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

by Beth Matthews

  "What's wrong?" Max asked, alarmed by her tone.

  "Nipples," Tierney replied, brisk and business-like.

  Embarrassment burned Nicola's cheeks to lava-like levels of hot.

  At the word "nipples" Max blinked once, faintly, then he froze and fastened his gaze on the ceiling.

  "So, Nicola," Tierney said."Do you want pasties for your nipples? Or band-aids?"

  "I'll settle for the rest of the dress, please."

  Tierney tsked. "Nicola."

  Nicola panicked. Wearing this? Outside? Onstage? In front of anyone, ever?

  Tierney scrutinized Nicola's face. "I think if you blush any harder your hair's going to turn red." She sighed. "Fine. I can line the dress. Make it less see-through."

  Nicola puffed out her breath in relief. "No pasties?"

  "No pasties."

  "No pasties?" Max said, wailing in mock-disappointment.

  "Shut up." Nicola soft-punched him in the gut. He caught her hand and had her palm halfway to his mouth for a kiss before he remembered himself.

  A second passed before Nicola pulled her hand out of his hold. Her skin tingled where he'd touched her, and a low heat was building in her stomach, between her legs.

  "Let's show Rita." Tierney started for the door.

  "Tierney! Nipples!" Alarmed, Nicola folded her arms, trying to hide the anatomy in question.

  "Actors." Tierney rolled her eyes, projecting a put-upon air. "I'll ask Rita to come up here." She dialed the director's cell, but Rita didn't answer. Not surprising, Rita rarely touched her phone during rehearsals. Tierney tried the stage manager's cell with identical results. "Damn."

  "You could send one of the interns for Rita," Max said.

  Tierney waved that away, her foot tapping with impatience. "Finding one of those teenyboppers will take as long as running to the main stage myself." She sighed. "I'm going. You two, don't touch anything. Don't take anything off." She pointed her finger in a particularly insistent way at Nicola.

  Nicola lifted her hands in surrender. "We will wait."

  "Patiently," Max put in.

  Satisfied, Tierney trotted off, her long strides devouring the distance out the door. Her steps in the hallway echoed for a minute before the costume shop door swung closed.

  As soon as the door to the shop clicked shut, Max unclasped his weighty red cloak.

  "What are you doing?" Nicola asked.

  "It's going to take Tee at least ten minutes to get to the stage and back. And that's if Rita will leave whatever she's working on. What do you think the odds of that are?"

  "Good point. We're in for a bit of a wait?"

  "I'd say so." Max hung the Oberon cloak then turned toward Nicola. He had his eyes downcast, and his voice was uncharacteristically shy as he said, "Would you mind helping me with the breastplate? Tierney had to help me get it on. The buckles are kind of tricky one-handed."

  Nicola swallowed but gamely stepped over to help her fellow actor.

  Wow, he smells good. As she stepped close to him the delicious Max-scent, mixed with the hint of sunshine on skin, filled her nose.

  He crossed his arm over his chest to get its bulk out of her way, and she had a lovely close view of the warm, dense flesh of his bicep. An irrational urge grew inside her to lick the line of his muscles, tracing her tongue up to his shoulder. Her fingers fumbled with the buckles only slightly. The armor fell from Max like a broken turtle's shell, and he set it aside to stand bare-chested beside her.

  Half-naked, in black tights which lovingly hugged every line of his powerful thighs and delectable ass, Max looked more god-like than ever.

  "I . . . I think you should ask Tierney to make you a shirt or something for under the armor. It was scraping your skin." Whirling away, Nicola drew up a stool to sit at Tierney's cutting table with her back to Max. She was happy to discover her skimpy dress allowed her to sit without flashing her buttcrack.

  "Thanks," Max said.

  The silence between them crept on. Nicola's thoughts became consumed with the gleaming body behind her, the warm honey of his skin, the slim line of his hips, the breadth of his shoulders. Awareness of Max pushed on her as insistently as if his big, beautiful body was actually pressed against her and not clear across the room.

  He's probably thinking of his grocery list. Or Judith.

