A Midsummer Night's Fling (Much Ado about Love #1) (8 page)

Tierney rolled her eyes. “Oh my God. You
wimps
. I bleach my hair all the time.”

“Clearly,” Lachlan said, “dear heart, you are made of sterner stuff than we.”

“
Anyway,
” Tierney continued Rita’s story, ignoring Lachlan. “When we did
Lear
, we all thought it would be cool if these two looked more like brothers. So we bleached their hair. Heads. Eyebrows. Beards.” She wrinkled her nose. “In hindsight, the beards were a mistake.”

“You think?” Max rumbled. He cast Nicola a wounded look. “Our skin started to peel. In our Elizabethan gear, we looked like particularly well-bred zombies.”

Nicola made a sympathetic moue. “Poor lambs.”

He sent her a dark look, and she caught herself leaning toward him, smiling into his eyes. But when he tilted toward her, shadowing her face, she did a wide turn on her stool to face the table away from Max.
Always
away from Max. That was the way to go.

Rita waved her hands in the air, as if wiping clean the whiteboard of their conversation. “No bleach. Do not get any haircuts before we open. I want all my fairies to have long, beautiful hair.” She dragged her fingers through Lachlan’s luxurious red locks, and he butted his head into her hand like a cat. Nicola laughed at his antics, and he shot her a mischievous glance through his lashes.

Max shifted in her peripheral vision, and she had to stiffen her muscles to stop herself from peeking at him.

Again
. How was she even supposed to get through a scene with him like this? And with herself like this: hyperaware, half-turned on, only managing not to think about that stupid kiss through sheer stubbornness.

“Lachlan, we’re going to take you dark. Black hair with some colored highlights. Purple, green, blue. And you’ll have to shave the goatee.” As Tierney was speaking, she dug out her sketches and laid them on the worktable. Lachlan uncurled from the floor and leaned over to gaze at his Puck costume.

Max pushed from the wall and loomed over Nicola’s shoulder to see his own sketch. She caught a hint of soap and clean male skin, Max’s spicy cologne, and mint from his mouth. For a moment, she was too distracted to do anything except breathe.

“Maxim, my love,” Rita said. “No bleach, I promise, but for you, we want to take your hair a shade or two lighter.”

“Shit,” he said behind Nicola, his voice like a boom of thunder before the lightning comes.

Tierney poked his shoulder. “Blonds have the most fun, Max.”

Lachlan waggled his eyebrows. “That’s because there aren’t enough gingers to go around.”

“And, Max,” Tierney said, “we want you to keep growing the beard out.”

“Yes,” Rita put in, a sour expression on her face. “So often in
Midsummer
productions, they make all the fairies androgynous. Nothing but spandex and leaves.” She made a frustrated gesture toward her lap and clucked her tongue in disapproval. “Not in my play. We will have manly fairies. Strong. Handsome.” She squeezed Max’s bicep, giggling. “Big.”

Max good-naturedly flexed his arm for Rita. Nicola rolled her eyes but her mouth went dry, watching those taut muscles move beneath his golden skin. Rita did have a point about the appeal of more “manly” fairies.

Tierney shuffled through more of her sketches. “So. Costumes…”

Nicola could only be grateful as they turned to talk of fabrics, fit, and silhouettes. With Lachlan determined to flirt with her on one hand, and Max all up in her awareness just by standing in the same room, Nicola had more than a little trouble holding up her end of the conversation.

She was disappointed, though, when the discussion turned to her character but Tierney had no sketch to show.

The costumer gave an apologetic shrug. “I decided to do something different with Titania after we cast you. Give me a few days. For now, same instructions as the others: don’t cut your hair.” Tierney narrowed her eyes, gazing with intent at Nicola’s hair, her mind obviously clicking through ideas. “I have plans for that hair.”

Nicola wet her lips. “Um, Judith mentioned…she thought I should lose a little weight.”

Rita scoffed. “So you can blow over in the middle of performances?
No
, mija.”

“Judith’s crazy,” Lachlan muttered.

Max rumbled his assent too.

Nicola smiled. “Okay.” So she wasn’t deluded about her own figure. Judith just had a mean streak.
Good to know
.

Nicola shook her head, sliding off her stool as the meeting broke up, suddenly nervous again. Rehearsal was about to start. Her first rehearsal. With Max. Her foot caught on the bottom rung of the stool, and she bobbled forward.

