But when Nicola woke in the morning beside him, his arm around her waist, his breath in her ear, a fling didn't feel like such a bad idea. She rolled in his arms, and he beamed at her. "Hey."
"Morning." She burrowed against his chest, snuggling close to his body.
He eased onto his elbows, hovering over her, and she tipped onto her back. Caressing her cheek with his knuckles, he stared at her with a warmth that made her heart flutter. "So," he said, "in a fling it's important to savor the moment, right? Make every second count?"
"I suppose so."
"All right, Nicci." He grinned. "Pay attention."
***
"Mmm. That never gets old," Nicola murmured from under the mat of her hair. It had fallen in her face sometime during the sex and she hadn't bothered or cared to move it. And she was too blissed out to move now; her muscles had melted and were oozing into the plush mattress.
Max came to the rescue and peeled strands of her hair away so that cool air wafted over her face.
He kissed her shoulder. "We have to get up. Rehearsal."
She groaned and rolled over. His hair was tousled into soft, dark blonde waves and his eyes were bright, bluer than the clearest sky could aspire to be. She smoothed her fingers into his hair and, joking, murmured, "'Yon light is not daylight, I know it, I: it is some meteor that the sun exhal'd. Therefore stay yet.'" She banded her arms around his neck, pulling him toward her. "Maxim, we so don't need to get out of bed yet."
His mouth twitched in amusement and he settled his body over her, the corded flesh of his thighs and arms pressing against her. "'Let me be taken," he said. "'Let me be put to death; I am content, so thou wilt have it so.'" He kissed her navel then turned and rested his cheek on her belly, the hair of his beard a delightful prickle on her sensitive skin there. "'I'll say yon grey is not the morning's eye . . . '" He paused and lifted his head, his forehead screwed up in a frown.
She smoothed the frown lines and, cueing him, murmured, "'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow – '"
"Tsk. You freaking know-it-all." Laughing, he blew a raspberry against her stomach, and when she giggled and tried to wriggle free, he held her down by the wrists and punctuated every line from Romeo & Juliet with another tickling raspberry on her belly: "'Nor that is not the lark . . . " Tttthpbt. "' . . . whose notes do beat the vaulty heaven so high above our heads . . . " Tttthhhppbt. "'I have more care to stay than will to go . . . '"Tttthhhppbbbt. "'Come, death, and welcome! Juliet wills it so.'" He finished with one particularly loud and long razz against her stomach which left her convulsing with laughter.
"I hate you! Maxim! Stop!"
His eyes crinkling with laughter, he gave her a large, smacking kiss on the mouth then let her wrists go. Staring up at him her heart did that awful flopflipflop thing, like a landed fish trying to jerk its way back to the sea. But her heart was reaching toward him, aching for him.
As if he could sense the feelings welling inside her, threatening to swamp her, the grin slid off his face. Max traced the line of her cheek and bent to kiss her again, slowly.
Someone banged on the bedroom door, making the hinges rattle. Lachlan's hoarse voice boomed through the wood, "Oy, Max, we're running late! Nicola, tell your boytoy to hurry the hell up! You lot can shag at rehearsal if you have to!"
Max groaned and rolled out of bed, going to his dresser. "Damn Brit. I should charge him more rent." He shrugged into clean clothes: a pair of blue sweats and a white t-shirt. It was a baggy, slovenly outfit yet he could have been in an ad campaign. One of those classy black and white spreads with the gorgeous, moody models.
Grinning wryly at life's unfairness, Nicola picked her own clothes off the floor. She snagged her leggings and tank from yesterday but the thought of wearing the sweaty, stinky clothes was unbearable. "Maxim, do you have anything that would fit me? That I could wear to rehearsal? I forgot to wash these last night."
Max peered at his own ripped, six-foot-plus frame then over at her petite five-foot-mumble-mumble something stature. He puckered his lips in a gesture of uncertainty. "Um."
***
Eventually, she ended up in an old Placebo t-shirt from a concert he'd attended freshman year of high school – before the growth spurt which had turned him into a six-foot-plus demi-god – and a pair of his gym shorts which had seen better days.
