He was completely focused on me, if not looking a tad confused by my change of subject, but he still gave my neck a light squeeze, encouraging me to continue. I absentmindedly stroked my cheek against his fingers.
“I don’t know if Jackson or Lauren told you, but last year, Jess and I lost both our parents.”
His grip on me grew stronger, his eyes pinned me with their intensity. He opened his mouth as if he was going to say something, but I started again.
“They were hit by a drunk driver. And of course we were both devastated, but I took it especially hard, and I haven’t been me ever since.” I looked across the street, watching a stray cat walk across my neighbor’s yard. That place had belonged to an elderly couple and was now empty, and a real eyesore on our street.
“I don’t know if I will ever be that version of me again.”
I turned back toward Kyle, my gaze fixed on his. “But tonight, with you, I felt a part of me wake up, a piece of me that I was afraid had died. That’s what I wanted to thank you for.”
The temperature outside must have dropped because I could see the heat from his breath clouded around us.
“Samantha…I-I don’t know what to say.”
“There’s nothing to say, Kyle. I know what I said was heavy and I understand that’s not what you’re about.”
He looked confused, if not a bit affronted by my words. “Not what I’m about?”
“Don’t worry,” I said in a rush. “Jackson explained to me.”
He grew very still, his mood dropping along with the temperature. “What exactly did Jackson ‘explain’ to you?”
I stepped back and studied his face. “Why are you so angry now? He’s your friend. He wouldn’t say anything bad about you. Jax thinks the world of you. He just said if I was looking for something more, something lasting or real, you’re not the man for that.”
His hand dropped from my neck and I immediately missed the warmth of him. “Well, I’m real glad you and Jax have it all figured out there.”
Watching him get all stumped, I couldn’t help but laugh.
“You’re laughing at me, Samantha?”
“I’m-I’m sorry, Kyle, but c’mon,” I teased. “If I were to be what you’re used to, expecting sex and hearts and flowers and promises, you’d be feeling as suffocated as if I placed your head in a plastic bag.”
He stepped away and looked off into nothing in particular, exhaling loudly. He shoved his hands deep into his coat pockets and turned his focus back to me.
“I just want to be with you in the worst way.” He came closer to me again, eclipsing me with his large, muscled frame, and I craned my gaze upward. “Can’t help it. The minute I saw you onstage, then at Lauren’s party, I’ve been itching to get my hands on you. Make you scream. Make you come for me. I still want that, Samantha.”
Dear Lord, a girl could orgasm from his words alone. I took in a shaky breath, shivering from the cold and my arousal for him. “I want you too. You’re the most seductive man I’ve ever met.”
He reached for me, running this thumb over my bottom lip, breathing heavy and getting even closer. “The feeling’s mutual. So why are we talking out here?”
I moved back some, not because I didn’t absolutely long for his hands on me, but because I didn’t want to start to need it. “Having Jessica interrupt us was definitely a pain in the ass, but I’m kind of glad it happened.” I paused, watching the warmth from my breath. “Because as much as I’d like to sleep with you and drown in everything that’s you for a night, I’m just not in a place to do casual. And I don’t need or want you to pretend you’re anything you’re not. Being with you tonight, even in this small way… It’s just a relief to know I can feel that for a man again, to know that part of me didn’t die when they did.”
His eyes grew soft, understanding flooding his expression. “I didn’t know that about your parents, honey. I can’t begin to know what that feels like, losing them the way you did. Both my parents are alive and well and live to hate each other.”
I gave him a small smile in response, feeling sorry he didn’t have what I’d had. In that moment, he looked like a sad young boy, completely alone and lost on his own.
“Guess I’m lucky in a way,” I replied while still studying his face. “I don’t know what I want from a man right now, but I know I can’t just enjoy you for a couple of nights and be done with it. I’m still too raw, like I’m walking around without my skin or something. And I could really fall for you, Kyle. And I think that’s the last thing you really want.”
I didn’t want to register if my soliloquy made him uncomfortable or not, so I rushed a quick kiss on his cheek and dashed into my house, calling out “goodnight” over my shoulder. I am sure he thought I was a complete nut job, and I couldn’t handle it if I had seen that on his face. No, let me remember the night as it was, and by the time I have to see him again, probably at Lauren’s house for something else to celebrate, I’ll be back to my old self, the man-eating gypsy woman who didn’t sit still long enough to get attached to any man.
Especially to a gorgeous, sexy, biker-lawyer man with no desire to let any woman close to him. Even me.
Chapter Three
“Get your scrumptious self over here and give me a hug!”
The minute I saw one of my closest fellow thespian friends, Patrick O’Malley, in the rehearsal space, I couldn’t help but squeal and run straight into his arms. He wrapped his arms around me and twirled us round and round until I begged him to stop.
“How did I not know you were cast?” he asked, looking at me as if I had been resurrected from the dead. In a way, I guess I had.
“Oh honey, I just found out myself last week!”
I really was so happy to see him, so I kept rambling. “I can’t believe you’re playing Conrad! I’m so happy for you!”
“No, I’m not,” he corrected. “I’m playing Doyle, the amoral shit who seduces your boyfriend’s mother and you. It’s perfect for me, really, when you think about it.”
