A Midsummer Night's Fling (Stage Kiss Series Book 1)
Page 9
No tentative kiss this time, his mouth pressed hard against hers. She slid her fingers along the chord of his neck into the softness of his hair. Opening for him, her arousal blossomed and shattered like a rose until the tingling heat was everywhere, until her veins seemed to flow with it. Yes.
Max groaned low in his throat, and deepened the kiss. His tongue swept into her mouth, and he nipped playfully at her lower lip, ravaging her mouth, tasting her.
Yes. Yes. It was a song in her heart, a joyful, skipping cry. Yes.
When he moved away it was like a part of herself tearing lose, and she actually whimpered. She blinked her eyes open, staring into his handsome face. His eyes sparked in the sunlight, half-lidded with lust.
"'My Oberon,'" she breathed out, not focused on anything but his face so close to hers, his mouth plump and a little roughened from that kiss. "'What visions have I seen.'"
The rest of the cast tittered behind them, breaking the scene, and Rita called a halt.
"Bloody hell," Lachlan murmured.
Rita's voice was a trifle dry – but no longer irritated. "Maybe not quite so long a kiss next time, eh Maxim? Moving on. Puck!"
Nicola's heart was thumping inside her ribcage. She could feel the pulse in her throat, in her ears. "Crap."
"Yeah." A low voice rumbled above, so quiet she was probably the only one who heard Max.
As the scene continued, she shot Max a worried glance, which he returned. The question How are we going to get through this? seemed to hang in the air between them.
***
As soon as Rita moved on from blocking that kissing scene in excruciating detail, Max and Nicola very literally ran away from each other. She retreated to the back of the theater to "review her lines," and he fled into the green room to get his shit together. And to let his raging hard-on subside a bit in privacy.
He flung himself into the empty lounge and, with infinite care, pushed the green room door closed. If he didn't close the door carefully he was going to slam it, which would draw too much attention. "Fuck . . . " He raked his fingers into his hair and pulled on the roots. "Fuck."
"Something the matter?"
Max whirled to find Lachlan was already in the green room. Smirking, the other man lay reclining on the couch with his script spread in his lap.
Max smoothed the stiffness out of his face. "Nah. Just stuff with my brother."
"The glorious Peter. I should have known."
Max crossed to the pile of his things in the green room's cubby holes. "Do you need a ride home tonight?" he asked, hoping to distract Lachlan.
"No ride needed. If I can't find more congenial company then Tierney will give me a lift. She and I were heading to the pub after rehearsal. Care to tag along?"
Max grimaced his answer.
"Such a teetotaler, our Max. Tch."
"I'm gonna go straight home tonight, shower, and sleep." Still trying to appear too busy – too distracted – to talk, Max fished for his phone in his duffle. Come to think of it, Max was waiting to hear from his agent about a film part. While he was creating phony stage business for himself, he might as well actually check for calls. Max tugged his phone free of the mess in his bag. No calls from his agent, but he had three text messages. All from his brother.
9:04 A.M.: Morgen. Wie gehts?
12:47 P.M.: Tierney said U kissed Nic onstage. U OK?
2:11 P.M.: if you sleep with nic I WILL punch you in the face. then i'll tell mom.
"Verdammt Peter." Annoyed, Max shoved his phone deep into his bag. Damn, damn, damn Peter.
Max crossed to the water cooler for a drink, his skin seeming to throb as it released the heat and inched toward a normal temperature. The perfunctory California spring had ended, and today the sunlight was out full force, gilding everything with cheerful, yellow light. Max was glad he'd worn a t-shirt; he'd been in flannel shirts all last week.
Icy water trickled out of the cooler and the tiny, thin paper cup felt like a thimble in his hand. Insufficient. He pounded one cupful back then refilled his thimble.
"So." Lachlan's soft, cultured voice was right behind him. The other man slung an arm over his shoulders, making Max slosh water onto the carpet. "You and the new Titania. What's the story there?"
Max froze, chill water splashing over his hand.
Things were awkward enough between him and Nicola what with the kissing and the chemistry. The last thing they needed was for Lachlan to start gossip about Max and Nicola being a thing within the cast. Even discussion and speculation about Max and Nicola as a past tense thing was more than Max wanted to handle.
