by Leisa Rayven
“What?” Still nervous about being dropped, I grasp his arms as he leans over me.
“The one thing you suck at. And I thought I was a terrible dancer. I’m freaking Nureyev compared to you.”
I slap his arm. “Hey.”
His eyes sparkle in the low light. “Just keeping it real, Liss.”
He pulls me up into a standing position, and I grip his biceps until I regain my balance on my heels. Once I’m steady, he loosens his grip. “Okay, well. Clearly that needs some practice. Want to try it again?”
“I don’t know. Are you going to insult my technique again?”
“That depends on whether or not you continue to suck. So try not to, okay?”
I can hear Josh and Angel laughing as Liam guides me through the sequence again. Soon, I’m laughing, too.
Okay, fine. I’m a terrible dancer. So sue me. Yet another reason I’m backstage, not onstage.
We swap partners again, and dance for a bit longer, but the wine and the exertion soon take their toll. Angel starts yawning, and it’s not long before we all join in. It’s been a big week for all of us.
After we agree to call it a night, Angel texts her driver, pays the bill, and we head down to the street. We’ve barely stepped out the door when a barrage of flashbulbs hits us.
“Dammit,” Liam mutters. “Everybody, run for the car.” He pushes through the throng of photographers, then holds the car door open and ushers Angel and Josh inside. My short legs and high heels make sure I get there last. I’m about to climb inside when I’m shoved hard in the shoulder by a burly man who’s jostling to get shots of Liam.
“Elissa!” Liam reaches for me as I stumble back on my heels, but it’s too late. I trip over the curb and make a grunting sound as I fall heavily onto my hip.
Dammit. That’s going to leave a mark.
I’m awkwardly trying to navigate around my tight skirt to get myself upright when I’m nearly blinded by machine-gun flashes, right in my face.
“Back the hell off,” Liam growls before the owner of the flash is hauled backward. A young photographer in a baseball cap hits the wall with a thud, and I scramble to my feet to see Liam tear the camera out of his hands.
“Hey! Give that back!” The pap reaches for his equipment, but Liam yanks out the memory card and pockets it before throwing the camera to the ground. The pap howls in dismay. “That’s a three-thousand-dollar camera, asshole!”
“Bill me,” Liam mutters. He shoves more bodies out of the way to get to me. “Get the hell away from her!”
He leans down and searches my face. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Embarrassed more than anything.”
The photographers yell at him to look in their direction, but Liam ignores them all as he wraps his arm around me and guides me toward the car. I limp around the pain in my hip.
When we’re safely inside, Liam yanks the door shut so hard, the whole car shakes. Flashes continue to light up the interior as the paps press their lenses against the window.
“Get us out of here,” Liam says to the driver. The engine revs as we pull out into the relentless New York traffic.
I lean back in my seat and exhale. “Well, that was a bracing way to end the evening.”
“Are you okay?” Angel touches my shoulder.
“Fine. No permanent damage.”
“Fucking animals,” Liam says as he examines my arms for scrapes. “They behave like that and then wonder why we get pissed.”
Angel gives him a disapproving look. “Still, you shouldn’t have broken his camera. You know that sort of reaction is gold to them. You’re going to be splashed all over TMZ within the hour.”
“The bastard was taking photos up Elissa’s dress,” Liam says with disgust. “He’s lucky I only broke his camera.” He pulls the memory card from his pocket and snaps it in half. “At least those pictures won’t show up on some sleazy Web site.”
Angel nods. “He’ll come after you for damages.”
“Let him. He won’t be the first. Or the last.” He sits back and stares out the window, and I can still feel the anger coming off him in waves.
“How did they know you were at Bella Vita?” Josh asks.
Angel turns to him. “One of the staff probably tipped them off. It happens all the time. Paps pay good money to people who call in celebrity sightings. Before you know it, one pap turns into two, and two into three. Then there’s a whole swarm of them. They’re like piranhas. The merest smell of a famous face and they go into a frenzy.”
