A Midsummer Night's Fling (Much Ado about Love #1) (11 page)

Max froze, chill water splashing over his hand.

Things were awkward enough between him and Nicola what with the kissing and the chemistry. The last thing they needed was for Lachlan to start gossip about Max and Nicola being a
thing
within the cast. Even discussion and speculation about Max and Nicola as a past-tense
thing
was more than Max wanted to handle.

“No story.” Max said it calmly enough, but, judging by the speculative gleam in Lachlan’s eye, Max had taken too long to respond. Lachlan’s interest was well and truly piqued now.

Lachlan nudged Max out of the way and got his own puny white cup of water. “No story at all? Excellent. Then you won’t mind if I—”

“Touch her and die.” Max kept his voice level, then took a slow drink, watching Lachlan over the paper rim. Discretion was one thing—letting Lachlan within ten feet of Nicola was another thing entirely. One that would never,
never
happen.

Lachlan smirked. “Like that, is it?”

“Exactly like that.” Max flashed his teeth at Lachlan and crumpled the white cup in his fist, then dropped the crushed paper into the trash.

Lachlan quirked one of his damn eyebrows and leaned closer. “Is the lady herself aware of this fact?”

“What lady?” Tierney said, making them both jump.

“What are you doing out of the costume shop?” Max asked, before Lachlan could say anything, could
explain
anything.

Tierney frowned and gave a haughty toss of her hot-pink hair. “What, like I’m the hired help? Am I like fucking Quasimodo or something? Am I supposed to stay in my dank, dark hole and make costumes for you like your slave?”

“Um.”

“Whatever.” Tierney flipped her hand at him in a gesture of dismissal. “Rita said I can have you for a bit to do a fitting on the Oberon costume. Come on.”

Max darted a glare at Lachlan—whose smirk really would split his face in half if it got any wider. Lachlan wiggled his fingers at Max in a small wave. “Don’t worry, Maxim. I’ll take care of Nicola while you’re gone. She won’t be lonely.”

Asshole
, Max thought, glowering. Still he had no choice but to follow Tierney to the costume shop.

Which left Lachlan with an open field for whatever sort of mischief or mayhem he had in mind for Nicola.

* * *

R
ita
, perhaps feeling Nicola was up to speed, at the end of that day started working on scenes between the four young lovers. Which meant the poor, exhausted fairy queen could sit in the audience and rest a bit. And try super hard not to think about kissing Max. Again.

Always
.

She twisted her fingers in her hair, pretending to read her script as she thought
Why did I want this part?
for the millionth time.

“Hullo,” a beautiful voice said behind her.

Nicola turned to see Lachlan. Any distraction would have been welcome. A handsome, charming, British one was really welcome. “‘Hello, spirit, whither wander you?’”

His mouth twitched at her
Midsummer
in-joke. “Over hill, over dale. I do wander…wherever there are pretty women to be found.”

She cocked her head to the side and pretended to frown. “
Hmm
. I don’t remember the line going like that.”

“Oh. Must have misremembered it.” His eyelid shivered down in a wink. “You’re doing a wonderful job, by the way. Top notch. Probably the best fairy queen I’ve ever seen. The sexiest, for sure.”

This was what most everyone—except Judith—had been saying so far, but “good job” was always nice to hear. “You too. I love what you’re doing with Puck. Your vocal variety alone blows my mind.” His face was really mobile too, but that was more difficult to compliment someone on.
You do incredible things with your eyebrows?
No
.

“We’re all going round for drinks after rehearsal,” he said. “Care to quaff carouses to celebrate your first week as queen?”

“Where?”

“The Boar’s Head Pub. It’s the cast meeting ground. A retired RSF alum owns it.”

She laughed. “The Boar’s Head? That
would
be an actor hangout. Isn’t that the pub in
Henry IV
?”