“But you’re not old enough to play Doyle. Isn’t he supposed to be, I don’t know, like twenty years older than me?”
Patrick waved off my concerns with his hand. “Oh please. I’m ageless and can play anybody. I’ll just grow out my beard, which you know for me will take approximately two days with my swarthy DNA, and voilà! I’m distinguished.” He grabbed my hands and spun me around a couple more times. “I really am so thrilled you’re here, pumpkin. Even if we both got the parts last minute.”
I gazed lovingly at him and gave his hands a squeeze. “Yeah, what’s up with that? I’ve been living in Vienna and am not up on the latest buzz ’round here. It’s not like this company to cast so last minute.”
He ran his fingers through his hair and looked around us, probably gauging how loudly he should talk. “I didn’t find out the whole story until after I signed the contract,” he whispered. “I had thought it was strange that they only had the assistant director and the producers at the auditions, but now I think that was a very conscious decision on the board’s part.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Well, they supposedly had Aaron slated to direct, but he got an off-Broadway opportunity, something he couldn’t say no to, so he pulled out. And when they hired this new guy, most of the original cast bailed. Like mass exodus.”
“No shit?”
“No shit,” he confirmed. “Guess the board got nervous after that and decided to keep the identity of the new director on the down-low. Didn’t want to have to hold more auditions or cancel the production altogether.”
Oh great, so I didn’t get the part because I was their first choice, we-must-have-her-or-die. I was tier two, the backup. Fuck, I hated feeling like that, but I should have suspected as much when I found out rehearsals started a week after I got the good news.
Which al
so meant it had been a week since I had seen Kyle. I knew it was for the best, especially since if I was this forlorn over not seeing him, then how would I have felt if I had slept with him and he bailed? Nope, this way was better.
We plopped ourselves on one of the weathered, well-worn couches. I tucked my legs under me and Patrick did the same. We had been friends ever since I moved back to DC after finishing my MFA, something my parents had insisted I earn so if, one day, I could no longer get acting work, I would have the qualifications to teach somewhere. He was totally beautiful, 5’11” with jet-black hair, chiseled features, olive-toned skin and chocolate-brown eyes. He had an Irish father and an Italian mother, which explained his stunning Mediterranean looks. Patrick was also gay, living with his older, distinguished and highly successful boyfriend who was a political consultant of some kind.
I leaned into him so no one could hear us gossip. “So who did they get to fill in? I can’t imagine anyone so awful as to cause the entire cast to quit!”
Suddenly, I heard someone clap loudly and stomp into the room, heavy-stepped, like the Gestapo. “Attention! Attention! I’d like to get started sometime this week, people!”
“Oh no!” I whispered to Patrick, frozen in place, cold dread creeping over my skin. “Please tell me it’s not who I think it is.”
Patrick looked over at where the noise was coming from, winced, then offered me a sad smile. “Sorry, honey.”
I took a slow, deep breath and turned to have my eyes confirm what my gut and head were telling me: Derek Schiller was going to be my director for the next two months.
My parents had always taught Jess and me that hate was a very strong word, one not to throw out casually in most circumstances. That said, I hated Derek Schiller. He was a narcissistic, overbearing, misogynistic pig. Years ago, I had been in a couple of his productions, and he made it very clear he wanted me in his bed, expected me to be there. When I refused, well, at first, he just thought of me as a challenge, but over time, he took my rejection as license to be a total ass to me. He even tried to get me fired once until I threatened a lawsuit citing sexual harassment. He backed off, but I had vowed never to work for him again.
And now I was stuck because I couldn’t pull out of this play if I expected to salvage my professional reputation, not after what happened last season. Otherwise, I’d be labeled as difficult, something that happened more often to female actors than males, which sucked.
Patrick must have sensed my quiet, growing panic because he scooted over toward me so our legs were touching, and he took my clammy hand in both of his. “Don’t you worry about a thing, sweetness,” he said in a low voice. “Consider me the big brother you never had. I’m not going to let him get to you, okay?” Being my friend for so long meant Patrick knew all about my Schiller saga.
In a weak voice, I answered, “Okay, if you say so.”
“I do. We’re peas and carrots, white on rice. I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
A sudden pang of guilt hit me right in the chest. “Patrick, the last year… I haven’t returned your calls or been any kind of friend to you. I never even…”
“Stop right there,” he cut me off, although still in a whisper so as not to draw attention. “You were sick with grief. I’m the one who should’ve done more, come visit after the funeral. Done more to show you I was there for you.”
I offered him a sad smile. “I probably would’ve sent you away, Trick,” I answered, using his favorite nickname. “I was a mess. I’m only just seeing the other side of it the last month or so.”
He nodded, and I would’ve kept on talking, but I couldn’t help but notice Schiller leering at me from across the room. He was definitely keeping his distance, but it wasn’t making me feel any less creeped out.
For the rest of the time, the cast worked together, and Schiller stayed out of my way. I sighed in relief once he called it a day by six o’clock, and I left the theater in a hurry.
