Nothing Like Love

by Abigail Strom

  “Full of undying hatred for each and every one of you.”

  There was a ripple of laughter, and then Amy spoke. “Places, everyone. Break a leg.”

  Simone’s first scene passed in a fog. She was just uttering memorized words blindly until she caught a glimpse of Zach in the wings, lifting his hands in the universal up-the-volume gesture.

  Oh, God—no one could hear her!

  She spoke her next line louder, but her voice squeaked. She cringed, but Larry as Theseus kept right on going, his self-assured, booming bass voice filling the theater with rolling sound.

  And suddenly she was Hermia: a woman bound by laws that took neither her will nor her wishes into consideration. Her voice rang with defiance as she spoke her next line, declaring her determination to marry Lysander.

  She saw the gleam of approval in Larry’s eyes as he spoke his next verse. But she sensed Zach’s approval, too—and it was his gaze that seemed to warm her like a ray of sunlight, coming from the wings where he stood.

  At the end of the scene, Simone made it offstage before she sagged against Louise. Louise played Helena and was five foot ten, and she enveloped her much smaller friend in a solid hug.

  “You’re doing amazing,” she said.

  “Nobody could hear my first few lines.”

  “But you got louder.”

  “I squeaked.”

  “One tiny squeak. And then you were awesome. And jeez, Simone, how hard are you going to be on yourself? You step up to do something you’ve never done before, and you’re worried about one squeak?”

  Everyone else gathered around, too. Tobias, who played her lover, Lysander, grinned at her. “We’ve got time before our next scene. Do you want to run lines?”

  “Yes,” she said gratefully. She knew the words, but it might calm her down a little to go over them.

  Then she saw Zach coming toward her and she forgot everything else.

  “Hey,” she said. “I’m sorry about the squeak.”

  He smiled at her, and even though he was two feet away, it felt like he’d taken her hands in his.

  “Forget the bloody squeak,” he said. “You’re my hero. Is there anything you need?”

  “I’m just trying to get through this without throwing up. But—” She hesitated.

  “What?”

  “Would you—” She hesitated again, and then went on in a rush. “Would you mind staying backstage? I know you were going to be watching from the house tonight, but—”

  “Of course,” he said quickly. “I’ll be in the wings the whole time. I’ll be anywhere you need me, Simone. I’ll be right here.”

  A surge of warmth went through her. “Okay,” she said. Then she turned to Tobias. “Ready to run lines?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Zach was true to his word. As Simone and Tobias took their places for act 2, scene 2, he was there in the wings.

  When the lights went up and she spoke her tender words of love, Simone was conscious of Zach’s presence, supporting and encouraging her, living and breathing each line with her. And as she gazed up at Tobias, it was Zach’s face she saw.

  In act 3, Puck’s love potion creates chaos. Lysander deserts Hermia for her friend Helena, and Helena and Hermia turn on each other.

  Simone faced Louise with her hands clenched into fists.

  “You juggler! You canker-blossom! You thief of love!”

  Louise looked just as furious.

  “O, when she’s angry, she is keen and shrewd!

  She was a vixen when we went to school;

  And though she be but little, she is fierce.”

  Every short joke anyone had ever made about her, every time she’d been called shrimp or munchkin or midget, rose up in her breast. It wasn’t the way Zach had blocked out this scene, but she stormed right up to Louise and confronted her, nose to breastbone, glaring up at her from ten inches below.

  “‘Little’ again? Nothing but ‘low’ and ‘little’!”

  She reached up as if she were going to claw Helena’s eyes out, and Louise stumbled backward until she bumped into Demetrius. When Simone tried to get at her, dancing around Demetrius like a kitten attacking a big dog, delighted laughter came from the audience.

  A ripple of pleasure went through her. She’d made them laugh!

  Over Louise’s shoulder she saw Zach in the wings, grinning from ear to ear.

  After they made their exit, Simone and Louise collapsed against each other and started giggling hysterically. When Zach came over, she grabbed his hand.

  “I made them laugh.”

  He squeezed her hand and gave her a smile that made her knees weak.

  “I know. You made me laugh, too.”

  “You almost made me laugh,” Louise put in. “And I haven’t broken character onstage since I was fourteen years old.”

  She went over to one of the backstage mirrors to check her hair and makeup, leaving Zach and Simone alone for a moment.

  He still held her hand in his, and she made no move to pull away.

  “I’ve never felt like this before,” she said.

  He slid his hand over hers and twined their fingers together. Tiny darts of electricity traveled up her arm, making her heart beat faster.

  “I know,” he said. “There’s nothing else like it. It’s the best feeling in the world.” He grinned. “Some people think it’s better than sex.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Are you one of those people?”

  “No comment,” he said, glancing over her shoulder at the action onstage.

  He squeezed her hand once more before letting it go. “It’s time for you to go out there and finish the job.”

  She nodded. “Any notes for me, Mr. Director?”

  “Just keep having fun. You having fun is the best thing I’ve seen in a long, long time.”

