A Midsummer Night's Fling (Stage Kiss Series Book 1)

by Beth Matthews

  "Costumes mostly." Tierney sank down to sprawl across the steps in the middle of the stage. "But I've got my hand in everything around here. Sets. Stage managing. Comes from being one of the Infamous Eltons, I guess. Whenever they need bitchwork it's always, 'Oh, let's ask Tierney.'"

  Armina Elton had founded the RSF in the 70s, and her daughter, Isabelle, was the current artistic director, but Tierney's last name had started with an 'H' . . . and been Japanese.

  As if reading Nicola's thoughts, Tierney gave her a wry grin. "I'm The Great Armina's granddaughter. Isabelle is my mother."

  What a sweet spot at nepotism. A guaranteed In with the best theater company on the west coast. Never mind being part of a bona fide acting dynasty, granddaughter to a legendary movie star – "But you don't act?" Nicola asked.

  "I used to be a dancer. Not here. Over in New York. Fucked my knee up. End of that." Tierney had fished a lighter out from somewhere, certainly not from her over-tight jeans, and was flicking it on and off, on and off, watching the flame dance.

  A door squealed open at the back of the theater, and the pink-haired girl hopped to her feet. "Time to start the show." She thumped across the stage, the pound of her heavy boots seeming to belie her former life as a dancer. But then she smoothly jumped into the pit in front of the first row of seats, leaving Nicola alone onstage as a train of people entered the theater.

  Nicola hesitated, rocking on the balls of her feet. Should she stay onstage? Go into the house to meet them and make nice? Max appeared, pulling up the rear and giving her a cheerful wave. She waved too, grimly smiling. Should I kill Max for getting me into this?

  The least awkward thing would seem to be to enter the house and meet everybody. This wasn't a formal audition, after all. This was more of a clusterfuck, and Nicola, as well as everybody else, was winging it.

  A tiny crowd congregated in the pit between the stage and the first row of the audience. Nicola did not copy Tierney's performance and hop offstage; instead, Nicola descended to the ground by way of a side stair, all the time trying to appear regal. Queenly. FAIRY Queenly.

  Rita pounced as soon as Nicola was off the last stair, pulling her into a long hug. "Oh, mija, it has been too long."

  When Rita let her go, Nicola took quick stock of her former mentor. In her early sixties now, Rita's brown eyes were still bright, helped along by the heavy eye makeup and false lashes she wore, but her spiky, short hair was pure white now. She wore a black turtleneck and slacks, with a pair of white glasses on a chain around her neck and her trademark cluster of silver bracelets on her wrist. She'd put on weight and didn't look well. Nicola blinked in surprise. Rita had grimly held on to her slim dancer physique for years; maybe the stress of directing was getting to her?

  Nicola grinned at Rita, but the expression slid from her face as Max stepped close.

  "You made it." He wavered forward like he might hug Nicola.

  Nicola leaned toward him, her hands shoved deep in her jeans pockets and murmured, "I'm going to kill you for this. No audition my ass."

  He shot her an apologetic grin, but when she glared at him he hurriedly pulled a woman forward. "Nicola, this is Isabelle, our artistic director. Isabelle, meet Nicola." Then, much in the attitude of a man running for cover, he shuffled backwards and dropped into one of the audience chairs.

  Nicola shot him one last glower for good measure then stepped forward to shake Isabelle Elton's hand. She was surprised to find her idol was as short as she was. At least this was one good thing about the day; Nicola had revered Isabelle Elton for years. "It is a huge pleasure to meet you, Ms. Elton."

  Isabelle slid her hand away. "Yes, I'm sure it is."

  Nicola blinked. Did she just –

  Wheeling around, Isabelle faced the rest of the group. "We can't start yet. This is Judith's show. I need my co-artistic director."

  "She's not here," Tierney muttered.

  Isabelle shot her daughter a sour look. "I'll check the lobby." She left to seek out the missing Judith.

  "'Co-artistic director.'" Tierney huffed. "Mom wants more time free to go on auditions. Reclaim her glory days."

  Rita clucked her tongue. "Chiquita, your mother works hard. She needs help to run this place."

  Tierney glowered. "If Ma needs help why didn't she ask you, Rita? Or me? Hell, you're training Max to be a director. Even he could pick up some of the slack if we're getting desperate."