Patrick walked over to me while putting on his winter jacket and scarf. “Everything seems okay so far, huh, Sam?”
“Yeah, maybe he mellowed. I know his reputation has taken enough of a hit through the years that a lot of theaters don’t want to work with him anymore.” I grabbed my stuff and started walking out with Patrick.
“Let’s hope you’re right.” We were almost out the door when Patrick gave me a quick once-over. “Sam, where’s your script?”
My eyes widened and I searched my oversized leather bag, big enough to fit a bowling ball, not to mention an eight-and-a-half-by-eleven script. Sure enough, I didn’t have it.
“How could I forget it? I remember placing it right in here as soon as we were done.”
“Want me to wait for you while you get it?”
I thought about it for a second. “No, that’s okay, sweetie. We all saw the prick leave for the day. And the admin crew is still in the box office. I’ll be fine.”
“You sure?” he asked, holding my chin in his hand and smiling down on me. “It’s no trouble.”
“Nah,” I waved him off. “Go home to Oliver. I know he’s not in town a lot. Go enjoy each other.”
“All right,” he drawled out, still not seeming convinced. “Text me if there’s a problem. We’re only five blocks away.”
“Go,” I shooed. “See you tomorrow.”
I watched him walk down the street for a minute, feeling grateful for such a dear friend. Then I jogged back to the rehearsal space to find my script.
Anyone who has ever worked in the theater knows how different the stage appears when no one’s around, with only the backup lights on. Some find it peaceful, meditative, and usually I do as well, but this time, as soon as I walked in, something felt off to me.
Derek was standing there with my script in his hands, thumbing through it. I saw him before he noticed me, and for a flash I thought it a shame he was such a horrid individual, because he was an inherently good-looking man. I think he was in his late forties by now, still sporting a full head of blond hair, now graying at the temples, with cornflower-blue eyes. He had always worn very stylish spectacles in black, and they gave his presence an added air of authority. I know many women adored him, in spite of the fact he treated most of them like prostitutes for hire. With the attention he received, I had always wondered why he kept coming after me. I understood men loved a challenge, but for Derek there had been an obsessive note to his growing, unwanted attention back then. It had been the only time I could ever recall being genuinely freaked by a man, so much so that it kept me unsettled to this day.
He glanced up at me as soon as I came into the room, and the look of smug satisfaction on his face made bile rise in my throat. I stood by the door, swallowing the saliva collecting in my mouth. I also knew in that instant that he had taken my script out of my bag when I wasn’t looking and had pretended to leave for the day. The whole scenario was a setup. Without averting my gaze from his, I reached into my bag, feeling around for my can of Mace. Just in case.
“There you are, Samantha. Glad to see you came back for your script. Although it’s certainly not a good sign that you’re leaving it behind on the first day. Tsk, tsk.”
Dear God, I hated this fucker. “I thought you had left for the day, Derek.” I tried to sound as light and casual as possible.
“Yes, well, I also needed—” he slowly moved his eyes over me, leaving an imaginary icky film over my skin in the process, “—something I reluctantly left behind as well.”
I tried to tell myself that he didn’t mean me by that, but I was never good at lying to myself. I plastered a fake smile on my face. “Well, don’t let me keep you. I’ll just take that and get out of your way.”
He arched his eyebrow at me and gave a crooked smile that I think he meant to look seductive but just came off as malevolent and strange. “Then come and get it, Sa-man-tha.” He held it out to me, like a dare.
> Don’t let this asshole get to you. That’s what he wants. So I strode over and reached for the script. Just as I held it in my grasp, he pulled on it harshly, causing me to lurch forward and stumble to the floor, on my knees.
Waves of anger and humiliation rolled off of me, but I quickly scampered onto my feet, not wanting to be under him in any way.
“What the fuck bullshit maneuver was that?” I screamed at him. I was now fully up, but he was still hovering in my space, not touching me but definitely crowding me enough so I backed up against the wall. Holding my script in his arm, close to his chest, he leaned his other arm on the wall by my head.
“Such a clumsy little thing, Ms. Lockhart. You probably have too much—how do I say it?—pent-up energy stored. I can help you release some of that.”
I pushed back on his chest with both my hands, but—fuck—he was solid and barely moved an inch. If I had to kick him in his nads to get out of there, I would, but I really didn’t want it to have to come to that. My heart started pounding into my throat, my adrenaline spiking. “Just give me my script and I’ll try and pretend this bullshit never happened.”
Suddenly I heard footsteps and a deep, pissed-off male voice. “What the fuck? Get the hell away from her, Schiller. Now.”
Oh my God, it was Kyle! I have never, in my life, been so unbelievably happy to see someone. I let out a sound, something between relief and laughter. Derek’s whole body tensed, his face sneering at the sight of him.
“Masterson, what the hell are you doing here? The rehearsal space is closed to the public, and you are definitely never welcome in my theater,” he jeered while trying to block my view of Kyle with his body.
Kyle stalked over to where we were, and Derek backed away from me immediately, seeming unsure of himself for the first time. Kyle came up close, holding me by my shoulders while perusing me from head to toe. “Did he hurt you?”
Heart Breaker (Break on Through) Page 5
