by Leisa Rayven
“Angel doesn’t know?” He shakes his head. “Liam, she’s going to be your wife. She loves you. Telling her isn’t going to change that.”
“She’ll treat me differently. Everyone who knows does. They don’t mean to, but they do.”
“I won’t.”
“You say that now, but give it time.”
“How have you managed to hide it all these years?”
“The glasses excuse is gold; usually, no one thinks to question it. When I first started acting, Mom would run lines with me. Or record them so I could learn them in my own time. When Anthony Kent signed me, I figured he should know. He immediately lined me up with David, my assistant. He’s been with me on all the movies.”
“How on earth do you learn a whole movie’s worth of words?”
“Easy. On a movie set, we only ever get a few pages of dialogue each day. But in theater…” He leans against the vanity. “You guys expected me to have the whole play learned by the time I got here. Do you know how many freaking lines Petruchio has? And Shakespeare isn’t exactly the easiest stuff to remember. I thought I was doing pretty well staying ahead of the schedule. Then on the weekend, David’s dad had a heart attack back in England.”
“Oh, no…”
“His dad survived, but he’s in the hospital. Of course, I put David on the first plane home. I’ve been trying to learn today’s scenes by myself, but…” He kicks the remnants of the trash can, which flies across the room and slams into the wall. “I have to reread everything five times, and even then, I don’t know if I have it right.”
“It’s okay. We’ll figure this out.”
He sighs. “You can’t tell anyone. Please.”
“Liam, having dyslexia is nothing to be ashamed of.”
He stares at a spot on the wall, and I hate how down on himself he seems. “You don’t understand what it’s like to not be able to do something most six-year-olds can. How stupid it makes me feel. This is why I took so long to try my hand at acting. I knew it would be a major obstacle.”
“Well, Tom Cruise has done okay over the years, and he’s hugely dyslexic.”
That gets me an eye roll. “Yeah, but he also believes people are inhabited by the souls of dead aliens. Please don’t hold him up as a role model.”
My mind races. In all my years of professional theater, I’ve never come up against something like this. Still, I’m all about finding solutions, so that’s what I’ll do.
“Okay, tell me how I can help you.”
He rubs his forehead. “I don’t know. Go over the lines with me, maybe. We’re only doing one page of that scene, and then we’re going to go over some scenes from last week. If I can make it through this morning I’ll be okay, for today at least.”
I look at my watch. “How long will it take you to learn the lines?”
“A whole page? Maybe fifteen minutes.”
“Be right back.”
I race to the rehearsal room and grab my script from the production desk. Josh is there making notes on the scene Marco is running with Angel.
“Hey, what’s up? Is Liam okay?”
“He just needs to run some lines. Tell Marco we’ll be back soon.”
I rush down the corridor to the men’s room and find Liam waiting.
“Okay,” I say. “Let’s do this.”
* * *
Exactly twelve minutes later, Liam and I walk back into the rehearsal room, and even though Marco raises an eyebrow at me, he doesn’t ask what’s going on.
I help Liam reattach his mic pack. Within seconds his camera crew is hovering.
Angel walks over and puts a hand on Liam’s arm. “Everything okay?”
He gives her a warm smile. “Fine. Not enough sleep. Just needed a little refresher on the lines.”
“That’s not like you.”
“I know. It’s fine. Elissa helped me out.”
“Okay, then,” Marco says, “let’s try it from the top of this scene.”
Liam shoots me a nervous look. I hope he can pull this off. He learned the lines in record time, but I worry about his retention. Twelve minutes to learn a page of Shakespearean prose is no easy task.
Marco calls for quiet, then says, “Begin when you’re ready.”
They start the scene, and I’m relieved to see it’s a huge improvement over their earlier attempt. Not only is Liam on point with his lines, but Angel’s time with Marco has also yielded results. She’s learning how to imbue Kate with enough vulnerability to match her bitterness, and the chemistry she and Liam create is palpable.