"No story," Max said it calmly enough but, judging by the speculative gleam in Lachlan's eye, Max had taken too long to respond. Lachlan's interest was well and truly piqued now.
Lachlan nudged Max out of the way and got his own puny white cup of water. "No story at all? Excellent. Then you won't mind if I – "
"Touch her and die." Max kept his voice level then took a slow drink, watching Lachlan over the paper rim. Discretion was one thing; letting Lachlan within ten feet of Nicola was another thing entirely. One that would never, never happen.
Lachlan smirked. "Like that, is it?"
"Exactly like that." Max flashed his teeth at Lachlan and crumpled the white cup in his fist then dropped the crushed paper into the trash.
Lachlan quirked one of his damn eyebrows and leaned closer for a conspiratorial whisper. "Is the lady herself aware of this fact?"
"What lady?" Tierney said, making them both jump.
"What are you doing out of the costume shop?" Max asked, before Lachlan could say anything, could explain anything.
Tierney frowned, and gave a haughty toss of her hot pink hair. "What, like I'm the hired help? Am I like fucking Quasimodo or something? Am I supposed to stay in my dank, dark hole and make costumes for you like your slave?"
"Um."
"Whatever." Tierney flipped her hand at him in a gesture of dismissal. "Rita said I can have you for a bit to do a fitting on the Oberon costume. Come on."
Max darted a glare at Lachlan – whose smirk really would split his face in half if it got any wider. Lachlan wiggled his fingers at Max in a small wave. "Don't worry, Maxim. I'll take care of Nicola while you're gone. She won't be lonely."
Asshole, Max thought, glowering. He had no choice, though, but to follow Tierney to the costume shop.
Which left Lachlan with an open field for whatever sort of mischief or mayhem he had in mind for Nicola.
***
Rita, perhaps feeling Nicola was up to speed, at the end of that day started working on scenes between the four young lovers. Which meant the poor, exhausted fairy queen could sit in the audience and rest for a bit. And try super hard not to think about kissing Max. Again.
Always.
She twisted her fingers in her hair, pretending to read her script as she thought Why did I want this part? for the millionth time.
"Hullo," a beautiful voice said behind her.
Nicola turned to see Lachlan. Any distraction would have been welcome. A handsome, charming, British one was really welcome. "'Hello, spirit,'" she said. "'Whither wander you?'"
His mouth twitched at her Midsummer in-joke. "Over hill, over dale. I do wander . . . wherever there are pretty women to be found."
She cocked her head to the side and pretended to frown. "Hmm. I don't remember the line going like that."
"Oh. Must have misremembered it." His eyelid shivered down in a wink. "You're doing a wonderful job, by the way. Top notch. Probably the best fairy queen I've ever seen. The sexiest, for sure."
This was what most everyone (except Judith) had been saying so far, but 'good job' was always nice to hear. "You too. I love what you're doing with Puck. Your vocal variety alone blows my mind." His face was really mobile too, but that was more difficult to compliment someone on. 'You do incredible things with your eyebrows?' No.
"We're all going round for drinks after rehearsal," he said. "Care to quaff
carouses to celebrate your first week as Queen?"
"Where?"
"The Boar's Head Pub. It's the cast meeting ground. A retired RSF alum owns it."
She laughed. "'The Boar's Head'? That would be an actor hangout. Isn't that the pub in Henry IV?"
"Yes, but our pub is B-O-R-E. Bore. You'll see." He grinned. "The Bore is about five minutes down the hill." He hunkered behind her audience chair until only his large, ice blue eyes were peeking over the back, watching her reactions. "Coming then?"
She bit her lip, hesitant. Her first few days she'd been so exhausted after rehearsal it was all she could do to drag herself to the car and white-knuckle it through her hour-long commute home. But today hadn't been so wearing, not physically, and she should start playing nice. If she didn't have anyone to talk to during her breaks she'd go nuts.
But if the pub was a cast hangout should she risk running into Max?