Max caught her arm and held her close. “Nic, we need to talk. Alone.”

She swallowed.
Oh Lord
. A talk. Max never talked. Why did they need to talk? What was there to talk about? Talking could only end badly. And
alone
talking was a recipe for total disaster. She realized how sharply she was shaking her head as a heavy lock of her hair slipped free from her bun. Max’s eyebrows climbed upward while he watched her.

“No. We’re fine, Max.” She tugged free of his hold and skittered toward the door, shadowing Rita closely, almost stepping on the back of the other woman’s flats.
No talking
. Talking was bad. Talking was to be avoided at all costs.

“Nicola,” Tierney called.

Crap
. A perfect escape foiled by the pink-haired girl.

With what dignity she could scrape together, Nicola did an about-face. “Yes, Tierney?”

“I still need to do all the measuring for your costume.”

“Right. Of course. See you at rehearsal…everyone.” Nicola stepped toward the door, bumping into Lachlan as he tried to get through at the same time. He shuffled back, motioning the way for her.

Max tried to linger, waiting Nicola out, but Rita hollered for him from the hallway. He made his exit, but the glance he sent Nicola on his way out promised he would make her talk later.

Oh joy
.

F
or some reason
, Rita was determined to have Max walk her to the stage for rehearsal. She’d linked her arm with his and kept chattering away with all sorts of random thoughts about his character, about the play. Rita was clearly trying to distract him, to keep him from talking to Nicola.

Fantastic
. Because he could always use someone meddling in his life. It was his fucking favorite thing ever. Now Rita had a death grip on his arm, and no way would she let him go if he said he wanted to try to catch Nicola alone.

So: subterfuge. He tugged his arm free and stepped back. “’Scuse me, Rita, I need to take a leak.” With that, he jogged off toward the admin building.

“Maxim!” Rita called after him, her voice vibrating with frustration.

Free at last, he bounded back up the hill, then bolted up the stairs and whipped the door open to the office. He nearly collided with Judith O’Fallon as she stepped out.

“Oh, hi, Judith,” he said, panting from his mini-jog. He craned to peer into the office suite, hoping to catch sight of Nicola, but she wasn’t there. Which meant she’d gone out the other way, or she was still wandering lost in the labyrinth of the admin building.

Here’s hoping she’s totally lost
, he thought as he waited for Judith to pass him so he could start combing the hallways for Nicola.

But Judith lingered in the doorway, one of her brows arched as she studied him. “Good morning, Max.”

He felt an entirely masculine stir at the rich invitation in her voice. Judith was still a knockout with a great figure: ripe breasts, round hips. He’d never been opposed to older women, but he
was
opposed to sleeping with directors. That could get messy quick—messy with a capital “M” for
Max, you’re fired
. Better not to take the chance.

“No rehearsal?” Judith asked.

“I needed to get something from the admin building.”

“Ah.”

Max waited, but Judith continued staring at him, a flirty smirk curling her mouth. Was he pumping pheromones this week or something? With Nicola jumping him yesterday and Judith undressing him with her eyes, he felt a bit overwhelmed. He didn’t
want
to flirt, not before coffee, but he couldn’t shove past Judith either.

“I wanted to get some time alone with you, Max,” she said, forehead furrowed with thought.

“Excuse me?”

She shot him a startled glance, then gave a throaty laugh, patting his arm. “Oh no. Max, honestly. I wanted to talk to you for a bit about some stuff coming up the pike for the fall.”

“Oh. Sure. Whenever.” Maybe that hadn’t been an invitation earlier? Maybe Judith just had a flirty personality?

“Tonight. After your rehearsal? The two of us could—”

Footsteps shuffled in the hallway, and Judith eased back. Max seized his chance and started through the doorframe. He nearly bounced off Nicola as she rounded a corner fast.

Nicola stumbled, then let out a relieved laugh. “Oh, thank goodness. I was scared I’d be late for rehearsal. Or, actually, I was scared I was going to be lost in the hallways forever and die of starvation.”

“Rita sent me to find you,” he lied.

Nicola raised an eyebrow but didn’t contradict him. “Come on, then, help me find my way to the main stage.”

“Right. We’ll talk later, Judith?” Max waved bye to the director, then hurried from the admin building.

As soon as they cleared the stairs, Nicola broke into an angry stride, her feet picking divots out of the gravel with each step.

“Hey,” he called.