  For someone who wasn't an actor, Tierney was pretty damn dramatic. Then Nicola processed her remark and quirked her head. Max? A director?

  He snorted and avoided Nicola's gaze. "Thank you, Tierney, for the vote of confidence."

  They all seemed tense, and no one from the company would meet her eyes. Nerves prickling, Nicola beamed a questioning glance at Rita, but Rita had a sudden need to pick some lint off her pants. Nicola snapped her gaze over to Max and raised an eyebrow. "What's going on?" She felt a bit like the gentleman caller forced to bear witness to a family spat over Sunday dinner.

  Max did a small lip-shrug. "Judith is our new co-artistic director. We all found out today."

  And no one was very happy about it, judging from reactions.

  "I'm here! I'm here! So sorry." An older British woman, fiftyish with white-blonde hair, glided down the theater aisle, Isabelle trailing after her. "Apologies." She stopped before Nicola. "Hullo. You must be the girl we're auditioning. Nicola, was it?"

  'Girl'? Seriously? Nicola twitched her shoulders but managed a friendly nod. "Yes. Hello."

  The woman, Judith, flashed her teeth in a smile then turned to the others, presenting her back to Nicola. "All right, I'd like to see a few scenes with Bottom first. Then we'll try her with Oberon." Judith swept up the aisle and plopped herself into a seat in the last row of the audience.

  Isabelle blinked after her co-artistic director, seeming startled, but she covered it well as she turned toward Nicola. "I can't stay for the audition, unfortunately, I have one of my own to go to."

  "Is it deodorant or car insurance today, Ma?" Tierney said, her eyes glinting.

  Isabelle fluffed her mass of curly hair, ignoring her daughter's remark. "Anyway. Nicola, you're in capable hands with Judith."

  As Isabelle made a grand exit out the doors of the theater and Rita rolled her eyes, Nicola stifled a laugh.

  Rita bustled forward, pulling behind her a medium height, chubby black guy with a sweet face. "Nicola, this is Gil Dodgson. He will be your Bottom the Weaver."

  Nicola reached out to shake his hand, but Rita interrupted, "Pleasantries later, my darlings." She shoved them both toward the stage with a frantic hand on their shoulders. "For now, you impress the hell out of that bitch, Judith." Rita pronounced the word as 'beech'. Her accent was thickening, a sure sign she was stressed.

  Nicola swallowed, apprehension rising in her throat. In a contest between the two artistic directors, Judith O'Fallon had seemed like the nice one. But Judith had to be one big damn dragon lady to scare Rita of all people.

  Once Rita had Nicola and Gil onstage, the director swore under her breath, "Rats, I forgot," and started into the pit, but Max met her halfway and handed her a playbook. "Thank you, mijo."

  Nicola made the mistake of glancing at Max, and he gave her a conspiratorial wink. Her gut flipped, and she silently cursed him.

  Don't get distracted. Forget him.

  Rita pulled Nicola close, one hand around her waist as she murmured instructions. "For this play, mija, we want a sexy Titania, but regal. Always a queen. Also a leetle scary sometimes. We want to see her power. To see a woman who controls the elements, the storms, the waves. Who holds the love of a powerful man like Oberon. We want – "

  "Are you ready?" Judith called, startling everybody as her powerful alto voice filled the theater.

  Releasing Nicola, Rita licked her finger and thumbed through pages in the playbook. "We'll do Act Three, Scene One where Titania first sees Bottom."

  Nicola mentally flipped through the play, calling up the scen
e. What angel wakes me . . . I love thee . . . Titania's lines spun in Nicola's head, familiar but rusty, like old treasures covered in a fine layer of dust.

  Rita found the right page and handed Nicola the script.

  Twitchy with nerves, Nicola waved the playbook away. Go big or, she was sure, Judith O'Fallon would send her home. "I already know the part." Nicola stared right at Judith as she said this, and projected her voice, making it loud enough to hit the back row and then some. I can do this part. "I'm ready."

  Rita bit her lip but retreated to the audience. "Gilbert, start the scene with Bottom's singing."