  She’d started the play in a fog and she finished in a glow. When all the confusion had been put straight by Oberon and all the couples had been reunited, everyone exited but Puck.

  The lights were low, and soft flute music played—evoking pipes of Pan and Dionysian frolics, but a little melancholy, too. And then Quentin, Simone’s favorite actor in the company, stepped to the front of the stage.

  She’d heard this speech a thousand times before, but the words seemed brand-new tonight. They spoke to the ephemerality of life, of dreams, of magic, of what the actors and audience had shared—a moment here and then gone, never to be recaptured.

  The back of her neck tingled. She turned her head and saw Zach standing beside her, watching Quentin deliver the play’s last lines.

  She bumped his arm with her shoulder. “Thank you,” she said softly.

  He looked down at her. “For what?”

  “I would never have tried this if you hadn’t pushed me. And I would never have gotten through it if you hadn’t been in the wings.”

  He smiled. “Does that mean you’re glad you did it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.”

  They turned back toward the stage to watch Quentin. When he finished speaking he raised his hands in gentle supplication to the audience, and as he opened his palms, fine silver glitter sparkled in the spotlight for one more moment of breathless beauty.

  “That’s the perfect coda for this scene,” Zach whispered. “I’m glad you thought of it.”

  “It’s an easy trick,” she whispered back.

  “It might be a trick, but you used it to make magic.” His arm brushed against hers as he leaned closer. “You’re better at that than you think.”

  Considering he could make her whole body tingle with a single touch, she thought Zach was more of a magician than she was.

  There was a hush in the theater as the lights went down, like a moment between heartbeats. Then cheers and applause erupted i
n a rising tide.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Zach had experienced the exhilaration that follows a live performance a thousand times before, but this was something special. Backstage was a joyful scrum of actors and crew, with every member of the company hugging, talking, laughing . . . and at the center of it all, Simone, flushed and exalted and so beautiful he couldn’t keep his eyes off her.

  They decided to go to the Dirty Duck for the after-party, even though there were plenty of bars closer to the theater. But the Duck was named after the famous pub in Stratford frequented by the Royal Shakespeare Company, and everyone agreed that there was no better spot to celebrate a Shakespearean triumph.

  Alcohol and dancing added to everyone’s joy, as did the news that Belinda was resting comfortably after successful surgery.

  “This is a special company,” Zach said to Norbert at one point as he watched Simone and Quentin on the pub’s tiny dance floor. The two of them were attempting a mash-up of the Charleston and the tango to a country music song, and the result was like postmodern performance art.

  “It is. And Simone’s a special woman.”

  Zach glanced at the lighting designer, who was leaning against the scarred wooden table, nursing a beer.

  “Do I detect a warning note in that statement?” he asked lightly, wondering exactly how obvious he was being about his attraction to the petite brunette clowning around so adorably with her colleague.

  Norbert took a swig of beer before shaking his head. “Are you kidding? Simone would kill me if she thought I was trying to protect her. She can take care of herself.”

  Zach took a sip of his Guinness, using the back of his hand on the foam mustache it left behind. “Okay, so Simone doesn’t need protecting. But you seem to be implying that if she did, she’d need to be protected from me.”

  Norbert rested his forearms on the table. “You know, it’s funny. A few weeks ago when I saw how you looked at Simone in the Cobweb costume, I thought to myself, here’s a one-night stand made in heaven. Simone and I both believe that while friendships are forever, sexual relationships are best when temporary. And with you living in London and Simone living here, a liaison between you couldn’t be anything but temporary.”

  “So what’s your point?”

  “Nothing, really. I’m on my third drink, so I’m probably just rambling.” He paused. “It just occurred to me that even the most dedicated free agent can be taken down by the right person . . . or the wrong person, as the case may be.”

  “Meaning?”

  Norbert looked at Simone as Quentin swung her around, nearly knocking her into a passing waitress.

  “Meaning that appearances can be deceiving. Simone might seem all tough and jaded when it comes to men, but she can be hurt. And I’d hate like hell to see that happen.”

  Zach felt his temper flaring up. “Okay, you’re warning me off. I get that. But why do you think I would hurt Simone? I think she’s fantastic.”

  Norbert nodded. “I know. You’re rich and famous and handsome and brilliant, and you think she’s fantastic . . . and you live three thousand miles away. You don’t think there’s potential for hurt there?”

  Norbert wasn’t telling him anything he hadn’t already told himself. And yet—

  “I think it’s none of your bloody business if Simone and I—” He stopped, took a breath, and started again. “Sorry. Look, mate—I appreciate that Simone’s a friend of yours. But like you said, she’s a big girl. She makes her own decisions.”

  “I’m just saying that if you’ve got your eye on her, you might spend a minute or two thinking about the pain you could cause . . . and whether it’s worth it for a night or two of fun.”

  Zach opened his mouth to snap a reply, but Norbert forestalled him by holding up a hand. “Sorry if I pissed you off. What do you say we call a truce?”

  In spite of the annoyance he still felt, Zach nodded. “Truce it is.”

  Louise came up a moment later and grabbed him by the hand. “Let’s boogie!”

