A Midsummer Night's Fling (Much Ado about Love #1) (6 page)

A
s soon as
her lips touched his, Nicola knew she’d made a terrible mistake.

But, wow, did she not give a shit.

This kiss was an inevitability, the climax of the sexual tension that had been kindling inside her since they began the scene.
Since I opened the door this afternoon and saw him
. She sighed into his mouth, her eyes prickling.

Five years
. Five years and it might as well have been a second. Or a lifetime.
I don’t know him anymore
. Didn’t know what he’d done for the last few years, didn’t know how he’d changed, who he was.

And yet.

Skin remembered skin. And her mouth opened against his with the ease of tender familiarity. She didn’t really know him anymore, but her body remembered every inch of his, every touch, every breath they breathed together, every feeling.

His lips were soft and warm as his tongue swept into her mouth. Heat pooled between her thighs, a greedy, selfish want for all he could give her.

Don’t start this again.
But she wanted to give in, to let go, to lose herself to him.
I don’t care. I don’t care
. With a small sigh, she deepened the kiss, her tongue clashing with his. Delicious friction. Primal need.
Yes.

Max groaned into her mouth and pushed his body close to hers, backing her against the doorframe. Backing her up hard enough her head knocked into the doorframe.

He broke away. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

“Ow?” Nicola rubbed her sore spot and shot him a laughing glance. “Boy, this really is like old times.”

“Ah, intermissions.” He grinned. “The one time I could kiss you as much as I wanted.”

“Until you inevitably knocked me into a wall.”

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I never
meant
to bang you into that wall backstage.”

“Old habits. Ha. Is this a kiss or a concussion?”

“Both?” He leaned toward her, so warm, so familiar.

He’ll never be what you need him to be
. The thought seared into her mind, sucking all the sweetness out of her surrender. She drew away, her body tingling in anticipation of the delights that would never come now.

“Nicola?”

She ducked, dodging his hands when he tried to stop her retreat. “I have to go.”

“Nic?”

“I have to go.” That was all she
could
say. Not
Why are we kissing?
or
What does this mean?
and, most especially, not
Do you want me back?

His answer to any one of those questions could flatten her more efficiently than a falling piece of scenery. No matter what Max said, good or bad. Each answer could be equally devastating when Max entered the game.

Better to run. Anything else would be cracking open the Pandora’s box of breakup baggage.

“Nic—”

“I have to go.” But, before she went, she made the mistake of glancing back. His gaze met hers, and he looked vulnerable, sweet, the shadow of the boy she’d loved shining in his eyes.

Swallowing fear and regret both, she rushed out and tugged the door closed behind her.

* * *

A
fter Nicola kissed him
, Max used the side exit to leave the theater, not wanting to talk to or see anyone.

Which, of course, meant that as soon as Max reached his car and pulled onto the road, his cell rang. Inwardly cursing, he activated the hands-free. “Hello?”

“Hey, bro!” his brother’s voice boomed over the speakers.

“Hi, Pete. Aren’t you filming today?” Peter didn’t usually call during his workday on location.

“Yeah, just coming back from an interview, though.” Peter’s voice bobbled on the word, as if he were walking. “There’s a reporter from one of those entertainment magazines running around today. Nice kid, but you know how it is.”

Actually, I don’t
, Max thought with mild irritation. His brush with a film career, with even a tiny smidgeon of fame, had been brief and painful. Nothing like his brother’s meteoric rise to A-list movie star. Nevertheless, Max made sympathetic noises.

“Was Mom upset that I missed Passover?” Peter asked.

“What do you think?”

Peter made a neutral sound in the back of his throat. “Gimme a sec.” He dropped his cell down so it thunked over the line.

While Max waited for his brother to get on the phone again, he counted back, trying to remember the last time he’d seen Peter in the flesh.

The phone thunked again as Peter scraped it off whatever surface he’d placed it on. “I’m in my trailer now. Hey, tell Ma I’m not entirely irredeemable,” Peter said, sounding put-upon. “My director’s Jewish, so he and I did the whole Passover thing together with some of the crew.”

“That’s good.” Max huffed out his breath, still reeling over the holiday math he’d done. “Pete, we haven’t seen you out here since October.”

Peter groaned. “I know I’m a bad son. You think Mom doesn’t lay that on me with a trowel when I call her?”

Max gripped the steering wheel, restraining an urge to yell. Peter had time to spirit his hottie costar to the Bahamas, and yet he could never manage flying home for Passover. Or Thanksgiving. Or his mother’s birthday. Peter was good about calling and keeping in touch, but that wasn’t quite the same, was it?

“How’s life at the playhouse treating you?” Peter asked.

Max stifled a sharp retort. No surprise his illustrious brother should rub him wrong after the bitch of a day Max had had. Still, whenever Peter asked about work, it always set Max off, because it always felt like Peter was asking,
Did you get a real acting job yet?

“Work is fine,” Max said. “We started
Midsummer
rehearsals.”

“Mom told me your Titania bugged out?”

“Uh. Yeah.”
Crap
. Max made the turn into his driveway and sat in the car, letting the motor run. How had he overlooked his family with regards to the Nicola Issue?
Crap
. “We recast the part today. I think the new actress will be great. Better than the first girl.”

“Awesome.”