“Yes, but our pub is B-O-R-E. Bore. You’ll see.” He grinned. “The Bore is about five minutes down the hill.” He hunkered behind her audience chair until only his large, ice-blue eyes were peeking over the back, watching her reactions. “Coming, then?”

She bit her lip, hesitant. Her first few days, she’d been so exhausted after rehearsal, it was all she could do to drag herself to the car and white-knuckle it through her hour-long commute home. But today hadn’t been so wearing, not physically, and she should start playing nice. If she didn’t have anyone to talk to during her breaks, she’d go nuts.

But if the pub was a cast hangout, should she risk running into Max?

Lachlan tilted toward her, and the melodic thrum of his baritone tickled along her neck. “Dear Maxim isn’t coming, by the way. He told me he was going straight home after rehearsal. If that matters.” Lachlan cocked one of his ridiculously mobile eyebrows, his gaze blazing a challenge to her.

Annoyed to find herself so transparent, she tilted her chin up. “I wouldn’t care if Max was coming. He and I are old friends.”

“Good,” Lachlan all but purred. He blinked expectantly, still waiting for her answer.

“Is this a company-members-only thing, or can I invite my friend Cassie?”

“By all means, the more the merrier. Particularly if the more in question are women. I’ll see you at the Bore tonight, then?”

“Of course. Can’t wait.”

“Excellent.” He gave her a small salute, touching fingers to brow, then backed away, presumably to round up more members of the cast for drinks.

Nicola chewed her lip, jittery and on edge, but not quite sure why. She’d had a stressful week, yes, what with one thing and another, but she should be excited by drinks out. Networking. New friends. Beautiful men. Beautiful
British
men.
Fun?
These things should not be giving her an ulcer.

So why did she feel as if she were signaling for reinforcements when she pulled up Cassie’s number on her phone?

“Hello?”

“Cass, do you feel like getting drinks tonight with me and some of the other actors?”

“I dunno, Nic. I have work tomorrow. Unless you need me to guard against the ex-boyfriend, I think I should stay home.”

“No. Nothing like that. Just thought you might want to hang.” Nicola restrained a sigh, determined not to guilt-trip her friend into going out—although she did want Cassie there as a buffer. Between her and Lachlan. The man was just too smooth, and Nicola wasn’t ready to jump into a show affair with him.

A long pause stretched over the phone line. “Will there be hot men?” Cassie asked at last.

Nicola punched her fist into the air, then laid her ace down on the table. “There will be hot
British
men, my friend.”

“I’m getting my car keys.”

Nicola laughed, but her anxiety was only slightly eased. “See you at the Bore’s Head, then.”

* * *

A
fter Tierney finished poking
and measuring him, Max hurried to the theater. He was hoping to maybe catch Nicola. To say good-bye. A
friendly
good-bye.

He sighed.
You’re not even fooling yourself, you know?

“I know,” he muttered as he grabbed his duffle from the greenroom. No sign of Nicola backstage. He’d wanted to make sure they were still good, that the kissing hadn’t derailed their working relationship.

Yeah, Max. Your
working
relationship. Sure
. He rolled his eyes at himself and hustled to pack his things, seriously not in the mood to chat with the other company members who were loitering.

He was almost safely out the back door of the theater when a soft alto voice called him. “Max?”

He turned to see Judith O’Fallon shadowing him down the aisle. She was impeccably coiffed in a short gray dress with a chunky beaded necklace. He wondered if she’d been in rehearsals that day at all. Because her outfit struck him more like date wear. Maybe she’d been stuck in the admin building all day. That would explain the fancy getup.

Judith trotted up to him and tossed her white-blond hair. “You are a difficult man to track. I’ve been trying to catch up with you for days.”

Max winced. He’d forgotten Judith wanted to talk to him. His brain had pretty much been stuck on an all-Nicola-all-the-time loop this week.

Not good. Journeymen actors did
not
blow off directors who were about to cast for next season.

With an effort, he managed to spread his lips in a smile. “I’m sorry, Judith. Things were pretty intense this week breaking in the new Titania. When would you like to meet?”