Lachlan tilted towards her, and the melodic thrum of his baritone tickled along her neck. "Dear Maxim isn't coming, by the way. He told me he was going straight home after rehearsal. If that matters." Lachlan cocked one of his ridiculously mobile eyebrows, his gaze blazing a challenge to her.
Annoyed to find herself so transparent, she tilted her chin up. "I wouldn't care if Max was coming. He and I are old friends."
"Good," Lachlan all but purred. He blinked expectantly, still waiting for her answer.
"Is this a company members only thing, or can I invite my friend Cassie?"
"By all means, the more the merrier. Particularly if the 'more' in question are women. I'll see you at The Bore tonight then?"
"Of course," she said. "Can't wait."
"Excellent." He gave her a small salute, touching fingers to brow, then backed away, presumably to round up more members of the cast for drinks.
Nicola puffed her breath out, jittery and on edge, but not quite sure why. She'd had a stressful week, yes, what with one thing and another, but she should be excited by drinks out. Networking. New friends. Beautiful men. Beautiful British men. Fun? These things should not be giving her an ulcer.
So why did she feel as if she were signaling for reinforcements when she pulled up Cassie's number on her phone?
"Hello?"
"Cass, do you feel like getting drinks tonight with me and some of the other actors?"
"I dunno, Nic. I have work tomorrow. Unless you need me to guard against the ex-boyfriend I think I should stay home."
"No. Nothing like that. Just thought you might want to hang." Nicola restrained a sigh, determined not to guilt-trip her friend into going out – although she did want Cassie there as a buffer. Between her and Lachlan. The man was just too smooth, and Nicola wasn’t ready to jump into a show affair with him.
A long pause stretched over the phone line. "Will there be hot men?" Cassie asked at last.
Nicola punched her fist into the air then laid her Ace down on the table. "There will be hot British men, my friend."
"I'm getting my car keys."
Nicola laughed, but her anxiety was only slightly eased. "See you at The Bore's Head then."
***
After Tierney finished poking and measuring him, Max hurried to the theater. He was hoping to maybe catch Nicola. To say goodbye. A friendly goodbye.
He sighed. You're not even fooling yourself, you know?
"I know," he muttered as he grabbed his duffle from the green room. No sign of Nicola backstage, dammit. He'd wanted to make sure they were OK, that the kissing hadn't derailed their working relationship.
Yeah, Max. Your working relationship. Sure. He rolled his eyes at himself and hustled to pack his things, seriously not in the mood to chat with the other company members who were loitering.
He was almost safe out the back door of the theater when a soft alto voice called him. "Max?"
He turned to see Judith O'Fallon shadowing him down the aisle. She was impeccably coiffed in a short gray dress with a chunky beaded necklace. He wondered if she'd been in rehearsals that day at all; because her outfit struck him more like date wear. Maybe she'd been stuck in the admin building all day. That would explain the fancy get-up.
Judith trotted up to him and tossed her white blonde hair. "You are a difficult man to track. I've been trying to catch up with you for days."
Max winced. He'd forgotten Judith wanted to talk to him. His brain had pretty much been stuck on an all-Nicola-all-the-time loop this week.
Not good. Journeymen actors did not blow off directors who were about to cast for next season.
With an effort, he managed to spread his lips in a smile. "I'm sorry, Judith. Things were pretty intense this week breaking in the new Titania. When would you like to meet?"
"Could you do it now?" Judith said. "We could sit for a bit and have a nice, informal chat. Isn't that pub near here? The Bore's Head?"
Chapter Nine
The Bore's Head lay down the road from the theater, a crisp white building with dark brown trimming and a thatched roof to make it appear pseudo-Elizabethan like the RSF theater. The Bore's swinging, old-timey wooden pub sign featured the caricature of a famous theater critic's head with little Xes where his eyes should be. The booze was cheap, the atmosphere warm, the company congenial, and Nicola was pretty sure she'd found one of her new favorite places.
She'd crammed herself into a booth with Tierney and Lachlan, then Cassie arrived and the squish quotient went up a notch. Lachlan settled his arm along the top of their booth to make more room. Nicola found herself snuggled up to his lean, taut torso, feeling the heat of him through the cotton of his shirt.