Max held his breath, mentally chanting,
Don’t ask. Don’t ask. Don’t
—

“Anyone I know?” Peter said.

Max bared his teeth at the phone and emitted a voiceless growl.

Well, his family would find out eventually. His mom always went to opening nights, and he should give her a heads-up about Nicola before, then. Max stiffened his arms against the steering wheel, bracing himself. “It’s Nicola.”

Silence again. Crushing silence for several long heartbeats and then, “
Bullshit
.”

Max sighed. “It was Rita’s idea. You know, the director of the play. She heard Nicola was in town and between acting jobs. It was good luck. Kismet.”

“Shit.
Maaaax
.”

Max writhed at the come-
on
tone in his brother’s voice. “It was Rita’s suggestion.”
I just didn’t say no
.

“You’re not going to get together with Nicola again. You’re not.”

What is with everybody?
“I’m not.”

“She drove you crazy. You screwed up your film career because of her.”

Max clenched his jaw, reining in all the retorts he could make to that fucking spectacular piece of spin from his brother. Peter wasn’t totally out of line, but, “You didn’t exactly help my film career either, asshole.”

“Fuck.” Peter sighed. “See? It’s already starting. Seeing Nicola has you dredging up all that old shit.”

Max squeezed the steering wheel—not the best substitute for his brother’s neck, but he had to make do. “Pete, it’s happened. So drop this.”

“Max.” Peter softened his voice, and the tone conveyed a sense of stepping back, ratcheting down. “You two tried before. Twice. I like her. I always did. But, man, come
on
.”

Max thumped his head back on the seat. The memory of her lips burned against his, and tension gathered low in his belly. He didn’t know what he wanted from her, but he sure as hell wanted something. “Peter, I’m telling you to let this lie.”

“You’re my baby brother, and I know it’s against the Code of Manliness or whatever to say so, but I don’t want you getting hurt again.”

Max grinned. “Ah,
Petey
, I’m all
verklempt
.”

“Asshole.”

“Look, I’m not going after Nicola.”
She doesn’t want me to anyway
, Max thought, and was suddenly very depressed. “But if I do go after her, then you have my permission to fly here and whack me upside the head.”

“Deal.” Peter’s voice was hearty, cheerful again. “Just substitute ‘whack me upside the head’ with punch you in the face, and we’re golden.” Murmurs sounded in the background on Peter’s end of the line and then, “They need me on set. Remember what I said.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Don’t sleep with her.”

“Awww. I love you too, Peter.” Not wanting to give his brother an opportunity for the last word, Max hung up. He grinned and dusted his hands.
Done and done
.

But really, what was with everyone? He and Nicola weren’t Burton and Taylor here.

Of course, they had had the occasional fight. Toward the end. A few stuck out like particularly sore spots in his head. He’d been drunkenly spouting Romeo to her, and she’d locked herself in the bathroom at a party. Or that time she’d thrown a hissy fit over one of the love scenes in a movie he was shooting. The time he’d called her clingy and accused her of not having her own life—

Max finally remembered to turn off the engine in his car, but he still sat there for a long while, thinking. Remembering… Working with her. Playing. Fights. Makeups. Missing her. Wanting her. Hating and loving, wanting to stay, wanting to go. He groaned. “Damn you, Peter.”

If Peter hadn’t brought up all their old drama, Max could have ignored that random, electrifying kiss today. Max was, after all, a master of the let’s-pretend-this-never-happened school of life. But now, thinking of the sheer accumulated avalanche of history between himself and Nicola, Max realized his usual go-with-the-flow strategy wouldn’t work.

He was going to have to break the Code of Manliness.

He was going to have to talk to Nicola.

About his
feelings
.

“Shit.”

* * *

T
he next morning
, Nicola showed up to her first day at the RSF bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, ready to storm the castle. She pulled into the theater’s parking lot way early for her appointment and heard her phone chime. She dug it out to see a text from Cassie:
How’d it go yesterday? Audition, etc.

Nicola grinned.
I got the part!!! Starting rehearsals today.

Awesome! :D And the Max…thing?
Cassie wrote back.

Nicola chewed her lip. Yes, she’d been up half the night worrying about Max, but she’d spent almost as much time worrying about Judith and the company dynamics and starting a new job and—

She sucked in a deep breath, then blew it out through her teeth. She did not need to get herself worked up right now. She typed back:
Whatever issues the whole Max thing might present, I am totally excited about the acting portion of this job.

Well, good. Talk later?

Yeah. :)
Nicola turned off her ringer, sure she would forget to do so if she waited, and dropped the phone in her bag.

She rolled out of her car and leaned against the door, beaming at her new place of employment. The RSF buildings and theaters were housed on what had once been the estate of an infamous Hollywood spitfire, the redheaded siren Armina Elton. But the grounds didn’t resemble anything like someone’s home now. The admin offices were housed over the box office in a tall, narrow building with wood-planked walls and a green-shingle roof. A boxy staircase zagged up one side with a sign saying “Offices” in old-fashioned script.

The top of the main stage poked over the line of trees down the hill, and as Nicola stared at the company’s grounds, her insides buzzed with a singsong of
opportunity, opportunity
. If she did well in this show, then she was setting herself up for the chance to do all kinds of things, to play all kinds of parts. The RSF could become a safe haven for her, the sort of home every actor longs for but few ever find. Or keep.