“Could you do it now?” Judith said. “We could sit for a bit and have a nice, informal chat. Isn’t that pub near here? The Bore’s Head?”

T
he Bore’s
Head lay down the road from the theater, a crisp white building with dark brown trimming and a thatched roof to make it appear pseudo-Elizabethan like the RSF theater. The Bore’s swinging, old-timey wooden pub sign featured the caricature of a famous theater critic’s head with little X’s where his eyes should be. The booze was cheap, the atmosphere warm, the company congenial, and Nicola was pretty sure she’d found one of her new favorite places.

She’d crammed herself into a booth with Tierney and Lachlan, then Cassie arrived and the squish quotient went up a notch. Lachlan settled his arm along the top of their booth to make more room. Nicola found herself snuggled up to his lean, taut torso, feeling the heat of him through the cotton of his shirt.

On Nicola’s first beer, being pressed so close together felt awkward.

By her third, it just felt cozy.

She was admiring the glinting light of his red hair and watching his pretty mouth move as he chatted to Tierney, when Cassie jabbed her in the side. “Charlie-girl.”

“Hmm?” Nicola turned.

Cassie eyed her, and Nicola could
see
her friend’s nurse reflexes kicking in, noting Nicola’s pupil dilation, her muscle movements.

“I’m not drunk, Cass.”

“You start petting the table, and I’m cutting you off.” Cassie snagged one of the cheesy fries from the plate at the center of their table.

Nicola stuck her tongue out at Cassie, then took another sip of beer. Sometimes having old friends who knew most of your dirty secrets wasn’t so fun.

Tierney leaned around Lachlan to pull the cheese fries closer to herself. “Petting the table?”

“Ah, yes,” Cassie said. “You two should know about the ‘tactile phase’ if you’re going to drink with Nic.”

Nicola groaned.

Cassie ignored her. “If Nicola starts stroking the table or petting’s someone hair or becomes fascinated with touching any particular thing, then take her alcohol away. If she reaches that point and you let her have more, be warned, the puking will be imminent.”

“
It was one time!
”

The rest of the table laughed at Nicola’s vehemence, and she was forced to chuckle along with them. All right, maybe it
was
kind of funny when she fell into her drunken “tactile phase,” as it had been nicknamed.

“So, Cassie, what do you do?” Tierney asked around a mouthful of fries.

“I’m a nurse now.”

“
Now?
” Lachlan drawled. “What, my delightful plum blossom, did you
used
to do?” His accent was thickening from the drink, and he kept enunciating his consonants hard—as only an actor can do while drunk.

“She used to be in the ensemble with me in
Les Mis
,” Nicola said. “Best singer in the cast. Better than me. You bitch.” She wrinkled her nose affectionately at Cassie, and her friend mirrored the expression with a laugh.

“Did you hurt yourself?” Tierney asked, her face softening with sympathy.

Cassie gulped her beer, then wiped her mouth. “No. The choreographer kept telling me I was too fat.
And
the director.
And
the dressers.
And
my cast-mates. So I quit. Besides, being Asian in this industry is tough.”

Tierney raised her beer. “Sing it, sister.”

Lachlan gave Cassie a thorough—and thoroughly appreciative—once-over. “You’re not fat. You’re a, a
bombshell
. An Asian Marilyn Monroe. With tattoos.” His voice went croaky on the end, which was vaguely adorable.

“Careful,” Cassie said. “You’ll turn a girl’s head.”

“Turn my way anytime, love.”

Cassie colored in a blush, obviously pleased by his compliment, but she tweaked his nose. “You know, Lachlan, your womanizing ways will get you in trouble someday.”

Lachlan turned to Nicola, his eyebrows raised in mock horror. “Do you think that’s true?”

“Nah.” Nicola leaned on Lachlan and beamed at him. “If Cassie’s Marilyn, who am I? Rosalind Russell? Jack Lemmon?”