“Hey yourself,” she tossed over her shoulder. “‘Oh,
Max
,’” she cooed in a high falsetto. “I want some
alone time
with you.”

Great
. Max rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah.” Nicola just didn’t like Judith. Which he didn’t really blame her for. Judith definitely seemed…complicated.

Nicola whirled on him, stopping so abruptly on the path, he had to grab her arms to stop his own momentum and steady himself.

She flung his hands away. “You’re too talented to pull that casting-couch crap, Max.”

“Thank you so much for implying I have to sleep with people to get parts.”

“That’s not what I—”

“Anyway,
not
that it’s your business, but I’m not sleeping with her.”

“
Yet
.”

“And you care why?”

A flush fanned over Nicola’s cheeks, but she continued to glare. She worked her mouth a few times but failed to make a sound.

She knows she’s wrong
. Max bit the inside of his cheek, fighting not to grin. Some trace of amusement must have leaked onto his face, though, because Nicola threw her hands into the air with exasperation. “You are such a jackass,” she snarled.

“No.
I’m
the fairy king,” he pointed out, infinitely reasonable. “Gil is playing the jackass.”

Nicola crimped her mouth, acknowledging the joke but obviously wanting to hold on to her anger.

“Are we going to talk about yesterday?” he asked.

She froze, and he thought she might say,
Talk about what?
but then resignation leaked into her eyes. “Fine.” She made a
you start
gesture with her open palm.

“Why did that happen yesterday?” His gut prickled as he waited to hear her answer.

“I don’t know. We did the scene, and it was just—and
you
kissed my neck first. I guess I-I had a relapse in judgment.”

“A relapse? Gee,
thanks
.”

“You kissed me back. What were
you
thinking?”

“That I wanted to kiss you.” He shrugged, uncomfortable.

“
And?
”

“And what?”

She studied him, brows furrowed, then tipped her head back to gaze skyward, her voice impatient. “It was the scene. We’ve always had good chemistry. The…thing…yesterday was residual of that. I needed to burn it off, I guess.”

“Burn it off?”

“Get it out of my system.”

“You make it sound like the stomach flu.”

She soft-punched him on the arm, but she chuckled as she did it.

At the sight of her smile, something that had constricted in his chest loosened, making it easier to breathe. “So, Nicola
Charles
?” he asked.

“Yeah. Charles is my stage name. I didn’t want every casting director in Hollywood slaughtering Czerwinski for the rest of my life.”

“Oh.” Max used to have to worry about that, but his brother making it big had helped with the whole unpronounceable-last-name problem. One of the few upsides to his brother’s fame. Maybe the only one. “A stage name. Good.”

She scoffed. “Were you worried I was married?”

“No.” Not really. Not much.

“You honestly think I would have kissed you yesterday if I were married? You are
such
a jackass.” She started down the path, shaking her head. “I should have asked for more money to do this play.”

“Probably.”

“And my own dressing room.”

“Definitely.”

“And some sort of cabana boy to feed me grapes in the breaks between scenes.”

“Well.” Max paused, putting on a thoughtful expression. “We don’t have anyone like that on staff, but maybe one of the interns.”

She shoved him, laughing. He caught her hand and pulled her close, slinging a playful arm around her waist. The movement was half-instinct, half-memory, but as soon as he pulled her close, all her softness molded to his body. The playfulness between them melted, steaming away. Something dark and needful settled in its place.

Her face stilled, going thoughtful, but she traced her palm up his spine, bending herself into him. Through the fabric of his shirt, he could feel the heat of her hand, the gentle vibrancy of her touch. He couldn’t help imagining bare skin and sweat, and that dainty, familiar hand touching him…everywhere. He leaned toward her, dipping his head. The need to complete this moment, to seal it with a kiss, became an actual hunger, an ache in his teeth.

But then she lurched backward, breaking their embrace. As she shook her head, a thick lock of dark hair tumbled loose from her bun. “It doesn’t work like this, Max.”

Rattled, horny, frustrated almost to screaming, he released her and raked his fingers through his hair. “I know.” And he did. He didn’t want her back any more than she wanted him. Not really. Now if only his muscle memory would get that no-kissing-no-Nicola-no-way memo.

“We haven’t spoken to each other in five years.” Her voice shook. “We can’t just pick up where we left off.”

“I know.”

“We
cannot
do this.”

“Nicola.” He waited, and when she looked at him, he said again, slowly, “I know.”