It’s the first meeting between Kate and Petruchio, and the way Marco has directed it makes all of the verbal barbs and insults seem like wordy foreplay.
“If I be waspish, best beware my sting,” Angel says, assessing Liam like he’s something to eat.
Liam moves toward her, slow and seductive. “My remedy is then to pluck it out.”
“Ay, if the fool could find it where it lies.” Angel’s voice becomes breathy.
“Who knows not where a wasp does wear his sting? In his tail.” He winds his arms around Angel and unapologetically strokes her butt.
Angel looks like she’s about to orgasm. “In his tongue.”
“Whose tongue?” The way he’s looking at her is making me hot. In my pants.
Angel looks like she’s feeling the same. “Yours, if you talk of tails. And so farewell.”
She attempts to break away, but Liam traps her hands behind her back. Angel lets out a quiet moan.
Liam smiles at how he affects her. “What, with my tongue in your tail? Nay, come again, Good Kate. I am a gentleman.”
My tongue in your tail? My God, Shakespeare was a perv.
Liam leans down and holds his mouth just above Angel’s. Everyone in the room holds their breath.
Angel battles with her composure for a few more seconds before she stands on her toes to kiss him. Liam moans and releases her hands as he kisses her back.
My face flames when they move against each other, kissing and grasping. My feelings vacillate between extreme arousal and violent jealousy. It’s not pleasant.
Then Angel breaks away and slaps Liam, hard. “That I’ll try.”
He smiles in triumph. She goes to hit him again but he grabs her arms roughly. “I swear I’ll cuff you, if you strike again.” His tone is dark but promises more pleasure than pain. Angel looks even more turned on than he does.
“Yes, good, Liam,” Marco says beside me. “Now, cross downstage left, and take her with you. Don’t be gentle. Remember, the more forceful you are with her, the more it arouses her. She likes to be dominated.”
Liam glances at me, and I avert my gaze to my script. I take in a shaky breath and write down the stage directions.
When Liam ends the scene by throwing Angel over his shoulder and soundly smacking her butt, Marco says, “Okay, stop there. Excellent work! That’s coming along nicely. This scene needs just the right balance of lust and violence to set up the first BDSM interpretation this show has ever received. I can’t believe no one has ever explored the possibility that the reason Kate provokes Petruchio so much is that she’s desperate for a good spanking. Or that Petruchio morphs from a jovial hood into an alpha male because he’s at last met someone who wants to be dominated by him. It seems so obvious.”
Now I really need to fan myself.
I’m concerned that Liam playing a dom may make my body spontaneously combust.
* * *
The camera crews have left, and the cast is packing up at the end of the day when I notice Liam throwing me nervous glances. Angel is chatting to Marco about her costumes, so when Liam gives me a pointed look before he heads out the door, I wait a minute, then follow.
On a hunch, I find him in the conference room.
“Thanks for saving my ass today,” he whispers. “I never want to be in that situation again.”
“Ditto. Although I can’t take the credit for anything. You’re the one with the super-fast
memorization skills.”
“Yeah, well, that happens when scripts are useless.” He looks at the door, then down to his hands. “Listen, I know it’s a lot to ask, but could you … I mean, could I ask you to help me learn my scenes, just until David gets back?”
“I…” A big part of me is dying to say yes, because it means I’d get to spend more time with him, but the logical part knows spending more time with him is the worst idea ever. “Liam … I just—”
“Look, I know you have a lot on your plate, but I don’t trust anyone else. You’d just need to run lines with me for an hour or so each night until I get the scenes down for the next day. David should be back by next week. Please. I can’t do this without you.”
“Where would we go?”
“My apartment is right around the corner.”
“Won’t Angel get wise that something’s up if we’re running lines in front of her?”
He blinks a few times. “Uh … well, we aren’t sharing an apartment while we’re in New York. She has her own place.”
