of his back, drawing him into me with the little strength I had. My body quivered under his magnificent form, safe within the canopy of his sheltering goodness. I wanted to stay in this bubble forever, but that nagging voice in the back of my head tried to slap a dose of reality on the party.

  This isn’t real.

  As if Jaxson heard the voice, he took in a sharp breath and cursed, resting his forehead against mine.

  “Emma,” he whispered. Then he repeated my name several more times. “Emma, Emma…”

  What was I to say to that? Emma’s not here right now, she’s up in the clouds. Please leave a message. Beep.

  Instead, I wrapped my arms around his waist and hugged him, enjoying his warmth for a little while longer. Jax reciprocated the embrace, burying his face in my hair. I could feel his jaw move my ponytail around when he said, “Do you think we’re ready to do that for the camera?”

  For the camera.

  Of course. This was only pretend. Then why did I lose a piece of my heart just now? Even though I had absolutely no expectations where Jaxson was concerned, a small jolt of disappointment cut into my stomach. That’s what I got for trading my hazmat suit for a spandex unitard. Jaxson and I weren’t meant for romance. I smiled, patting him on the shoulder.

  “It’ll be brilliant,” I said into his chest. “We’ll fool ‘em all.”

  21

  Shipping

  Emma

  Annie and Randall must have been in the running for the shortest honeymoon in history. They were back from a three-day cruise down the coast and ready for business. Even though Annie didn’t need to be at the workshop session, Randall needed to finalize his preliminary designs for the studio execs to see on Friday. She came with him. Everything was moving along swimmingly. The music was perfect, the dancers were phenomenal, and the principal players were more than ready. Once the project got green lit, we’d be that much closer to shooting the movie.

  Frank took a seat next to me when he arrived, grinning ear to ear and practically oozing the gossip gravy.

  “You’ll never guess what I just saw.”

  He startled me at first. I was expecting Jaxson any minute and wanted to have a moment before we began for the day to discuss whatever happened the night before. We needed to agree to keep our lips to ourselves from now on unless it was on screen. Frank was a welcome distraction with his breezy humour and playful disposition.

  “Ummm… Sasquatch?” I guessed.

  “Nope.”

  “Space aliens invading the dry cleaner down the street?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “Why the dry cleaner of all places?”

  I shrugged. “That place seems dodgy to me.”

  Frank perched himself on the edge of his chair and spread out his hands as though preparing me for the most exciting news of the century.

  “Are you ready for this? Jennifer drove into the parking lot in a brand-new Porsche 718 Boxster convertible. Light blue.”

  “So?”

  “So, there’s no way she can afford a car like that.” He nodded knowingly. “There’s no other explanation. Jennifer Fairfax has a wealthy benefactor.”

  “Wealthy benefactor? This isn’t nineteenth-century England, my good fellow. Nobody has a wealthy benefactor.”

  Annie, who until that moment I thought was making googley eyes at her husband, leaned into me and asked, “What’s all this? Don’t leave me out of the gossip.”

  She smiled at Frank, and they shook hands over my lap. I introduced them and got her caught up on the wiggle-waggle. Frank heavily insinuated the car was a gift from that Dixon chap, but I argued a guy like that might not have the free cash for an extravagant gesture of that sort. Surely, his wife would notice such an expense. It had to be her manager, Bill Campbell.

  “Are you kidding me?” he cried. “Have you met Bill? He’s the cheapest SOB on the planet. It’s gotta be Dixon.”

  “Why don’t we just ask her?” I suggested.

  “Do you actually think she’ll admit to such a thing?” Frank chuckled as he said this.

  Annie cleared her throat. “I don’t know this girl, and far be it for me to guess, but how do you know she didn’t save up for it?”

  “Because I overheard her say to Pinky how much debt she’s in,” replied Frank with hushed tones. “She was saying how this job couldn’t have come at a better time. She’s broke.”

  Annie and I said ohhhh in unison and right on cue, Jennifer walked in with Jaxson, chatting animatedly with a gigantic smile spread across her face. Frank jumped up to join them.

  “What’s he doing?” questioned Annie.

  “Getting the 411,” I said.

  “Hmmm.” Annie crossed her arms over her chest and watched Frank trying to get into the conversation. Jennifer was doing her best to ignore him.