  The tension inside her constricted, closing up her throat, until she thought she might suffocate. "I'm sorry for the other night," she blurted out. "At the pub. I shouldn't have yelled at you."

  "It's all right," Max's voice was low, gruff. "There's still . . . stuff between us. It was naïve to think we could ignore it."

  "It was naïve to think we could be friends." In this cool, quiet room, with the two of them almost physically naked, vulnerable, it was easier to be emotionally bare as well.

  A long pause followed, and she wondered if he'd heard her.

  The tile floor abruptly rang with his steps. His finger tickled against her shoulder, a bare whisper of a touch, and yet her body prickled as if he'd grabbed her.

  She braced herself against the table then turned to face him and stared into his kind, worried, clear blue eyes.

  "We are friends, Nicci."

  Trembling, feeling reckless, she laid her palm flat against the bare skin of his chest. "No. We're not."

  He leaned forward, resting his hands on the table to bracket her body between his arms. "Are you sleeping with Lachlan?"

  "No. We left the pub together but Cassie drove us to her apartment. And then Lachlan went to bed with Cassie. Are you sleeping with Judith?" She wet her lips and the blood throbbing in her temples went from a simple beat to a roar.

  "No, I'm not," he whispered. "I wouldn't."

  As if they shared one body, one thought, they each held their breath for a long, endless moment of time, staring into the other's eyes.

  Then Max lurched forward and kissed her mouth. Hard.

  No hesitation, no mixed feelings. Only desperation and the tender lash of need which had Nicola opening for him, sweeping her tongue into his mouth and moaning as his kiss bent her backwards over the table.

  He eased away, and combed his teeth over the line of her neck. "Nicci." His arms were still braced, hands flat on the table.

  He should be touching me, he should be ravishing me, her body screamed.

  "Hmm?" She traced a tendon on his forearm, curled her fingers around his wrist to feel his pulse hammer. Warmth poured from his body, decadent and molten, and she shivered and rocked against him, the fabric of her dress a tantalizingly thin barrier between their bodies.

  "Nicci." He cupped her jaw, his thumb tracing the swell of her lower lip. His eyes looked heavy-lidded, as drugged with lust as hers felt.

  Good.

  "Are we really doing this?" He was frowning, still worried.

  In answer, she pulled away and ducked under the barrier of his arm. She crossed to the door and glanced at him over her shoulder. Max swallowed, dropping his head, his shoulders slumping in disappointment.

  Laughing, giddy, Nicola turned the button on the door, locking them in together, locking everyone else out.

  Max's head snapped up, and his eyes were wild, like dark, storm-tossed seas.

  Nicola swallowed, watching him, and trembled. And wanted. "Is there anywhere we can find a condom in here?"

  His jaw compressed, a line of granite beneath the skin. He crossed to the dressing rooms and fished in his abandoned pants. Drawing out his wallet, he pulled a condom free then displayed it between his pointer and middle finger, like the coin in a magic trick. His eyes were still watchful, blazing with a terrible hope. "Nicci . . . "

  She crossed the room, hurrying to him, and pushed her body against his. "I need you to touch me now."

  "I know." He fisted his hand in her hair, pulling her head back as he kissed her roughly on the mouth. She groaned and arched against him, gripping his shoulders, pulling him as close as she could, wanting him inside her, wanting him to crush her with
that firm, gorgeous body of his.

  His tongue massaged hers, thrusting to mimic the instinctual motion of his hips. He plumped her breast in his palm, teasing her nipple through the fabric. Everything within her felt over sensitized to the highest pitch of desperation, a howling keen in her blood. Max. She nipped at his lower lip and wished they had a bedroom, a stronger door, a sturdier lock. "How long do you think we have left?" This kiss felt like a bite of eternity, as necessary as air. But they might have only minutes until Tierney returned.

  Somehow this didn't make Nicola want to stop.

  Max bent his head toward her and she left her eyes open and watched him kiss her, watched serenity spread over his face, watched him hold her like a benediction, and her heart hurt. She closed her eyes and kissed him back.