I frown. “Isn’t that weird? You guys are engaged. I kind of thought living together came with the territory.”
“Not for us,” he says. “Working and living together is stressful. Plus, she drives me insane with her messiness, and she hates my compulsive cleaning. It’s just easier if we have our own space. She’s just one floor down, though, so we’re still close.”
From all my cyber-stalking, I thought I knew the ins and outs of their relationship, but apparently not.
“Do you not hang out after rehearsals?”
“Sometimes, but most nights she locks herself away to work on her lines. Another reason I don’t want her involved in this. She has enough pressure without me adding to it.”
“Okay, fine. Your place. I’ll get there as soon as I can after I finish up here.”
“Great,” he says, and gives me a knee-buckling smile. “You’re amazing. Thank you.”
“Liam?” Angel calls. “Where are you?”
Liam pushes me behind the door and holds a finger to my lips. When the door swings open, he catches it right before it smashes into my nose.
“Hey,” he says to Angel.
“What are you doing?”
“Just grabbing some water for the ride home. Ready to go?”
“God, yes. There’s a bottle of low-carb wine at home with my name on it. Want to come over for a drink?”
“Ah, not tonight. I have to learn some lines.”
“Me, too. It’s never-ending. My brain hurts.”
“So just a small ache, then?”
She groans. “You’re not funny.”
“Yeah, I am.”
After they leave, I head back into the rehearsal room and clean the production desk in a semi-haze.
I’m finishing up when Josh and Denise come over. “Drinks at Lacey’s?” Josh asks.
Denise immediately says, “Hell, yes!”
“Can’t,” I say. “Got stuff to do.”
“What stuff?” Josh asks.
I hate not telling him, but I know I can’t. “Just work stuff, but it has to be done before tomorrow. I’ll see you at home later, okay? You guys go and have a good time.”
Josh hugs me good-bye, but I can feel he’s suspicious.
After he and Denise have left, I take some deep breaths and tell myself it’s possible to be alone with Liam and not let him know how hung up on him I still am. Power of positive thinking and all that.
When I finish the tenth affirmation and still don’t feel prepared, I mutter, “Screw it,” and head to the exit.
* * *
Liam opens the door shirtless.
I nearly pass out.
“Hey,” he says, out of breath. “You got here fast. I was trying to get in a quick workout.”
I’m gaping at the thin sheen of sweat making all of his muscles glisten when he selfishly puts on a T-shirt. I inwardly curse that I didn’t even get to examine his new ink.
I shake my head to clear it. “So, let me get this straight. You rehearse for eight hours, then have the energy for a workout? You’re such a freak.”
He checks the fitness tracker on his wrist. “You say the nicest things. Did it occur to you that the reason I have the energy to rehearse for eight hours is because I work out?”
“I’m going to have to take your word for that.”
“Still not a fan of exercise, I take it.”
I whisper, “Not a lot of people know this, but I’m in the fitness protection program.”
He tries not to smile. “Is that right?”
“Yep. Every new year I’m hunted by gym memberships, but they haven’t found me yet.”
He laughs, and man, I love that sound. “Wow. Badass.”
“I know, right?” I look down the hallway. “So, are we planning to rehearse out here? Or are you going to invite me in?”
“Oh, shit. Of course.” He holds the door open for me. “Come in.”
I walk past him, making sure to stay as far away from his rippling body as possible. The T-shirt and workout shorts are really doing nothing to hide his hotness.
When I see the full extent of his apartment, it hits me just how far he’s come from the man I knew six years ago. A far cry from his old Broadway apartment, it’s a penthouse in one of the new kazillion-dollar complexes that are springing up more and more in the theater district. Everything is sleek and glass—high-tech and luxe beyond what most normal people could comprehend. Of course, it’s spotless. There’s not one fingerprint on the high-gloss kitchen cabinets. Impressive.
“Wow,” I say. “You own this?”
