by Leisa Rayven
Just as I'm getting ready to throw down, two security guards arrive to escort Tom to the exit. I wave to him merrily as he leaves, ignoring the sexist obscenities he mutters under his breath.
Cool. One problem down, several hundred to go.
My phone buzzes, and I look down to see a text from Liam.
<5 days>
A tingle runs up my spine. It kind of ridiculous that he can do that to me with a couple of words on a screen. I wonder if it's normal that when I read his texts, I can hear the deep rumble of his voice in my head. It gives me goosebumps.
Another text pops up.
Another shiver. I really have no time to indulge in replying right now, but God, I want to.
I sideline filthy thoughts as I head backstage to check the dressing rooms.
Liam keeps texting.
I fan myself with my clipboard, as I mentally run over the dressing room checklist. Evil man. He knows I'm working. And that I'm probably stressed out. This is his way of distracting me, and yeah, it's working.
Dear God. I can't remember the last time I orgasmed. I've tried a few times since he's been gone, but my body won't cooperate. It's mourning him with the passion of an Italian widow.
My face is burning by the time I check the final dressing room. To be honest, the damn room could be filled with toxic waste and a jukebox dedicated exclusively to Billy Ray Cyrus, and I'd have no clue. I can't stop fantasizing about Liam making me come.
Another text:
"Miss Holt?" I turn to see Ainsly looking at me with concern. "Are you okay? You're all red."
I let out a breath. "I'm fine. Get moving on the production riders, okay? This room should have—" My phone vibrates again.
"Miss Holt?"
"Uh—" I blink as I drag myself away from my phone to check the list on my clipboard. My vision is blurry as my brain flashes up mental images of my hot-as-hell fiancée, naked, hard, and servicing me in ways that make my legs forget they have bones.
"Miss Holt? You were saying what I need to get."
"Uh ... right. Yes. An espresso machine. And a bowl of M&Ms with all the green ones removed."
"Sure. I'll get on that. Can I also get you some water? Or something to eat? You don't look well."
She's not wrong. I'm lovesick. And Liam deprived. And orgasmically challenged. None of that is healthy, dammit.
"You're right, Ainsly, I'll grab a sandwich and be back in five, okay? You keep going on these rooms."
"Sure, I'll be here."
I almost sprint to my office. It's true I have a sandwich in my bag, but what I'm really hungering for isn't food. When I get inside, I lock the door and lean back against it. My fingers shake as I jab Liam's name for Facetime.
Within seconds, he appears on the screen.
Sweet giddy Christ, he's shirtless. It should be a crime to be that attractive.
I’ll never get used to the sight of Liam's naked chest. What's more, the roll he's playing calls for long hair, so he's wearing messy extensions and braids that make him look like the Viking God of Extreme Hotness.
It takes me a few moments to adjust to the bout of dizziness the sight of him inflicts upon me.
"Hey," he says. I know that voice. The one that means he's so horny, he can barely speak.
"You're killing me, Quinn, you know that?"
He leans closer to the camera. "I can't help it. You look beautiful, by the way. Show me your underwear."
"Liam, everything is in chaos here. I have no time to—"
"Now, Elissa."
Jesus. I can't argue when he orders me around like that. It's too arousing.
I quickly lift up my shirt to show him my plain black bra.
"Fuck, yes." He licks his lips. "Don't suppose you have time for a quick strip tease? Or even better, a slow one?"
"Sadly, no." His face falls as I drop my shirt. "But just for the record, are you currently naked?"
He smiles before standing to show me an elaborate pair of leather pants that are caked in fake blood and embellished with fur. "Nope. Just lounging around in my nifty thrifty killin'-pants. They're surprisingly comfortable."
As bizarre as it sounds, my blond-ish, blue-eyed hunk is playing Genghis Khan in a big-budget and historically inaccurate blockbuster.
Ahhh, Hollywood. Casting white people in ethnic roles since forever.
The only reason Liam even considered the role was because James Cameron was directing, and he's Liam's idol. I'd never seen Liam fanboy, but the day Cameron called to ask him to do the project, Liam's blush was off the charts. It was both adorable and hot as hell.
"Those are some sexy pants, Mr. Quinn," I say with a smirk. "They make your junk look even more epic than it already is."
He sits again and raises an eyebrow. "You like the leather pants, huh? Well, play your cards right, and I'll take them off for you."
Man, if only. "You have no idea how much I want that right now, but I'm behind schedule as it is. Seeing you naked isn’t going to help me focus on anything except how much I miss you."
He leans forward, and even with the low-quality satellite feed, I can see the longing in his eyes. "Liss, I miss you so much I can't see straight. I'm going insane here. It's like I've got this weird, clammy fever, and the only cure is to be with you again." He lowers his voice. "I need you. I've almost forgotten how you feel."
"I know. But the wait is almost over, right? Then we'll have four weeks of total bliss together. No theaters. No movies or publicity. Just you and me."
He smiles. "That's the only thing keeping me going right now. I can't wait."
"Are you ever going to tell me where we're going?"