  She tugged him onto the dance floor before he could say anything. The country song had ended and something more up-tempo was playing, and other couples crowded into the tiny space. He bumped into Simone more than once.

  She was dressed casually tonight—faded jeans and a pink cotton blouse. It was a warm evening, and the humidity had put a curl into her short dark hair. Her cheeks were rosy, her dark eyes sparkled, and she looked like a pocket-size Snow White.

  Zach usually went for tall and statuesque, but something about Simone’s petite body and gamine charm just did it for him.

  Or maybe it was seeing her onstage tonight, watching her relish the language of Shakespeare and the electric connection with an audience just like he did.

  Maybe it was her sexy self-confidence when she was out having fun like this, so at odds with her insecurity about performing onstage.

  And maybe it was the fact that Norbert . . . not to mention his own instincts . . . were warning him away.

  Don’t we always want what we can’t have—or know we shouldn’t go after? Norbert was right, after all—there was no possibility of a relationship between him and Simone. Of course, if neither of them really cared very much, that wouldn’t be an issue. But Norbert had implied that Simone did care . . . or that she could, anyway. And if that were true . . . if there was even a chance it was true . . . then he could end up hurting her, or making her feel used.

  He didn’t want that.

  He bumped into Simone one more time just as the song ended and a slower one began.

  “Sorry,” he said again as she grinned up at him.

  “It’s time to switch partners anyway,” Louise said, grabbing Quentin’s arm and pulling him away.

  Zach hesitated an instant and then held out his hand. “Would you care to dance?”

  Simone put one hand in his and the other on his shoulder. “Indeed I would.”

  He slid his free arm around her waist and pulled her close, and the two of them started to sway back and forth to an old Led Zeppelin song, slow and bluesy and sexy as hell.

  Simone was in trainers instead of heels, which made her at least a foot shorter than he was. Zach felt a rush of protectiveness when she rested her head against his breastbone, and he wondered if she could feel his heart pounding as he tightened his arm around her.

  He bent his head and got a whiff of her hair—cherries and something spicy. His blood seemed to rise with every passing second.

  His desire for Simone was stronger than his will to resist it. But what did she want? There was more than one-night chemistry between them, but they didn’t have any other options. He was leaving next week. Would she be all right with that?

  Would he?

  Simone pulled back to look up at him, a half smile on her face.

  “What is it?” he asked. “You look like you’re waiting for something.”

  She nodded. “I’m waiting for you to go cold on me. That’s your pattern, right? First hot, then cold.”

  Trust Simone to be blunt.

  “That’s fair,” he said. “I know I’ve done that.”

  They were still swaying together, and he moved one hand to the small of her back.

  “I’m sorry about the mixed messages,” he said. “But there are a lot of reasons not to do this. We’re working together, for one thing.”

  “Not for much longer.”

  “No. But there’s also the Atlantic.”

  “The Atlantic?”

  “It’s located inconveniently between us.” He paused. “But the truth is, I can’t stop thinking about you . . . and I can’t stop wanting you. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted a woman as much as I want you.”

  She stared up at him, her lips parted and her eyes shining. From his vantage point he could see not only her piquant face but the curve of her small, perfect breasts
and the shadow of the valley between them.

  He pulled her closer. “I’m through trying to resist you, Simone. But I need to know what you want.”

  She took a quick breath. “I want to get out of here.”

  “Then let’s—” His voice cracked and he had to clear his throat. “Then let’s do it.”

  He thought of Norbert and scowled.

  Simone looked startled. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Is there anyone you need to say good-bye to?”

  “No.”

  “Great.”

  He took her firmly by the hand and led her out of the pub before Norbert or anyone else could stop them.

  He walked so fast down the sidewalk that Simone had to trot to keep up with him. When he noticed that, he stopped.

  “Sorry,” he said gruffly, feeling like an idiot.

  Simone drew a hand across her forehead in an exaggerated gesture of weariness. “I thought we might have a bomb to defuse somewhere. Or are we escaping mafia thugs?”

  It was New York at night, crowded and cheerful and loud. People passed them by without a glance, which created an odd kind of intimacy.

  Zach tugged Simone out of the line of pedestrian traffic and leaned back against the brick wall of the bookshop behind them. “No mafia thugs. I just wanted to be sure I got you away.”

  Simone put her small hands flat against his chest. “Got me away from what?”

  “Everyone else.” He covered her hands with his and gazed down at her, the hot summer night working its way inside his blood. A faint sheen of perspiration made Simone’s face glow, and every part of him felt warm and alive.

  I want you, he thought. God, I want you.

  He used his free hand to cup the side of her face. Her skin was so soft . . . so dewy and creamy and perfect. He wanted to touch every inch of her. He wanted to lick the salt sheen from her breasts and her belly and her legs.

  He wanted to taste the deep places.

  “Come with me to Ireland. We’d have two more weeks together.”

  She smiled at him. “You’re cute, Zach—but not cute enough to get me on a plane. And you were the one who let me off the hook, remember?”