He smirked. “Are you kidding? With your hair and those glorious brown eyes? Your perfect, petite little figure? You, my petal, are Audrey Hepburn. But with an edge.”

“And a better ass,” Cassie put in, raising her beer.

The table laughed. Nicola leaned on Lachlan. His eyes were very, very blue. Big and pretty. The irises startlingly light, pale like arctic ice. Max’s were a deep Caribbean blue, and shone like the sun beaming through warm water.

Nicola recoiled.
Don’t think of Max now, you dummy
.

Lachlan tilted toward her—with clear intent—but she flinched, jerking her hand out to grab the cheese fries. She had a warm, lovely, floating buzz going, but Max Thoughts were like being tossed into a barrel of ice water and held under.

“Lachlan, what’s your story?” Cassie said, rescuing Nicola from his disconcerting attention. And the way Cassie’s gaze flicked toward Nicola meant she knew she was staging a rescue.
The Mother Hen strikes again
. “What sent you hopping over the pond away from Merry Old England?”

Tierney jumped in before Lachlan could speak. “Oh, don’t get Lach started on England when he’s in his cups. You’ll never hear the end of it.”

Lachlan curled his lip at her, then paused and sort of stretched high in his seat. The cords of his neck stood out strong, and Nicola admired the sheer aesthetic beauty of him. Not as pretty as Max—no one was as pretty as Max—but still, Lachlan was damn easy on the eyes.

“Well, well. The prodigal arrives,” Lachlan murmured.

Easy on the ears too
. Nicola sighed. Lachlan. What to do with Lachlan? He was being super flirty, Nicola liked him, he was gorgeous, charming,
British
. Perfect material, in other words, for a quick show fling.

Yet Nicola’s admiration for him was oddly detached. Even half-drunk and edging toward horny, she found herself uninterested in following through in any physical way on their flirtation. Which was at least half of why she had invited Cassie in the first place. Nicola didn’t want to give Lachlan an opportunity to make a move. She didn’t want the awkwardness of shooting him down.

Cassie’s pointy finger dug into Nicola’s ribs. Nicola rounded on her friend. “What?”

“Isn’t that Max?”

Nicola forced herself to glance over. She was mentally assembling a collection of polite, safe chitchat to deal with Max when she realized her ex wasn’t alone.

A woman hung on Max’s arm, laughing and flirting up at him. Ice water trickled through Nicola’s veins as she recognized the woman’s silver-blond hair and throaty laugh.
What is Max doing?

“Isn’t that Judith O’Fallon with Max?” Tierney leaned on the table to see through the crowd.

A muscle ticked in Lachlan’s jaw. “I believe so.”

“Wow,” Cassie said. “She’s a bit of a silver vixen, isn’t she? I hope I’m that hot at her age.”

Watching Judith laugh and flirt with Max, watching Max play the perfect date, Nicola felt her blood pump faster until it pounded in her ears like a war drum.

“Funny.” Lachlan tore at the label of his beer. “Dear Max told
me
he was going straight home after rehearsal.”

Nicola polished off the rest of her beer, then plucked Cassie’s bottle out of her hands and worked on that.

“Uh, Charlie?”

Nicola grimaced into her drink, irritated at the bubble of jealousy building inside her. She didn’t want Max. Not really.
But damned if I want anybody else to have him either
.

That was natural enough, right? Ex-boyfriends were supposed to go out to pasture to die. To die wretched, celibate, and single, in fact. They were not supposed to enter into a relationship with a ridiculously talented, annoyingly well-preserved, semi-famous director extraordinaire.
Right under my nose
. That for damn sure wasn’t how the reunion was supposed to go.

Tierney bumped Lachlan with her shoulder. “Max is getting the jump on you, Lach.”

Lachlan’s nostrils flared and a stiff smile tensed his mouth, but all he did was take another swallow of beer.

Nicola tried to shove her fuzzy brain toward coherence. “Jump? On what?”