  “Hmmm? Why hmmm?”

  “Oh, nothing,” she said. “It’s just the way Jennifer is looking at Jaxson like he’s the sun and moon.”

  I pouted a little at her insinuation. “Jaxson has that effect on people. It doesn’t mean anything.”

  “I don’t know,” she singsonged. “Jaxson looks like he’s sweet on her. Maybe he bought her the Porsche. He can afford it.”

  “That’s preposterous.” Then again, Jaxson did say he had something important to tell me. Maybe he didn’t get a chance to because I had been ridiculous. Snogging and all that.

  “Jaxifer. Even their names ship well together.” Annie had a smug air to her voice for being so clever. If Harriet was around, she would have sided with me, but she asked for a personal day—probably from partying too hard. I meant to ask Frank about how karaoke went but forgot when he brought up this whole Jennifer thing.

  “Dixifer also ships well, for your information,” I snapped.

  “Okay, okay. We’ll just have to see how it pans out.”

  “I suppose we will, now won’t we?”

  Honestly! Some people didn’t have a clue about matchmaking.

  Annie was quiet for a beat while we both watched Jaxson. His features were luminescent. I wondered if he’d always had that glow—that I only took notice of it now. His eyes twinkled with some sort of magic with every smile that passed his lips. Something inside me started to pitter patter. My spleen? My kidneys? Maybe my heart.

  “What’s going on with you and Frank?” Annie said after some time.

  “Frank? Whatever do you mean?”

  “Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed how he flirts with you.”

  I prickled at her audaciousness. “No comment.”

  “Aha!” She pointed at me for emphasis. “There is something between you.”

  I snorted. “I will only admit he is a flirt, but not only with me. He is an equal opportunity flirt.”

  At least I hoped he didn’t single me out. I had to admit I did notice he sat too close sometimes and stole little touches to my arm whenever he spoke to me. He also knew how to dole out those dimples that would melt an ice queen’s sherbet. But that was just the way Frank was. Right? Oh, dear. Maybe he did fancy me.

  “I don’t know,” Annie replied. “He’s talking to Jennifer but looking straight at you.”

  Blimey. He couldn’t be that obvious, could he? Presently, Frank had Jennifer’s attention since Jaxson had snuck off somewhere. She was showing him something on her phone which he seemed only half interested in. Every so often, he’d look up toward me and wink. I wasn’t sure how to process that new discovery. I decided to put
a pin in it—or maybe just ignore it altogether.

  “How was your honeymoon?” I figured Annie wasn’t the only one who could ask questions. “Sorry you had to come back so soon.”

  “Right? I was away three days and now everyone’s gone. I knew Beth might quit, but now Elton went AWOL? I must have scared him away at the wedding.”

  “Scared him away? You?”

  Annie grimaced. “I kind of yelled at him.”

  “Really? Why?”

  “I caught him making out with Trudy.”

  Trudy? The bridesmaid with the pudgy cheeks? So that was her name. Not Ruby. And what was Elton doing snogging bridesmaids minutes after hitting on me? Or was it before he hit on me? I was a little blurry with the timeline.

  “Oh.”

  “I know I overreacted,” she continued. “But Trudy just broke up with her boyfriend and is a little vulnerable these days.”

  “That’s weird,” I said, remembering the guy she was talking to at the wedding. “I thought she fancied Brody.”

  Annie looked confused. “Brody? Oh, you mean Brady.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I said.”

  “No. Brady’s not for her. Anyway.” Annie sighed and clasped her hand around mine. “I want to apologise.”

  “Don’t worry about Elton,” I assured her. “He probably deserved it.”

  “I was referring to the way my friends treated you. They’re not usually cliquish, it’s just… I think they were intimidated by you. I mean, you’re a super-famous movie star, and you’re drop-dead gorgeous. You seem to have it all together. Trudy has low self-esteem and a body image complex. Loretta’s been crapped on by so many guys, they should name a country song after her. And Melanie is shy underneath all those tattoos. She had an abusive father, so I think that’s her way of hiding her true skin.”

  “I had no idea. They’re all so beautiful and cool. I thought I just didn’t fit in with their retro vibe.”