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

by Beth Matthews

  "Mijo." Rita's voice was right above him.

  He startled into a sitting up position then flashed his teeth in a smile. "Hi, Rita."

  She settled into the chair in front of him and leaned against the back, watching him with dark, tired eyes. "What is going on? You don't usually fall apart in the last week of rehearsal. Some of the others, but not you."

  "Nothing. Nothing's wrong."

  "Maxim, I am not an idiot. Everyone is watching you and Nicola. You circle each other like two cats with their fur all bristled." To demonstrate, Rita lifted one hand and flexed her fingers into claws. "You are sleepwalking through most of your scenes. Except the ones with Nicola. The Oberon and Titania scenes, the fighting, are very real." She grimaced. "But, for me, I could do with less real there and more consistency throughout. Eh, mijo?"

  He froze in his seat, gut tense, mouth dry, the sun blistering as it poured into the theater.

  A bead of sweat trickled down Rita's temple and she brushed it away, her hand a little unsteady. Rita really needed to take better care of herself. He'd pull the stage manager Violet aside and make sure she made sure Rita drank enough water on these hot days.

  Rita gripped his forearm, jiggling it a little. "You and Nicola. Always so good together onstage. But maybe I shouldn't have cast her."

  Max clasped Rita's wrist, her profusion of silver bracelets cool against his palm. "No, Rita. The work's been going great. It's fine. We're all fine."

  "Oh yes?"

  "Sure."

  "If you say so," Rita murmured. "Oh, also, go to the costume shop? Tierney thought you and some of the others should try your costumes. I want to see if you can move in them."

  "As snug as Tierney is making my pants, that's a good idea."

  "Good. It's settled." Rita stood, but immediately she swayed, falling against the aisle chair.

  Max jumped to his feet and caught her by the shoulders, steadying her. "Rita?"

  She waved him off, bracelets jangling, then rubbed at her eyes. "Fine. Fine. A small headache only, mijo." She lurched away from him, her usual grace muted as she shuffled toward the stage.

  Max watched her go, his brain buzzing. Tight pants. Nicola. Drama. Theater. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. I'm getting a headache too.

  ***

  "Lachlan, you know everyone thinks we're sleeping together." Nicola sat in the front row of the audience with the Brit. She was scrunched in her seat, her knees draped over the back of the chair in front of her. Lachlan was more spread out, sprawled in the seat beside her, his crossed ankles sticking out into the aisle.

  She waited for him to make some sort of response, but he remained still beside her, his eyes closed, his face serene. "Lachlan?"

  "And?" was all he said.

  "What?"

  "Everyone thinks we're sleeping together and . . . you think I should care?"

  "You have no feelings about this?"

  "I have absolutely no feelings about this." He did a sort of trill with his voice on "absolutely." Showing off.

  "You understand we aren't going to sleep together, right? I'm not getting in the middle of your pissing match with Max."

  Lachlan grimaced. "Now there's an image."

  "Ew."

  He produced a cigarette and a skull lighter that looked a lot like Tierney's. "Pity about the sex. I'm a good shag. Ask your friend Cassie." He lit up, took a long drag, then blew the smoke out in a long stream – away from her, at least.

  "Should you be doing that in here?"

  "We are outside." At her exasperated look, he shrugged and sucked in another deep puff so that his cheeks hollowed out. "It's a gray area," he said, speaking smoke like a blue-eyed dragon.

  "Lachlan, put out the freaking cigarette!" The stage manager hollered from the orchestra pit.

  Nicola bumped him with her elbow. "Gray area, huh?"

  With a serpentine smirk, he dropped his cigarette and stubbed it out with his toe. "You think I'm pursuing you because of Max?"

  "I don't really care. I suspect you'd be flirting with me even if I wasn't Max's ex-girlfriend. But I also suspect your singular focus on me has a lot more to do with your rivalry with Max than any particular charms of mine."

  "Don't sell yourself short. You're quite a pretty little armful." He leered toward her, eyebrows madly wiggling. "You're not rejecting me because I shagged your sexy Asian friend last week?"

  "Please, Cassie probably chewed you up and spat you out. When we did Les Mis she had every Revolutionary in the place sniffing at her skirts. She doesn't get territorial about her . . . um."