Josh studies her. “Unlike Quinn, you seem pretty calm about the whole thing.”
She shrugs. “I’m a senator’s daughter and my sister is America’s favorite journalist; I’ve been getting papped for most of my life. I’ve developed a more philosophic approach than Liam. I see the paps as a necessary evil. Like it or not, they help keep our profile high, which makes us more valuable commodities. They’re sort of like a barometer for our popularity. The day they stop foaming at the mouth to get our picture, I know our fairy-tale ride in Hollywood is over.”
Liam looks over at her. “Sometimes, don’t you wish for it to be over so we can live normal lives? Or is that just me?”
Angel stares at him for a second, and I feel like I’m intruding on a private moment between them. A wistful expression passes over her face, and Liam gives her the smallest of smiles.
Angel glances briefly at me and Josh, then looks out the window. “Sometimes.”
Liam’s quiet for a moment, then he turns to me and gestures to my hip. “Does it hurt?”
“A little.” When he presses his fingers against it, I wince.
“You’ll need to ice it. It’ll probably be stiff and sore for a few days.”
I nod. “So this is just a normal night for you guys, huh?”
Liam nods. “Unfortunately. We’re like exhibits in a zoo.”
“Yet another reason I’m glad I’m in theater and not movies. All that attention on a regular basis would freak me out.”
Liam doesn’t say anything to that, but he frowns and crosses his arms over his chest. He stays like that until we pull up outside my apartment building.
“I’m going to help Elissa upstairs, okay?” he says to Angel as he opens the door. “I’ll be right back.”
“Of course. Take your time.” Angel leans over and hugs me. “Take care of yourself, honey. I’ll see you on Monday. If you need anything, let me know.”
She says good-bye to Josh with a quick kiss on the cheek. He blushes and mumbles “Good night” as Liam helps me out of the car.
Liam holds my arm, and after some minor hobbling, I make it to the sidewalk.
Josh watches with concern. “Liam, I can help her upstairs if you want to go.”
Liam waves him away. “I got it.”
Without any more discussion, he scoops me into his arms and follows Josh into the building. Our apartment might only be on the third floor, but I still marvel at how Liam can carry me up all those stairs without breaking a sweat. It’s not normal.
“This really isn’t necessary,” I say, uncomfortable at how right it feels to be in his arms again.
“It is necessary. It’s my fault you got hurt.”
“Actually, the guy who pushed me over looked nothing like you, so—”
“I should have known they’d be there. Taken you out a different way. Protected you.” He shakes his head, angry with himself.
“Liam, it’s okay.”
“No, it’s not.”
“I’ve never seen you angry like that.”
He looks down at me, and his expression relaxes a little. “Those assholes have no right going after you. I signed up for this life. You didn’t. I never wanted you to be a part of it.”
We reach the door and Josh unlocks it, then holds it open for us. “You can put her on the couch. I’ll get an ice pack.”
Liam walks over and lays me gently on the couch, then sits beside me. When Josh hands him the ice pack, he presses it agains
t my hip.
I lie back and watch as he frowns in concentration. “You know, I can do this myself.”
“Quiet. The doctor is working.”
“It takes a medical degree to apply an ice pack, does it?”
He raises an eyebrow. “If you want to do it right.”
“Are you guys okay for a second?” Josh asks as he tugs at his tie. “Because if I don’t get out of this monkey suit, stat, I’m going to lose it.”
I give him a smile. “Go. ‘Doctor Quinn, Medicine Woman’ seems to have things under control.”
Liam nods at Josh. “Damn straight.”
Josh shakes his head and disappears into his room.
Once he’s gone, Liam turns back to me. “You should also elevate this.”
“It’s on my hip. How do you suggest I do that?”
He grabs a pillow from the end of the couch and then pushes a hand beneath my butt. I make a noise as he lifts up my pelvis with one hand and shoves the pillow under it with the other. “Like that.”
“Well, this is elegant,” I say, my chin pressing into my chest while my knees point to the ceiling.