On Nicola's first beer, being pressed so close together felt awkward.
By her third, it just felt cozy.
She was admiring the glinting light of his red hair and watching his pretty mouth move as he chatted to Tierney, when Cassie jabbed her in the side. "Charlie-girl."
"Hmm?" Nicola turned.
Cassie eyed her, and Nicola could see her friend's nurse reflexes kicking in, noting Nicola's pupil dilation, her muscle movements.
"I'm not drunk, Cass."
"You start petting the table and I'm cutting you off." Cassie snagged one of the cheesy fries from the plate at the center of their table.
Nicola stuck her tongue out at Cassie then took another sip of beer. Sometimes having old friends who knew most of your dirty secrets wasn't so fun.
Tierney leaned around Lachlan to pull the cheese fries closer to herself. "'Petting the table'?"
"Ah, yes," Cassie said. "You two should know about the 'tactile phase' if you're going to drink with Nic."
Nicola groaned.
Cassie ignored her. "If Nicola starts stroking the table, or petting's someone hair or becomes fascinated with touching any particular thing then take her alcohol away. If she reaches that point and you let her have more, be warned, the puking will be imminent."
"It was one time!"
The rest of the table laughed at Nicola's vehemence, and she was forced to chuckle along with them. All right, maybe it was kind of funny when she fell into her drunken "tactile phase," as it had been nicknamed.
"So, Cassie, what do you do?" Tierney asked around a mouthful of fries.
"I'm a nurse now."
"Now?" Lachlan drawled. "What, my delightful plum blossom, did you used to do?" His accent was thickening from the drink, and he kept enunciating his consonants hard – as only an actor can do while drunk.
"She used to be in the ensemble with me in Les Mis," Nicola said. "Best singer in the cast. Better than me. You bitch." She wrinkled her nose affectionately at Cassie, and her friend mirrored the expression with a laugh.
"Did you hurt yourself?" Tierney asked, her face softening with sympathy.
Cassie gulped her beer then wiped her mouth. "No. The choreographer kept telling me I was too fat. And the director. And the dressers. And my castmates. So I quit. Besides, being an Asian in this industry is tough."
Tierney raised her beer. "Sing it, sister."
"Careful," Cassie said. "You'll turn a girl's head."
"Turn my way anytime, love."
Cassie colored in a blush, obviously pleased by his compliment, but she tweaked his nose and said, "You know, Lachlan, your womanizing ways will get you in trouble someday."
Lachlan turned to Nicola, his eyebrows raised in mock-horror. "Do you think that's true?"
"Nah." Nicola leaned on Lachlan and beamed up at him. "So, if Cassie's Marilyn who am I? Rosalind Russell? Jack Lemmon?"
He smirked. "Are you kidding? With your hair and those glorious brown eyes? Your perfect, petite little figure? You, my petal, are Audrey Hepburn. But with an edge."
"And a better ass," Cassie put in, raising her beer.
The table laughed. Nicola leaned on Lachlan. His eyes were very, very blue. Big and pretty. The irises startlingly light, pale like arctic ice. Max's were a deep, Caribbean blue, and shone like the sun beaming through warm water.
Nicola recoiled. Don't think of Max now, you dummy.
Lachlan tilted toward her – with clear intent – but she flinched, jerking her hand out to grab the cheese fries. She had a warm, lovely, floating buzz going, but Max-Thoughts were like being tossed into a barrel of ice water and held under.
"Lachlan, what's your story?" Cassie said, rescuing Nicola from his disconcerting attention. And the way Cassie's gaze flicked toward Nicola meant she knew she was staging a rescue. The Mother Hen strikes again. "What sent you hopping over the pond away from Merry Old England?" Cassie asked.
Tierney jumped in before Lachlan could speak. "Oh, don't get Lach started on England when he's in his cups. You'll never hear the end of it."
Lachlan curled his lip at her then paused and sort of stretched high in his seat. The chord of his neck stood out strong, and Nicola admired the sheer aesthetic beauty of him. Not as pretty as Max – no one was as pretty as Max – but still, Lachlan was damn easy on the eyes.
"Well, well. The prodigal arrives," Lachlan drawled.