They wandered to the kitchen together. Peter and Lachlan were already eating. Peter was busy at the stove while Lachlan slumped in one of the chairs around the island. Lachlan's eyes were red with black circles beneath them.
"Morning," she said.
He grunted at her and wallowed into his coffee cup, pounding the drink back like a shot then holding his mug out to Peter for more. Peter poured and eyed Nicola's outfit at the same time. "Making a fashion statement today, are we?"
Nicola stuck her tongue out. "I'm doing a walk of shame and you know it. So don't be a smart ass."
Max kissed her. "You look very fetching, Nicci."
"Nicola-love," Lachlan said, more closely resembling Human now the caffeine had worked into his system. "Some of my clothes might have fit you better. I'm not so wretchedly muscle-bound as dear Max."
She grimaced. "Yeah, but everyone at rehearsal is going to be talking about my walk of shame. At least if I borrow Max's clothes the rest of the cast won't have to guess which one of you two I slept with."
Lachlan smirked. "Ah, my petal, they might just think you shagged us both."
Nicola choked on a sip of coffee. Max swallowed a laugh, and she soft-punched him on the shoulder.
Peter grinned, very like Max for a sec, and shoveled her up a plate of pancakes, eggs and – "No bacon, Pete," she said. "I'm keeping kosher even if you two aren't."
"I forgot to ask, Peter," Lachlan said. "What brings you into town? What's your plan for today?"
Peter slid Max a quick, uncertain glance, then said, "I wanted to tag along with you lot to rehearsal. I thought it might be fun to watch. I've never seen my baby brother do Shakespeare."
"You sure you aren't bumming a ride so you can meet with Isabelle?" Max's hands were rigid around his fork as he shoveled eggs into his mouth.
Peter slapped his brother's shoulder. "No. I changed my mind about meeting Isabelle. If it means that much to you then Henry V is all yours."
"Wait. What?" Lachlan sat forward, glaring between the two brothers.
Nicola giggled. "Ah, another drama free day in the theater world."
***
Dressed, fed, under-caffeinated but still functioning, they all piled into Max's SUV, running about ten minutes late. If Nicola was worried about her reputation at rehearsal – ten minutes late and wearing Max's clothes – she needn't have been. Once Peter showed his so-famous face all the rest of them could have sprouted wings or cloven hoofs and no one would have noticed. Ah, the glorious Peter. Max tried not to mind.
In the theater, as the rest of the cast flocked to Peter for autographs and camera phone pics, Judith settled on a polite "hello" to the movie star before she wandered over to Max.
As soon as Judith started toward them, Nicola murmured, "Later," and skipped off to sit with Abe. Abe was one of the few other company members less than impressed with Peter. Probably because Abe had met Peter before, had seen him wandering around The Bunkhouse half-dressed questing for a clean pair of socks. That sort of thing could scrape the mystique off anybody.
Max smiled at Judith's approach. "Morning, Madame Director."
She clasped his hands, her face concerned. "I had no idea Isabelle was bringing Peter out. No idea at all he was even considering King Henry this seriously."
Max gave her shoulder a reassuring pat. "It's all right. Peter and I talked. My brother isn't going after the part."
"Oh." Judith deflated a little. Disappointed the Big Movie Star didn't want to work with her, maybe? But then she squeezed Max's hand, her eyes bright. "Well, good. Maybe that means I can make a certain happy announcement sooner than I thought." Her eyelid shive
red down in a wink before she departed to call everyone to order and begin rehearsal.
Henry. Yes! Max started down the aisle, but Lachlan knocked into him from behind. "Excuse you," Max called.
Lachlan flipped him a British two-fingered salute and stomped along to drop himself into the seat behind Nicola.
Max winced. Had Lachlan heard his talk with Judith? No wonder Lach looked pissy, if he'd just heard Judith basically announce that Max had the Henry part. Max felt bad for his friend, but his own excitement sort of surged over that. Henry. Mine. Mine.
He bounced over to Nicola, his nerves bubbling with excitement. Hauling her out of the chair, he kissed her soundly on the lips. Sweet victory. Sweeter Nicola.
As he pulled away, she blinked at him in shock, and it was then he became aware of the rest of the cast gaping at the two of them in varying degrees of bafflement or satisfaction. Abe gave them a thumbs up. Lachlan scribbled on his script then held it aloft like a scorecard showing a four-point-five.