"No. But trust me when I say you're going to love it."
"If I have no idea of our destination, how will I know what to pack?"
He lets out a dark chuckle. "As long as you're there, screw everything else. It's not like you're going to need clothes. I intend to keep you naked the entire time."
I slump into the chair next to my desk. "Yes, please. Naked. You. Some food and water so we can keep up our strength. That's all I need."
There's a knock on my door, and James says, "Oh, hey, Elissa. Uh ... you might like to come see the lighting designer. The entire grid just crashed. Power overload or something."
I bite back a grunt of frustration. "You have the backup drive, James. Take care of it."
"Uh, yeah, about that. I kind of forgot to back it up. Do you have a list of the cues? We'll have to program them all in again."
I clench my jaw. "I'll be right there."
Footsteps move away from the door as I turn back to my phone. "I have to go. No rest for the wicked."
The disappointment is clear on his handsome face. "I'm sorry I'm not there to help out, but the show is in good hands. You're going to rock this. And when I get back, I'll thank you by showing you all the things I've been fantasizing about for three long months. Prepare yourself."
"Well, now I'm intrigued."
Through the screen, the intensity in his gaze makes me shiver. "Good. Because not all of them are gentle."
My entire body shudders with anticipati
on. "Tease."
"That's on the list. And believe me when I say that even though I adore you more than anything on the planet, I'm going to enjoy hearing you beg."
There's another knock on my door. "Miss Holt? It's Ainsly. There's a problem with the red carpet, and Hugh Jackman is here for a meeting about his hosting duties." There's a pause. "Um, and George Clooney's people called to say he'll be an hour late, so we'll have to move him to later in the show. And there's someone here to see you who wouldn't give me his name but keeps telling me what to do."
"Shit," I say as my mind races. "Okay, Ainsly. I'm coming." I take one final look at Liam. His face is so close to the camera, I want to stroke it. "I'm sorry."
"Go," he insists. "I'll talk to you tomorrow."
"Okay. I love you."
He gets the same wistful smile I always see when I say those words to him. "I love you more. Have an amazing show. Bye."
I hang up and sigh before pushing my hair out of my face and wrenching the door open. The previous bustle of the backstage area seems to have sped up, and when I get to the stage, I'm pleased to see that the chaos has been cleared and the set is almost done.
"Thank God."
When James hurries past me, I grab his arm. "Hey. What's the situation with the lighting?"
He looks flushed. "Uh, all good. Some guy showed up and managed to get back all the cues."
"Some guy?"
"Yeah. Brown hair. Glasses. Kind of bossy."
I freeze as a familiar voice pipes up behind me. "Man, I leave you alone for five seconds and everything goes to shit. Thank God I took pity on you and jumped on a direct flight from Sydney yesterday morning. Feel free to now express your gratitude. I'll wait."
I turn to see a most unexpected and welcome sight. Josh is standing there with a duffle bag in his hand and a shit-eating grin on his face. Apart from Liam, I don't think I've been more grateful to see someone in my entire life.
I stride over and throw my arms around him. He drops his bag and wraps me in a tight hug, and dammit, having him here is so comforting, I well up like a regular human, not at all like the emotionally controlled boss-lady I've spent years becoming.
Stoppit, Elissa. You cannot cry in front of your crew. You've made them fear you exactly the right amount to be useful. Don't undo that.
I take in a shaky breath and push down tears as Josh tightens his arms around me.
"Missed me, I take it?" he whispers.
"You have no idea how much."
"Yeah, well, you doing your best to crack several of my ribs right now is giving me a clue. Be gentle with your bestie, please. He's a delicate and precious flower who just happens to live in the body of a mid-twenties hipster god."
"So when you texted me before ...?"
"I was in a cab coming from the airport. I knew this gig would be a nightmare without me. Plus, Angel is busy filming, so I had nothing better to do than to come back and save your ass."
I make a scoffing noise. "Make no mistake, Kane. I could have handled this without you, but I'm still glad you're here. I suspect you also came running back because you missed me like crazy and got bored being Angel's personal assistant. Am I right?"
"Crazy talk. You know how much I adore fetching coffee and taking phone messages. It's what I live for." He pulls back and looks down at me. "Angel sends her love, by the way. She really misses you."
"I miss her, too." I can't believe how much. Angel feels almost as much of a sister as Cassie does, and even though not seeing her for months is hard on me, I can tell Josh is already struggling with their separation.
"Josh ..."
He steps out of our hug and waves me off. "Alright, alright, no more talk. Just give me all the information I'll need to kick this show in the balls. We're burning daylight, here."
I smile as I hand over my clipboard. "Go for your life, babe."
Just then James walks by, and Josh steps in front of him. "Hey there, chuckles. Give me your headset."
James's face drops. "What? Why?"
"Because," Josh says as he claps him on the shoulder, "you've failed to even come close to filling my freakishly large shoes. So hand over the wearable tech, and go help Ainsly get those dressing rooms ready. Before you know it, we'll be neck deep in celebrity egos and pushy managers, and I need you running point."