  "Leftovers." He grinned. "That was more or less my assessment. Still, she and I had fun the other week." After their jaunt at the Bore's Head, Nicola and Lachlan had ended up at Cassie's apartment with her. Their poor, put upon designated driver had had work in the morning and no time to run everybody home. Perhaps as compensation for the ride, Cassie had taken Lachlan to her bed – and left Nicola to the tender mercies of the couch.

  Nicola flicked Lachlan's nose, laughing. "What I'm saying is: You can turn off the charm. I'm not going to date anyone in the cast. Not you. Not Max. I'm never dating a costar again. But I do like you, and I'd like to be friends. If you want."

  "Friends?"

  "Yes." She sucked in a deep breath, ignoring the smoke tinted air as she braced herself. "Because, Lachlan, I desperately need help with the Shakespeare stuff or Judith is going to eat me alive."

  "You can't ask dear Maxim to help you?"

  "Does he know this stuff better than you?"

  "Certainly not."

  She beamed at him, batting her eyelashes. "Then why would I ask Max?"

  He studied her from under furrowed brows then leaned back and actually cackled. "Dear heart, I do believe this is the start of a most beautiful friendship."

  "Good." But as she stared into his keen, gleaming eyes, her stomach prickled with unease. A beautiful friendship, sure. But are we Hermia and Helena . . . or Othello and Iago?

  "Get your script," he said.

  Nicola pulled Midsummer out and flipped to her first scene. "Judith's always telling me to 'think faster' but she won't explain what that means."

  "Hmm."

  "Just tell me, Lach."

  "You're too naturalistic," he said at last. "You take too many pauses. Use the words. Shakespeare's got it in there, the rhythm is in the text already. That's the trouble with you Yanks. You think you have to feel everything, think everything before you say one bloody line."

  Lachlan had been as vehement as Judith, but slightly less scathing. Still, Nicola's cheeks burned. "Pick up my cues. Anything else?"

  "Mija."

  At the sound of her director's voice, Nicola whirled around in her seat. "Hey, Rita."

  Rita seemed exhausted, about as derelict as they would all look come tech week. A bad sign. What was wrong with the show that Rita already appeared so done in?

  The answer came at once: Me and Max. Nicola bit her lip with guilt.

  That whole week, Nicola had been playing all of Titania's scenes with Oberon a little too angry, but she had been powerless to stop herself. Ever since he'd gone home with that skank, Judith, Nicola had barely been able to look at Max. Having to do scenes with him, pretend to be his wife, kiss him . . . was just too much.

  "I need you to go to the costume shop for a fitting, mi belleza."

  "Me too?" Lachlan asked.

  "No, mijo." Rita smiled, and her tired eyes were abruptly sharper. "Only Nicola."

  Nicola bid Lachlan adieu, her heart hammering with excitement. What she'd seen of Tierney's costumes so far had been brilliant. But the costume mistress had been annoyingly close-mouthed about her plans for Titania.

  But today Nicola would get a glimpse of her fairy queen ensemble. She was practically skipping on the path to the admin building, happy in her anticipation, when she caught sight of the blonde, broad-shouldered figure ahead of her on the path. She slowed her steps, but he must have heard her because
he turned.

  He stopped walking.

  She stopped walking.

  They glared at each other.

  "Off to see Judith at her office?" Nicola asked. Maybe for another private "casting session" like the one at The Bore's Head?

  Max's eye twitched, and he gritted his teeth before answering. "I'm going to see Tierney. For a fitting. How's Lachlan?"

  Nicola ticked her chin up. "Fabulous. Isn't he doing an amazing job with Puck? So talented. I know I'd cast him in anything."

  Max wrinkled his nose but made no other reply. He appeared as sickened by their mutual needling as she was. She shook her head at herself, despairing. What are you doing? But the dark, twisted knots inside her didn't leave any room for rational, adult behavior.

  She and Max fell in step together, the crunch of gravel the only sound in the air. When they reached the costume shop, Max held the door for her. Nicola nodded politely as she passed him.