Oops. Max grimaced at Nicola. "So much for a discreet fling. I'm sorry."
"Forget discretion." She twined her arms around his neck. "We're living in the moment, remember? Now let's see if we can get a six-point-oh from Lachlan." And then she frenched Max.
Henry V. Nicola. So far Max's day was off to a pretty damn good start.
***
Maybe because Peter was there, maybe because it was their last rehearsal before tech week, but Judith was much less awful than usual. Especially to Nicola. Max was glad, although he wished it didn't take an outside audience to make Judith treat all of her actors with respect. The director was always professional and helpful with him and Lachlan, with Abe and the other "rude mechanicals." He couldn't understand what it was about Nicola that rubbed Judith so wrong.
"That was relatively painless," Nicola muttered as she packed her bag up in the green room after rehearsal.
"I'm glad," he said. "I've never worked with Judith before. I wonder if she's always this . . . "
"Bitchy?"
"I was going to say demanding."
"That's because you're a gentleman." Nicola cupped his cheeks and stood on tiptoes to kiss him. "But, trust me, Judith's a bitch."
"She's not a bad director, though."
"No." Nicola sighed, heavily. "She's using the forest in interesting ways. I love the new opening where Hippolyta's Amazons fight with Theseus' men down the hill. It's a really energetic way to start the show."
"Yes." He understood. It would be much easier for Nicola to deal with Judith's animosity if the director were a no-talent hack. That Judith knew what she was talking about a lot of the time made it more difficult for Nicola to dismiss the director's criticisms of her.
"She'll do interesting things with Henry V, I think," Nicola said.
"Yeah."
"Well, do you know how you want to play Henry? Your take?"
"I was thinking, that play is so concerned with performance, with reminding the audience they're watching a play."
"Right. There are all those lines from the Prologue, 'For 'tis your thoughts that now must deck our kings' where Shakespeare's reminding the audience they are in a theater, these are actors, that we're pretending."
"Exactly," Max said, warming to his subject. "But I think that carries over to the Henry character too. In the previous history plays, when he was prince, he was pretending to be a wastrel, and now he's pretending to be the great king, but it's all an act."
"Fake it 'til you make it."
"Fake it 'til you beat the French, at any rate." Max rubbed his jaw, his blood firing with that same rush, that prickle of anticipation he always got when he thought of Henry V. "So I guess he starts as a hollow king, a play-actor, cynical, manipulative. But before the final battle, he sort of realizes how empty the role of the king is, how heavy the weight of responsibility. So he goes into the speech at Agincourt having realized the only way he can redeem himself is to die with his men and see the battle through. He's not playing the king anymore, he is the king."
"You're good at that, you know," she said.
"What?"
"Breaking the play down, finding the hidden crunchy stuff. Nuances." Her eyes twinkled. "It's pretty sexy."
"Oh yeah?" He glanced around the green room, saw the place was empty, and banded his arms around her waist to pull her closer. "What would you say to some extracurricular rehearsal tonight? I don't think we've got the kissing bits quite right yet. We need practice before dress next week."
"Lots of practice?"
"I hope so."
"Hmm." She nodded thoughtfully. "You may be right. Do you think I should schedule some time with Gil too? Make sure the Bottom and Titania kissing comes out right?"
Max growled and tightened his arms around her waist, lifting her off her feet. She squealed and clung to him in a way that was achingly familiar. Pain and joy jammed together in his chest like clashing tectonic plates, shaking his very core. A fling. Not forever, not even for awhile. He closed his eyes and kissed her, sweeping his tongue into her mouth, savoring the taste of her. Moments. That was all they had.
And he intended to treasure every one.
"Ah-hem," Peter said from the doorway.
Nicola sighed and ended the kiss. Max reluctantly set her down and turned to his brother. Not wanting to hear the No kissing Nicola spiel, Max said, "How'd you like rehearsal, Petey?"