He looks at me for a moment. “You’re making it work. But then again, you’d look good in full traction, so…” He smiles at me, and I smile back, and it makes me crazy that I can miss him so painfully even when he’s sitting right beside me.
After a few seconds, his smile fades and he glances at the door. “Well, I’d better get going. Angel is waiting.”
“Yeah.” I want to take his hand, but that’s not how we are now. Instead, I give him a smile. “Thanks for the lift. Both up the stairs and with the pillow.”
“No problem. Next time we go to dinner, I’ll try to make sure my lifestyle doesn’t damage you.” He gives me a final smile, then gets up and heads to the door.
I struggle to stand, and follow him. When he notices, he holds out his hand. “Hey, stop. I can see myself out. Back onto the couch, lady.”
I wave him off. “I’m going to bed. If I have to have my ass in the air, I’m at least going to be in the appropriate setting.”
Oh.
Shit.
Liam’s eyebrows just about disappear into his hairline. “And on that note—”
“Okay. So, ignore that. Wow.”
I put my hand over my face, but he gently takes my wrist and pulls it away. “I love it when you blush around me. Always have. Always will.” I look up at him, and his thumb brushes over my pulse. “You sure you’ll be okay?”
I nod. “I’ve had worse. Once a twenty-pound light fell on my head. I ended up calling the show with a concussion. I’m a tough nut. You should know that.”
“Yeah. I should.” I open the door for him and he steps onto the landing before turning back to me. “You know, apart from the last part, I really enjoyed tonight.”
I lean on the door. “Me, too. I think for our first venture as sort-of friends, it went well.”
“It did. Except for your dancing. That sucked.” He smiles and moves a bit closer. “See you at rehearsal Monday.”
He touches my shoulder and runs his hand down to my wrist. I try to keep my expression neutral, but I think my eyelids flutter. “See you then.”
On a whim, I move forward and hug him. He freezes for a moment, then tightens his arms and sighs. When our bodies press fully against each other, the contact makes me gasp.
Liam’s hard.
Very hard.
He must realize I notice, because he quickly pulls back. “Shit. Sorry. My … uh … body hasn’t gotten the memo about us being friends yet. Mind you, you’re not helping matters by wearing that dress. Give a guy a break, Liss.” He runs his hands through his hair and exhales. “Okay. Now I’m blushing. Good night.”
After he disappears down the stairs, I close the door behind him and lean back on it. Josh comes out of his bedroom and heads into the kitchen. He’s wearing his favorite Captain Kirk pajamas. He grabs a bag of frozen peas from the fridge and comes over to swap them for the barely cold ice pack in my hands.
He gives me a smug look. “You gave him a boner, didn’t you?”
I press the peas to my hip and hobble toward my room. “Good night, Joshua.”
“Okay, fine. My ‘told you so’ can wait until morning. Oops. Look at that. Seems it can’t.”
I smile as I shut my bedroom door and flop onto the bed. My hip may be aching, but I’m kind of thrilled I can still make Liam Quinn’s body dance to my short, curvy-girl tune.
TEN
A VERY BAD PLAN
Monday morning, I have a killer bruise on my hip and a slight limp, but other than that, I have no lasting damage from Saturday night. Well, apart from the memory of Liam’s erection pressing into my stomach.
“Morning, sweet friend,” Angel says, as she comes over and hugs me. “Present for you.” She lays a copy of Dancing for Dummies wrapped in a big red bow on the production desk.
I give her a deadpan look. “I hate you.”
“Impossible. I’m adorable.” She laughs and heads off to prepare for rehearsal.
Beside me, Josh sighs in frustration. “Screw her and her perfect sense of humor.” He points to his computer. “By the way, have you seen this?”
I lean down and examine the screen. It’s a gossip site, and they have dozens of pictures of all of us leaving the restaurant Saturday night. Of course, the main focus is the series of shots of Liam shoving people aside, his face contorted and angry. I roll my eyes at the headline—DOES THIS RAGEHEART STAR NEED ANGER MANAGEMENT?—and the accompanying article: “Tough guy Liam Quinn allegedly assaulted innocent bystanders while out and about with friends on Saturday night. At this stage, it’s not certain if charges will be brought.”