  But when she wrapped her arms around his neck, he gently disengaged her. His broad palms swept over her shoulders and pushed away the straps of the dress. The fabric whispered off her body. Max caught the dress before it could hit the floor, and Nicola stepped out of it. Her blood thundered through her body, in her ears, her temples, a particularly insistent pulse between her legs. She twitched her bare shoulders, the cool air and bright fluorescent lights making her feel raw, exposed. Max hadn't seen her naked in five years, and she'd never had the greatest body. Small breasts, nice ass, good face, but her hips. And she was so short and he was Max. Sexiest man she'd ever met. Her breasts pebbled from the cool, and she had a strong urge to cover up. What am I doing?

  Max laid the dress out on the cutting table then turned back and stopped, staring at her. He pressed his palm against her breast then trailed his hand down her body. "You're beautiful. Most beautiful woman I've ever seen." He sounded almost pained as he said it, and his eyes were reverent, worshipping, as he caressed her with his gaze and kindled her with his touch.

  She reached for him. "Max."

  He grabbed her around the waist and lifted her, kissing her all the while. Her heart swooped, thrilling at his strength, and she twined her legs around his hips, pressing her core to the ridge of his cock. He kept kissing her as he carried her into the storage room where rack upon rack of old costumes hung – and where they would not be immediately visible to anyone who might walk into the costume shop.

  The chance of being caught added a naughty, decadent thrill to kissing him, to being nearly naked in his arms. And this interlude was already thrilling enough. She was kissing Max. Touching Max.

  He leaned against a wall, rubbing and pressing into her with his cock, thick and perfect beneath the fabric of his Oberon tights. Just when everything seemed too perfect, too hot to handle, Max shifted and accidentally knocked her head against the wall.

  "Ow," she said, conversationally.

  He pulled away, a flush staining his cheeks, and cradled the back of her head. "Shit. Are you OK?"

  "We never can seem to do this backstage without you braining me on a wall."

  He grinned. "Just like old times."

  Laughing, she kissed him, and a sweet pain twisted her heart. She traced her fingers over his brow, along his jaw, across his lips. He kissed her fingertips and grinned against them. "Max," she whispered, the breath of a prayer, and kissed him again.

  He moaned into her throat, rocking against her. Keeping one hand braced on the wall, he moved her panties aside to trace his fingers over her clit, slicking one finger back and forth. She shuddered and dropped her head to his shoulder, waves of pleasure pounding over her. "Now," she whispered. "Please now." The emptiness of her ached, and she was wet and warm, pulsing with need for him.

  Peppering kisses along her cheekbone and neck, Max set her on the ground. Her legs quivered but held her up somehow. He slid his hand around and inside her panties, cupping her bottom and squeezing. Max moaned and licked into her mouth. "Your ass is perfection, you know that?" And then he was tugging her panties off.

  For her part, she yanked the tights down his legs to the knees. His cock sprang free, stiff and heavy and long. Wetting her lips, she plucked the condom out of his hand, tore the packet open with her teeth, and had the rubber covering his length in under ten seconds.

  She stepped out of her panties, and he grabbed her waist and boosted her up again.

  "Fair warning," he said between kisses. "This probably won't take too long."

  "That's the most romantic thing you've ever said to me."

  "It's been five years since I touched you. That's a lot of tension to build up."

  The way he said you, the way he watched her, everything was just as she remembered. And Max still gazed at her, touched her, as if she were some essential part of himself long sought and painfully missed, and now, joyfully, reunited.

  She trailed her hands along the corded lines of his shoulders as his cock nudged her. His tip pressed against her, and it felt so good, so right, she groaned and raked her nails down his back. He rocked into her, filling her all the way, then he paused and dropped his head to her shoulder, pressing a kiss to her collarbone. "Fuck, Nicci."

  She stroked his hair, her sex pulsing around him. "I know."

  He began to move, pushing into her, surging against her body. She tossed her head side to side against the wall as need built inside her. There, there, there, her blood sang as he pounded into her, pushing deep and pressing against her core.

  "Feels so good," he murmured.

  He doubled his rhythm, pushing in and out, over and over, fulfilling an aching need inside her which had lurked for days, weeks. Years. "Max," she whimpered and locked her arm around his neck, fighting to hold on as he made furious, delicious love to her, fucking her hard against the wall.