  Nicola thought she and Gil did all right. She remembered all of Titania's lines. They managed a few bits of improvised stage business together which got laughs. Nicola finished the scene invigorated, charged with the good vibe energy of a performance well-done. Gil gave Nicola a pat on the arm before jogging offstage. Tierney, Max, and Rita clapped.

  Judith didn't move. At all.

  Rita scuttled onstage, Max at her back dwarfing the petite director like a monolith. He grinned, eyes glinting at Nicola. The sight of him crossing the stage toward her was familiar and bittersweet.

  Nicola rolled her shoulders, fighting panic. What if I don't get the part? She wanted this, wanted the part and the stage and Rita's direction with a visceral, aching intensity.

  She wanted Max.

  Heat pooled in her belly, a giddy simmer of anticipation partly from the performance, but mostly for the chance to touch Max, to be close to him, smell him, feel him again. You had to come to the audition. Nicola, you idiot.

  Rita gripped Nicola's arm, digging her fingernails in. "You did good with Bottom, mija, but I need you to show Judith what you can do. Show her your chemistry with Maxim. Set the goddamn theater on fire."

  "Oh. All right then. No pressure, Rita." Nicola started toward one corner of the stage, opposite Max.

  He intercepted her path, touching her shoulder. "Don't let Judith mess with your head. Or Rita."

  Nicola's gut did a stupid flutter-flutter, flip-flop sort of thing, but she managed to keep her face calm, her voice cool. "I'm fine."

  He looked like he wanted to say more, but he retreated to a corner across the stage instead.

  I'm so not fine. A riot of emotions tumbled through her hard, leaving her nauseated as she took her place on the corner opposite him.

  Chapter Five

  Nicola looked like she was about to puke.

  Max had taken a breath to start the scene, but no way could he launch into Oberon when she was about to blow chunks all over the stage.

  Puffing his breath out, Max waited a beat, and she made eye contact with him again. He angled his body away from the house so Judith wouldn't see, then he crossed his eyes and puffed his cheeks out. A funny face wasn't as good of a distraction as mooning Nicola, but he had to work with what he had at the moment.

  Across the stage, Nicola pursed her lips to keep from laughing. She narrowed her eyes, but he didn't care if she was annoyed. Nicola always got too much in her head right before she went onstage. She always needed distracting, loosening up. He'd done his bit, and now she wouldn't barf.

  Ready? He mouthed at her.

  Yes. Her eyes softened, and the tiny smile she gave him seemed to set a hook in his heart and pull.

  A million memories surged through him, hitting like a train into the side of a mountain. This scene was so familiar, so precious. Nicola across the stage from him, ready to spar and tease and challenge. Ready to play.

  Ready to be in his life again?

  Just do the scene, idiot. He inched his shoulders back as he eased into the physicality of Oberon, but after those stolen seconds of fussing he still wasn't ready. The closeness of Nicola, the potential in being near her had set his body humming in a steady buzz which had nothing to with theater.

  But what the hell? The curtain was up. Judith was watching. Game on. "'Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania,'" he rumbled out, deepening his voice and adding the hint of an accent. So he'd sound all kingly and shit. He strode down the short stairs toward her.

  Nicola, as Titania, narrowed her eyes at him and raised one eyebrow. "'What, jealous Oberon?'"

  He crossed the stage in three easy strides, invading her personal space. She stood on the step above him so he found himself face to face with her, close enough to kiss. She startled, jerking her head back, and he didn't know if that was Nicola or Titania. She made to turn away from him.

  "'Tarry, rash wanton.'" He slid an arm around her waist, holding her without pulling her closer. "'Am not I thy lord?'"

  She cocked her head sideways, her mouth a smirking, sensual promise. "'Then I must be thy lady.'"

  Yes, you are. Having her in his arms felt so right, like he'd been missing a piece of himself and not known it until he touched her again. He was near enough to see the ring of dark brown around her irises, to count the freckles scattered across her nose, to smell the spicy fruit scent of her hair. To feel her breath sigh over the skin of his face.

  He closed the few inches left to her mouth, but she ducked, twisting free of his arms before he could kiss her.

  As Oberon he was infuriated.

  As Max he was almost ridiculously disappointed.

  Keep your head in the work. Focus. If he blew this opportunity for her because of his over-eager libido then she would never forgive him. And he would never forgive himself for ruining yet another thing for her.