He shrugs. “I was told it was a good investment, but I’m hardly ever here.”
I can feel him watching me as I take in the open space and million-dollar views. It’s weird how awkward I feel in this environment. It’s hard to process this version of him. The millionaire. The movie star. Yet in a lot of ways, he still feels exactly like he used to, just with more money and nicer stuff.
“I don’t think I’d know what to do with myself in a place this pretty,” I say. “I’m used to noisy radiators, mismatched dishes, and nonexistent water pressure. I’ll bet this palace has none of those things.”
“Not true,” he says, and pulls open one of the kitchen cabinets. “Observe.”
There are four plates in the cupboard, and two of them have cartoon characters on them.
I smile. “You eat off Captain America plates?”
“Not anymore. But these guys are hangovers from my old place. Back then, I only had two plates, and two glasses that used to be jam jars.”
“I remember those. You served me milk in one the night we met.”
He smiles and rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, and because I was trying to impress you, I gave you the one without the chip in it. Plus I would never have forgiven myself if you’d cut your lips.”
I remember how he kept staring at my lips that night. It’s similar to how he’s staring at them now.
He blinks, then takes a breath and closes the cabinet. “Anyway, can I get you something to drink?” He walks over to the gleaming fridge. “I promise, I have proper glasses these days.”
“Please tell me you have alcohol.”
“One thing I definitely have is alcohol.” He opens the door to reveal shelf upon shelf of fresh food, as well as a plethora of wine and boutique beer. And cheese. Lots and lots of cheese.
“Did you stock up for me?” I ask, and point to the cheese. “Or do you usually have a fridgeful of potential mouthgasms?”
He smiles. “The cheese cabinet at a deli would be like a porn shop to you, right?”
“Pretty much.”
He grabs a wheel of something covered in wax and expensive-looking and slides it across the island to me. “As much as I’d like to say I stocked up for you, I didn’t. The irony of being so rich you can afford anything is that people insist on giving you free stuff. When you’re broke, people wouldn’t piss on you if you
were on fire, but rich and famous? ‘Here: Take everything!’”
I grab the cheese and bring it up to my nose. “Oh my God. Italian. Aged. Smells amazing.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Would you like to be alone with it?”
I put the cheese on the counter and stroke it, lovingly. “No. As much as I want him, he isn’t mine. I’ll just pine for him from afar.” Funny how that seems to be a recurring theme in my life.
Liam grabs a carry bag from the cupboard. “Unacceptable. True love should never be denied.” He places the cheese inside, then holds it out to me. “I hope you two are very happy together.”
I put my hand over my heart. “Wow, this is a defining moment in our relationship. Only a true friend would give me cheese.”
When I take the bag from him, our fingers brush. In that second, all the buoyancy in the air turns to lead. We lock eyes, and for a few hideous moments, I think I’m going to launch myself at him.
He breaks eye contact and clears his throat. “So, beer?”
“God, yes.”
He heads back to the fridge to retrieve two beers, then pops the caps before holding one out to me. “Try this. It’s my favorite.”
I take a mouthful and swallow. “Wow. Expensive beer actually tastes like it’s been fermented with money. That’s delicious.”
“Glad you like it.” He walks over to the couch and invites me to take a seat next to him. I drop my bag on the floor and sink into the soft leather.
Oh, God. I’m never getting up. This is amazing. It’s like being hugged by a leather jacket.
I sit back and close my eyes. It’s possible I moan.
When I feel heat on my face, I turn to see Liam staring at me, eyes hooded and dark. “Comfortable?”
“Very.” I shouldn’t like his eyes on me as much as I do. It’s wrong. And stupid.
“Good. I want you to feel at home here.”
I’m tempted to say I feel at home wherever he is, but even for me, that’s too cheesy. Still, that doesn’t make it not true.
“Was it strange?” I ask. “Getting used to all this?”
He looks around. “This apartment?”
“This life. The money. Fame.”