  Her sex tingled, and her vision went funny, blacking around the edges. She closed her eyes and concentrated, centering herself on the sensation of Max against her, inside her. Clawing toward release, she buried her face in the corner of his neck and muttered a wordless cry of pleasure. He rubbed some perfect spot inside her and she bloomed, shattered, and came crying against his neck. He kept going, his muscles like iron against her as he pounded into her. As he continued, she broke in another small orgasm, or an aftershock of the first, then Max was moaning and shuddering, his eyes slitted closed with pleasure, his breath panting out of him.

  He slid free of her, but kept them both braced against the wall. They were both slick with a fine sheen of sweat, and heat seemed to pour from his body, as if the gold of his hair and skin were actually radiant sunlight.

  As the blood in her veins slowed, and the tingles shivering through her body quieted, Nicola thought she saw regret lurking in a corner, like a third person in the room. She closed her eyes and held on to the pleasure for as long as she could.

  But then Max eased away from her, chilly air from the AC moving to take the place of his warmth, and Nicola felt as if every inch of her naked body had been stabbed with pins. She glanced around the dim interior of the storeroom, eyeing the racks of costumes and feeling, stupidly, as if she had made love for an audience.

  Had Tierney returned? Had Rita come with her? Had they tried to get in, found the room locked, and figured out what she and Max were doing? Had anyone else tried to get in? Would she be fired? Would everyone in the company be talking about this by tomorrow?

  "Hey." Max tucked a finger under her chin, trying to get her to look at him.

  Too raw to see him, to see those beautiful eyes, she caught his hand and pulled it away from her face. She hurried into the workshop, hugging herself and wishing for clothes – which was a ridiculous wish since the man had just been inside her.

  Oh God. She raked her fingers into her hair, horror blossoming in her stomach. What did I just do?

  She reached the safety of the dressing room and pulled her own street clothes on with relief. Never had yoga pants been more of a comfort to her. Her panties she would retrieve later. They were wet anyway, drenched from her arousal.

  Oh God. She sank onto the dressing room bench and dropped her flaming face into her hands.

  The dressing roo
m dimmed, and she glanced up to find Max looming in the entrance, still bare-chested, wearing only the tights, appearing hurt and confused. A wounded lion, a penitent king. "Nic, what's wrong? Did I do something wrong? Did I hurt you?"

  "No." Her throat thickened with emotion, and her eyes prickled. "No. It was incredible. I just . . . " She shook her head, having no words to articulate the riot inside her.

  He crouched, bracing one arm against the doorframe for balance. "I think we have to talk again. About our feelings?"

  She had to laugh. The way he said that, like it was some kind of communicable disease. "Oh Maxim." She reached out and patted his cheek. He turned his face into her hand, nuzzling against her palm. The easy intimacy of it, the sweetness, cracked something in her heart, like someone had inserted a crowbar into a chink there. She pressed a fist to her sternum and stood, pushing past him. "Do we need to talk?" she said.

  "I'd like to."

  The costume shop door rattled, startling them both. Max moved in front of her dressing room, shielding her from whatever was coming through the shop door.

  "What the – " Lachlan's voice. He pounded on the wood, making the door shake. "Nicola? Max, you pillock. Let me in."

  Max started for the entrance, but Nicola caught his wrist, tugging him back. When he gazed at her over his shoulder, she shook her head. "Put your own clothes on," she murmured, keeping her voice quiet but urgent. "Bury the condom in the trash. And, for fuck's sake, grab my panties!"

  He grinned – damn him – and disappeared into the storage area to change and carry out his other missions.

  Nicola tugged her hair out of its half-fallen ponytail and retied it into a straighter knot. Her face was probably glowing with that post-sex radiance she always seemed to have with Max, but nothing she could do about that. She undid the lock and swung the door open to let Lachlan inside.

  His mouth shaped words, but then he stared at her and stopped. His eyes widened and his nostrils flared. For one brief flash he looked hurt. Then his face became a pale, blank slate. "Where's Max?"

  "Still changing. We were both in our dressing rooms when you knocked, that's why – "