  Nicola continued the scene, taunting him, playing Titania as the most alluring of sirens. Rita had told them to ratchet up the sexual tension, of course, but Nicola was on exactly the same page as him. The whole scene they each found excuses to stand near the other, to touch and tickle like this was all foreplay. The chemistry between them crackled, and she obviously felt it too, getting as much of a high from this performance as he was. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes glinting in a way he remembered well.

  He could think of only one other thing the two of them had done together better than this.

  Don't go there, Max.

  Really hard, though – heh – not to let his mind wander there as she crossed to sit on one corner of the stage and laid herself out, her lovely, petite body displayed for him to admire.

  They had reached the part of the scene where Titania refuses to give Oberon her adopted son. "'I will not part with him.'" She stretched her legs out and pillowed her cheek on one hand to study him with simmering, heavy-lidded eyes.

  Somehow, even though Nicola sat on a bare stage in blue jeans and a white shirt, somehow she managed to appear decadent, lush, pure temptation made of sweet, supple flesh. Venus waiting in her bower for Mars to ravish her. Cleopatra inviting Antony to negotiate terms for his surrender.

  The sight of her was too much to resist. He maneuvered around behind her and sat. Resting an elbow on his knee, he reached forward and tucked a strand of soft brown hair behind her ear. He let his fingertip linger against the skin of her neck and she shivered at the contact. He didn't know if that was Nicola or just Nicola acting, but the sight had heat building low in his gut. "'How long within this wood intend you stay?'" his line came out throatier than he'd intended, the low rasp of a desperate man.

  And dammit he was desperate. You'd think five years would have done something to dim his desire, but he found himself swamped by it, awash in images, wants.

  Like right now he imagined everyone else gone. To lunch. To Hell. Wherever. Didn't matter. Just away. Then he'd be free to kiss Nicola until her mouth was swollen, to touch her skin and smell and taste her until she was trembling against him, then he'd ease her back flat on the stage and –

  "'Perchance till after Theseus' wedding-day,'" she said, cutting into his thoughts. She tossed her head, shaking out her curtain of soft brown hair, projecting indifference, but it was a fragile façade to hide how much she wanted him to stay here with her.

  As Oberon, or maybe using Oberon as an excuse, Max leaned into her shoulder and pressed a kiss to her collarbone. S
he shivered again, the instinctive tremble of a woman who was just as turned on as he was. That wasn't acting, or not only acting.

  "'Give me that boy,'" he murmured, "'and I will go with thee.'"

  Nicola swallowed, aroused heat and brittle fury burning together in her eyes. "'Not for thy fairy kingdom. Fairies, away!'" She shot to her feet, striding offstage without a backward glance, the muscles in her shoulders taut, her hands clenched into fists. Their small audience erupted in applause. Tierney even whistled.

  Max rolled to his feet. Nicola emerged from the stage left wings, looking shaken and pale. He tried to catch her eye, but she was staring into the audience at Judith.

  Gil distracted him, patting Max on the arm. "You two were wonderful together."

  Tierney gave Max a rough slap on the back. "I think I just got a contact high from all the pheromones you two were pumping out."

  Nicola flashed a wild look Tierney's way then wiped her face blank. Except her mouth, which tightened into a grimace.

  Max's stomach dropped. Crap. Nicola was pissed.

  Her gaze slid his way, and her eyes were dark, actually smoldering with wrath.

  Make that really pissed.

  Which, the more he thought about it, pissed him off too. He'd played his part for her, and pretty damn well all things considered. Nothing he'd done had been out of character for Oberon. Nothing had been over the line.

  Maybe kissing her neck was tiptoeing close to the line, but Max felt he was on the side of right there. She had a great neck. Sometimes a guy has to do what he has to do.

  For the scene, of course.

  Everyone froze as Judith stood, the sound of her seat flipping up oddly loud in the large theater.

  She was the unknown quantity here, and Max prayed she would act for the good of the show. Isabelle had been known to let her ego get in the way at times. Please, let Judith be different.

  Judith started down the aisle, glancing at a small notebook as she scribbled things. Tierney rolled her eyes. Gil shrunk into himself, trying for invisibility. Rita twisted the silver bracelets on her arm.