  Tierney glanced up from her work table. Her hair was now a delicate lilac shade with pale green highlights, falling in silky pastel waves around her face. She flicked a quick glance between the two of them, her still-black eyebrows scrunched with worry. "Jeez, I think the temp just dropped to freezing. What is wrong with you two?"

  Nicola restrained a guilty recoil. "Rita sent me."

  "Me too," Max said, voice flat.

  Tierney tossed aside her sketching pencil. "And you two managed not to murder each other on the path? I am all astonishment."

  Max grunted.

  "Be that way," Tierney muttered. "But you two aren't that good of actors, I got news for you." Business-like, Tierney twisted up her mass of purple and green hair and secured it with a pencil. "It's fine. I can work with a three hundred pound gorilla in the room. I love awkward situations. I do laps in them before breakfast. Builds endurance. Let's get to work."

  Nicola gripped her hands together, fidgety with guilt. Had she and Max been that obvious? Had they been that awful to each other all week?

  Apparently so.

  As Tierney bustled around, pulling the costume pieces together and depositing them in the dressing rooms, Nicola reached out to touch Max's arm. He raised his eyebrow.

  I'm sorry, she mouthed.

  A smile broke over his face, brighter than the sunrise. Me too, he mouthed back.

  Good. Relief spread through her with bone-melting warmth. She'd spent the last week carrying around about twenty extra pounds of unnecessary angst. She thought she could hear her muscles sigh with relief now that the tension was gone. She needed to stay away from Max anyway, on principle, but still. Good.

  Tierney shepherded them toward the dressing rooms. "Nic, I put your dress in the far right. Max, you're next door."

  Nicola skittered into the dressing room and locked the door, happy enough to shut everyone out.

  Max bolted his own door beside her, and she heard the rustle of fabric against skin.

  Max stripping his clothes off.

  Max stripping.

  Nicola leaned against the wall, her pulse thundering as her stupid brain all too happily supplied imagery to go with the sounds. Max tugging off his shirt, his arms bared, the tapered muscles of his back moving beneath his skin. His pants sliding down the round curve of that gorgeous, ripe, perfect ass of his . . . his hands on her, his mouth, his tongue . . .

  She shook herself. Stupid Max. She yanked off her own tank and yoga pants, then tossed them to hang over the top of the door. Stupid me.

  The sounds in the dressing room next door stopped. As if maybe Max had been arrested by the sounds of her changing clothes.

  The wall between their dressing rooms rattled, and he grunted and swore, struggling with some difficult piece of his costume. Clearly, he was oblivious to her being less than two feet away from him, only a thin wall separating her naked body from his.

  "How are you guys doing?" Tierney called.

  "Uh, fine." Nicola fisted her hands and pounded them against her own forehead. Stop it.

  "The pants are too tight," Max grumbled.

  "Can you move?" Tierney asked.

  "Yes."

  "Then they're not too tight. Come on you two."

  "Yes, Tierney." Nicola turned where her outfit hung on its peg, getting her first good look at the costume.

  Staring at that dress, Nicola's whole body went shivery with anxiety. "Crap." For the first time in weeks Nicola had more pressing problems than Max.

  ***

  Hello, Oberon, Max thought as he gazed in the mirror. I can definitely deal with this. OK, the pants were snug, pretty much painted on his ass . . . except paint would be more comfortable. Still, as he studied his reflection Max had to admit Tierney knew her business. Anyway, the pants wouldn't have been nearly so constricting if he hadn't had to listen to Nicola changing next door. It had taken all of his willpower not to climb the wall between them like a monkey and watch her getting naked.

  And that was only from the power of imagining her naked. If he ever saw her in the flesh again – literally – he'd probably have heart failure.

  No more naked thoughts. He shifted his feet. We're trying to decrease the boners here, pal, remember?

  Max refocused on his Oberon costume in pure self-defense. "This is great, Tee. I look like a bad ass."

  Tierney had given Oberon a sort of Romanesque feel, very military, with a breastplate of dark red leather with gold accents and a matching skirt of leather strips. She'd also delivered a kickass cape, a dark red wool she'd frayed and stained at the hem to appear as if the garment was often dragged over the forest floor. His arms were bare except for two leather gauntlets Tierney was still finishing. He felt like a king. A warrior king.