"Good, good." Peter had his arms crossed and one hand against his mouth, rubbing his lips in Peter Fiesengerke's patented handsome man lost-in-thought gesture – as seen in such films as Fortune's Fool, Psyche + Cupid, and Will Scarlet. "I think I'm going to suggest Lachlan to the director for a part on my next movie. His Puck is incredible. I mean his voice, man. I got chills when he did 'If we shadows have offended.' I'm doing this World War II movie next. Nic, you'll love it. Can Lach do an American accent?"
Max gritted his teeth. "Yes, he can."
Peter wasn't paying attention. "Have to get my hands on Lach's audition reel. See if he has an agent. He'll be cheaper than the guy the producers want. Better actor too. But don't say anything to Lach yet." Peter held his hands up in a slowdown motion to both of them, as if they were the ones who'd been babbling ecstatically. "Have to talk to the producers, and I don't want Lachlan's hopes up if I can't swing it."
A black sludge sort of oozed into Max's gut. Everyone got to have a film career but him. Everyone got to have success but him.
Nicola jiggled his arm, digging her nails in. "Hey, you were wonderful today. You are a wonderful Oberon. You're going to kick ass as Henry too."
"Of course you were good." Peter blinked free of his distraction and grabbed Max by the shoulders, shaking him. "I thought your greatness went without saying. I was right to pass on playing Henry. You'll do it better than I ever could. You make a damn fine king, baby brother." He gave Max a rousing slap on the arm and beamed.
Max felt silly being so cheered by his brother's praise, but then he sort of shrugged to himself, said fuck it, and let himself enjoy the recognition.
"Yes," Judith said, walking into the room. "Well done. You were born to be a king." She glanced at the other two then said, "Max, could I talk to you in private?"
When the director says jump . . . "Sure." Max pressed Nicola's hand in parting then stepped out of the green room. "What's up, Judith?"
"I wanted to work with you on Henry V a bit. I've set a meeting with Isabelle for early next week. That will be your audition, and I'd like to work with you on the part before we present you to her."
"Sure. When?"
"Can you do it tonight? With tech next week for Midsummer this is the only night I can put aside for this. I need all day Monday to review Rita's notes."
But Nicola. Moments. Kissing practice! Max gritted his teeth and forced out a grin. "Sure. But I gave Lachlan and Nicola a ride in today. Let me make sure they can get home OK."
"Of course. I'll see you in Rehearsal Room Two."
Max ducked into the green room,
trying to keep his wail of frustration internal. Yes, he would miss the kissing. But how bad do you want Henry? He thought of Lachlan co-starring in his brother's next blockbuster, of Nicola and their "fling," of all the waste and missed chances in his life up 'til now. And he swallowed. Pretty damn bad.
"What's up?" Nicola asked.
"Your car's still in the parking lot, right? Can you drive Lachlan and Peter to The Bunkhouse? Judith wants to work on Henry with me before I audition for Isabelle."
"That's great! So the Henry part is pretty much yours?"
"Seems like it. Isabelle had her heart set on that shlemiel," he pointed at Peter, "but now he's bowed out, I'm the man to beat."
"I'm so happy for you." Nicola threw her arms around him.
He cupped her head and turned his face into her neck, breathing heaven off her skin. "I don't know how long Judith plans to keep me. But will you wait for me at The Bunkhouse?"
"Kissing practice, huh?" Her arms banded around him, an affectionate squeeze. "I think I'll run home to get some clothes. My car hasn't been driven in two days and, as lovely as your wardrobe is," she pinched the fabric of her borrowed Placebo shirt between two fingers, "I want my own clothes."
"It's Sunday. Our day off is tomorrow. Are you planning to stay at The Bunkhouse tomorrow too?"
"Would you like me to?"
"Hell, yes." He kissed her. A whole day with Nicola tomorrow. And two whole nights with Nicola too. "So you'll be there at The Bunkhouse tonight? Wait for me?"
"Of course, and I'll try out that fancy shower of yours. I might even forget to put clothes on afterward."
"Thanks. I'll be thinking about you wet and naked all night. I'm going to have a boner while I try to do the speech at Harfleur."
She giggled. "Kind of gives whole new meaning to 'Once more into the breach, dear friend.'"
He groaned and kissed her, then firmly stepped back. If he didn't let her go now, he never would, and Judith was waiting.
Chapter Twenty-One
A Midsummer Night's Fling (Stage Kiss Series Book 1) Page 21