James looks at me in confusion. "Who is this guy?"
I smile. "He's who you should aspire to be if you want to make it in this industry. Now, do as he says and move your ass."
James turns bright red as he hands his headset and pack to Josh before scurrying off into the wings.
Josh shoves his clipboard under his arm as he slides on the headphones and clips the pack to his belt. "You honestly thought that doofus could replace me? I see your delusions have gotten worse since I left."
"He came highly recommended."
"Oh, please. Look at him with his stupid messy haircut and Dolce and Gabbana glasses. He looks like an idiot."
"Josh, he looks almost exactly like you. I think that's half of the reason I hired him."
He scoffs. "You're insane. He's a total geek."
"And you are ...?"
"A hot geek. There's a difference."
"Of course. Silly me."
He grabs his bag and straightens up. "Right. We have a show to rehearse, so let's go fuck this sheep."
"Um ..."
"Yeah, I met some New Zealanders in Sydney. They blessed me with a new catchphrase."
"Excellent. Let's go."
After dropping Josh's bag off in my office, we head toward Hugh Jackman's dressing room.
"First order of business,” I say, “is to brief our illustrious host."
Josh tries to hide his excitement. "Cool. Should I tell him I'm currently wearing my Wolverine underoos in his honor?"
"You absolutely should not."
"Killjoy."
"Also, don't say anything about fucking sheep."
He suppresses a smile. "No farmyard intercourse references, either? Wow. Seems like you got all fancy since I left." He pauses then says, "Did I mention I've missed the crap out of you?"
"Yeah, yeah. Stop your gushing. It's getting embarrassing."
As we head upstairs to the luxury dressing rooms, all of my anxiety about the concert melts away. It may be one of the biggest and most complicated shows I've ever run, in an unfamiliar theater with an untested crew, but as long as Josh is by my side, it's going to be a walk in the park.
Backstage Batman and her Robin are on the case.
TWO
You'd Better Not Cry
November 27th
The Los Angeles Home of Liam Quinn
Los Angeles, California
The next morning, a dull pounding in my head wakes me, and I try to will it away by snuggling into my pillow. Yeah, like that ever works.
It's my own stupid fault. I had way too much champagne at the after party last night, and now, I'm paying the price. At least I have most of the day off before I have to fly back to New York.
I stretch out and sigh. It blows my mind that I can starfish in Liam's massive bed and not even touch the edges. I've worked in theaters smaller than this thing.
While I've been here in L.A., I've been staying in Liam's house in the Hollywood Hills. Even though his New York apartment is huge by Manhattan standards, it still has only three bedrooms and four bathrooms. This extravagant monstrosity has eight bedrooms, ten bathrooms, and the most stunning view of L.A. from the infinity pool that I've ever seen.
The best feature about this house? The dedicated cheese fridge in the kitchen. When I saw that Liam had stocked it with all of my favorites, I had a major cheesegasm. If I still harbored any doubts about his feelings for me, that cheese fridge put every one of them to rest. Only a man who is butt-over-balls in love buys his woman that much quality fromage.
I roll onto my back and stretch. Maybe I'll cook up some mac and cheese for breakfast. It's the one food my stomach can tolerate when deali
ng with a hangover.
"Good morning, beautiful."
What the ...?
I open my eyes and turn to see Liam staring at me from my laptop, which is sitting open on a pillow. He's lying in bed too, and he has his head propped up with his hand in such a way that his bicep is bulging.
All of a sudden I'm wide awake. "Hi, yourself, sexy man. What time is it there?"
He looks over at the clock on his nightstand. "Almost eleven at night. I have to go soon. We're shooting at dawn, and my driver will be here to collect me in half an hour. Just wanted to spend time with you before I leave."
"Hmmm, waking up to you, even digital you, is something I've missed. I hate your shooting schedule."
"Me, too."
I adjust my position so I can see him better. "I have this vague memory of nodding off during our sexy Skype session last night. That wasn't real, right? It had to be a nightmare."
"I wish. I was actually in the middle of some of grade-A dirty talk when you just flopped onto your pillow and started snoring. Your hand was still down your pants, for God's sake. It's clear you're not attracted to me anymore." He grips his chest as if he's in pain. "It's okay. I knew this day would come, but I guess I didn't expect it to be so soon. Oh well, we've had a good run. You can have the apartment, but I'll sue if you don't grant me joint custody of the cheese."
"Ha! You're dreaming if you think you're getting that cheese without a fight, pal. May I remind you that the last time we visited your parents, I stole pictures of you in high school with what looks suspiciously like a mullet? If you cross me, I'll pass that shizz along to TMZ without a second thought."
He slaps the bed. "Dammit, woman! Do you really want to put our beautiful, impressionable cheese in the middle of this nastiness? You'll scar it for life!"
"Okay, fine. I'll bury the mullet. But I'm doing it for the cheese, asshole. Not you."
His dark scowl sends shivers up my legs. "Fucking fine, you shrew. But this is going on the naughty list."