Just then Liam enters the room. When he sees me, he gives me a quick wave, then goes and sits down. He seems on edge as he pulls out his script and bends over it in concentration. When the camera crew comes over to film him, he shoos them away, then goes back to squinting at the page in front of him.
Huh. I’ve never seen him with his script before. He tugs on his hair in agitation, and I wonder if it’s because his picture is splashed all over the Internet. Or maybe he’s still embarrassed about our exchange at the door on Saturday night. Perhaps both?
When we start rehearsal, it becomes even clearer he’s distracted. Angel enters for their first exchange, and he messes up nearly every line. After a few failed attempts, he sighs in frustration. “Shit. Sorry, Marco.”
“It’s all right, Mr. Quinn,” Marco says. “Elissa, please remind Liam of his next speech.”
I read Petruchio’s lines from my script. “You lie, in faith for you are call’d plain Kate. And bonny Kate and sometimes Kate the curst. But Kate, the prettiest Kate in Christendom. Kate of Kate Hall, my super-dainty Kate. For dainties are all Kates—”
“Stop,” Liam says, and holds up his hand. “Just slow down for a second. What comes after, ‘And bonny Kate’?”
I reread the line. He shakes his head and sighs. “Again.”
I repeat it. He says it back.
When we restart the scene, he nails it, but everything grinds to a halt again after Angel gives him his next cue.
She walks over and cradles his face. “You okay? You look flushed.”
Liam’s takes her hands and squeezes them. “Just having a bad day, that’s all. I’ll be right back.”
He pulls away from her and takes off his mic pack. Then he points to the camera crew and says, “Stay,” before he strides out of the room.
Okay, what the hell is going on? I’ve never seen Liam so unprepared.
“Damage control, please, Elissa,” Marco whispers. “I’ll stay here and work with Angel. Find out what’s going on and fix it. The last thing we need right now is to fall behind schedule. Our backers are coming next week, and I want them to feel confident our stars are worth their exorbitant fees.”
“On it.” I head off to find Liam. I check the conference room first, but it’s empty. When I h
ear banging coming from the men’s bathroom, I open the door to find Liam standing over a destroyed trash can.
“So, did it attack you first and you were just acting in self-defense, or—”
“Sorry. I’ll replace it.”
“No need. That trash can’s an asshole. We’re all better off without it.”
He runs his hand through his hair. I can tell he’s trying to calm himself down, but right now, he looks as though he’d like nothing more than to beat the crap out of another inanimate object. Everything in his posture screams of tension and barely controlled aggression.
“Liam, what’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
“We both know that’s not true. You’re blowing lines right and left, and that’s not like you.”
He leans back against the wall and drops his head back. “I didn’t get as much time to prepare for this week’s rehearsals as I would have liked. I don’t know the lines.”
I step into the bathroom and close the door behind me. “Well, you should have said something. I’m sure Marco will let you hold your script.”
“I can’t use the script.” I don’t miss how his hands are curled into fists.
“Are you really that averse to using your glasses? It would only be for a few days.”
“No, Elissa. It’s not about glasses. I can’t—” He pushes away from the wall and shakes his head. “I can’t believe I have to tell you this.”
A shiver runs up my spine. “Liam, you’re … You don’t need glasses, do you?”
He pulls in a shaky breath. “I’m dyslexic. Severely. I can make out a few words here and there, but it takes forever. All the words swim and blur in front of my eyes.”
I take a moment to process it. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
“Like I wanted you to know I’m a dumb-ass.”
“Oh, please. You’re one of the most intelligent men I know.”
“And yet, I can’t read a menu at a restaurant without hurting my brain.” I can see how much he hates admitting it. “Outside of my family, only my agent and my assistant know. And now you.”