“
Henry V
is the big play this fall.” Tierney was arranging the empty bottles in the center of the table, making a glass fort, for some reason. “Lachlan, being an arrogant ass, assumed the part was his. But Max is getting into the game now.” The beer bottles arranged to her satisfaction, Tierney propped her chin on one hand and slid a smug, amused glance toward Lachlan.

Cassie raised her eyebrows. “Making nice with the director for a part? That won’t end well.”

Tierney laughed. “Such a pessimist. I’m sure Max and Judith will live theatrically ever after.”

Nicola flinched as Max moved toward their booth, but he was only escorting Judith to a table several feet away. He held a chair out for the director and happened to glance over.

As he and Nicola made eye contact, his mouth fell open.

She gave him a curt wave.
Jackass
.

Max’s gaze flicked over the rest of their party, and his eyebrows drew down in a mighty frown at the sight of Lachlan. Well, probably at the sight of Lachlan with his arm behind—practically
around
—Nicola.

Max’s frown was quite impressive. He looked like Zeus about to do some serious smiting with his lightning bolts.
He should channel some of that rage into his Oberon
. He circled around his table to sit across from Judith. Max gave Nicola’s group a brief wave, gave Nicola her own special, burning scowl, then he focused on Judith. As he spoke to the director, a brilliant smile lit his face, and the sight of his laugh lines made Nicola’s heart clench.

She sighed into her beer. After everything she’d been through, everything Max had put her through, how could the sight of him still make her eyes so happy, make her heart skip with schoolgirlish glee?

What is wrong with me?

* * *

W
hat the fuck
is wrong with me?
Max thought, not for the first time as he tried to focus on Judith. Now he was in the meeting with her, their drinks sitting in front of them, casual chitchat out of the way, all he seemed able to concentrate on was Nicola sitting with Lachlan across the bar.

Really, that was Judith’s fault. If the director wanted privacy, then they shouldn’t have come to one of the known cast hangouts. If Judith wanted to discuss business, then this meeting should have taken place in one of the theater offices and not the Bore’s Head.

The meeting should also have happened much,
much
farther away from Nicola in her red off-the-shoulder sweater. The delicate bones of her clavicle, the graceful column of her throat kept distracting him. He pretty much hadn’t heard a single word Judith had said since seeing Nicola. All his senses were strained toward the other table. Listening for Nicola’s laugh, trying to catch words. Trying to see how serious Lachlan was about hitting on his ex-girlfriend.

“So, Max, you’ve heard the gossip, then?” One of Judith’s cool white hands reached out to brush his, startling Max enough that he slopped some of his drink onto the table.

As he blotted the mess with paper napkins, he forced himself to keep his attention on Judith. If he offended the director tonight, he could kiss
Henry V
good-bye with a big, smacking smooch right in Lachlan’s direction. “The
Henry V
rumors, you mean? You’re directing, right?”

Judith smirked as she sipped her expensive scotch. “My, my. What an active rumor mill the RSF has.”

Max shrugged.

“Yes. The RSF is putting
Henry V
together for the fall, and I’m directing. We’re going to have auditions, of course, but I want our King Henry cast ahead of time. I’m thinking of using a company member as King Henry.” Judith set her glass down and spun it around between her hands. “I saw you play Pompey in
Antony and Cleopatra
last year. You have great physical presence, and I think you’re a talented actor, Max. I think you could do exciting things with the Henry part.”

“Thank you.” He took another slow gulp of his drink, hoping to return some moisture to his mouth.
King
Henry
.
YES
. Max pinched his lips, trying to keep himself from beaming. But, inside, he was doing a touchdown dance
. Mine, mine. Henry is mine
.

“But.”

Max felt like she’d poured his icy drink over the back of his neck. “But?”

“I’ve got my eye on a few of the other young men in the company. Outside the RSF too.”

“Lachlan?”

“Among others.”

Others?
Max swallowed, suddenly worried.