  As he looked his kingly self over, Tierney stood behind him and made notes. "The cloak's a good length, I think, but let me know if it snags or you trip on it or anything. Rita was thinking a garland for your hair, but I'm leaning toward a simple gold circlet. Match that yellow hair of yours. Anything too tight? Pinching? Too loose?"

  Obediently, Max moved around, swung his arms, squatted, stretched. "Feels good."

  "Great." Tierney jotted one last note then glanced over her shoulder. "Nicola? Get your butt out here, fairy queen. I made your costume – I know how short a time it takes to get into it."

  Max eased back, trying to fade into the background. Tough to do in Oberon's over-the-top outfit, but he was pretty much dying of curiosity here. He didn't want Tierney to send him away before he'd seen Nicola.

  "Tierney," Nicola's voice quavered through the dressing room door. "I can't – this is – it's beautiful but – "

  Tierney stomped over to the dressing room. "The dress is fine. Everything that needs to be covered is covered."

  "Ha!"

  Hearing this, Max's feet took root. He wasn't going anywhere. Clearly, this situation was bringing out the baser aspects of his personality.

  "Nicola – " Tierney started, infinitely reasonable.

  "Tierney, this is like . . . a naked dress!" Nicola's voice was very shrill.

  Max blinked, forcing his brain not to conjure any images to go with this alluring word picture. Nicola. Naked . . . Stop. He cleared his throat. "Should I wait outside?"

  "Yes!" Nicola yelled.

  "No!" Tierney flung out an arm to stop him. "I need to see how the two costumes work together. Your two looks are the jumping off point for all the other fairy costumes. They need to mesh, to feel like they come from the same world." Then Tierney turned and bellowed, "So I really need you to come out, Nic!"

  A long pause followed, then the bolt on the dressing room slid back. But the door didn't open.

  Tierney sighed. "I can't fix what I can't see. Maybe once I see the dress on you I'll decide to change it."

  Another long pause then the dressing room door swung all the way open.

  Nicola stepped gracefully out from behind the door.

  Max's heart stopped.

  She looked like a goddess, sensuality personified and clothed in th
e rosy pinks, yellows, and delicate lilacs of a beatific dawn. The gown was sleeveless, a vaguely Roman silhouette like his costume, and made of some shimmery whisper of material. The folds of the dress floated around Nicola's body, weighty without being heavy, sheer without being vulgar. The dress had no back, swooping down on her lower back to barely stop above the curve of her bottom. Bared to the light, the graceful column of her spine and shoulder blades left his mouth dry.

  And skin . . . Soft, perfect skin. Lovingly, expertly on display through Tierney's skill. Two shoulder straps held the dress up, clasped with opal broaches. He imagined tracing his palm over Nicola's shoulder, sliding those straps off then watching the rest of the filmy dress flow down her body. His ethereal queen, this sun goddess walking barefoot on earth.

  He was throbbing, painfully erect in the close-fitting Oberon pants. He tried to wet his lips, but all his spit had dried up.

  Tierney positioned Nicola next to him so the costume designer could scrutinize them together. The smell of Nicola's hair reached him – citrusy and fresh, like the very breath of spring.

  I want her. Wanted to peel that dress off and touch her and taste her. Wanted to plunge into her softness and heat until he forgot his name. Until she forgot hers. Until they were utterly spent in each other. Aching. Sweaty. Exhausted. Sated.

  Complete.

  Shit. Shit. Shit. He fisted his hands against his sides. Damn Tierney.

  And damn that dress too.

  Chapter Eleven

  Tierney was frustratingly unsympathetic to Nicola's embarrassment about The Dress.

  Max didn't help any. Not by being there to witness Nicola's embarrassment, and certainly not by wearing his sexy as hell Oberon costume. Just peeking at Max made Nicola's whole lower half seem to say, Lachlan who?

  Tierney circled the two of them, grinning like an idiot. "You guys look good." She paused on her circuit. "Oh shit. Nic, stand here a sec." She grabbed Nicola's wrist and towed her directly under the light.

  The costume designer stared at Nicola's breasts.

  Okaaaay . . . Nicola glanced down too, weirded out, then gasped with horror. The shadow of her nipples could be seen through the sheer fabric. Pretty clearly too. "Oh no."