He moved away, scuffing a toe against the gravel path, avoiding her gaze as he tried to figure out how they could recapture their earlier companionship. How could he be close to her but still keep her at arm’s length? “So, um.” He fought for a casual tone. “What have you been doing for the last five years?”

“Ah. Well.” She rubbed the back of her neck, restless. “I’ve pretty much been on tour for the last few years.”

“Tour?”

“Musicals.”

“You always did want to do more singing.”

“Oh, I don’t know if you heard, my mom remarried and moved to Florida. Her tan’s better than yours. Maybe even better than Peter’s.”

Max laughed. “I’m glad she met someone. Good for her.” Max kicked a toe through the dirt. “Is your dad… Do you see him much?”

“Nope. He’s still in DC. He calls at Passover and Yom Kippur. Is your mom still in town?”

“Yes.” He exhaled slowly, which was a bit easier now the air wasn’t charged with the electricity of their attraction. “With his paycheck from
Fortune’s Fool
, Peter bought Mom a house. Actually, he bought her
two
houses because the first one was too big for her. I live in the big one now. It’s sort of become a boardinghouse for the RSF. Lachlan and one of the other company members, this guy Abe, rooms with me. You haven’t met Abe yet.” The key was to keep talking. Or babbling.
Whatever it takes
.

Kissing her would be fatal. Neither one of them could walk away from that. Not again.

She peered up at him, her brown eyes bright and beautiful. “And your acting career? I mean I—once Peter made it so big, I was surprised you didn’t get more work. Hollywood loves siblings.”

“After you and I…” He winced and chewed the side of his cheek. Did he really want to tell her about his fall from grace? His blacklisting in Hollywood? How he couldn’t get a job outside the RSF? All the ways he had so spectacularly fucked up his life when they broke up?

No. Not really
. “Few years ago, I decided I wanted a break from the screen. I wasn’t exactly getting juicy roles. High school football player…”

“The love interest in that coming-of-age weepy. What was it called?
Summer Kisses
?”

Warmth flushed through him. “You saw that?”

She cleared her throat. “Well, no. But a bunch of my friends were obsessed with it when I was on the
Wicked
tour.”

“Oh.” He worked to keep his voice normal and not at all disappointed. After all, would he have gone to see a movie starring Nicola right after they’d broken up?

Yes
. His brain replied at once. Hadn’t he watched that one Pringles commercial she’d done on endless repeat on YouTube for months? Missing her. Torturing himself.

She was staring curiously at him, maybe worrying she had hurt his feelings. He hurried to fill the conversational lapse. “After
Summer Kisses
, my agent suggested I try some theater. I auditioned here at RSF for a part in
King Lear
. I got to play Edgar.” His first part sober, and he’d tackled Shakespeare. No wonder his reviews had sucked, but still, “I loved it. It was like coming home.”

She bit her lip, her voice flattening out. “Home.”

“Yeah. I mean, I do other work when I can get it. I’ve got a big hamburger commercial coming out soon. But this is the place I’ll always return to. This is home.”

“I shouldn’t have taken this part,” she murmured.

“Maybe not. But you’re stuck, Nic.”

She nodded, not looking at him.

He touched her shoulder, just a small brush with his fingertips, and he softened his voice. “So, how do we make this work?”

“I guess we get through it as best we can. And remember all the reasons we’re apart.”

“Right.”

She jabbed his chest with her finger. “Like
you’re
irresponsible.”

He caught her hand and held it. “And you’re controlling.”

“And you party too much.”

“And you’re antisocial.”

“And we make each other miserable when we’re together.” She blinked her gaze up to meet his and gently tugged her hand free.

He grinned. “I’m not miserable right now.”

“When we’re
dating
, jackass.”

“I did miss you, Nicci.” He reached to tuck that errant strand of hair behind her ear.

She slapped his hand back and jabbed him in the chest again with her finger. “
That
. None of
that
. Look at me.” She grabbed his chin and dragged him down to her level. “I’m a bad-tempered, needy, controlling harpy. Right?”

As she released him, he rubbed his jaw and shot her a dubious expression, but she just jutted out her chin, forcing him to play along. With a sigh, he pointed at himself. “And I’m an immature, reckless emotional fuckwit.”

“Yes.”

“Right.”

Her face screwed up in an adorable frown. “Are we
really
going to try this? Be friends?”

He studied her and fought his first instinct, which was—okay,
yes
, to kiss her. Instead, he tried to project as much confidence as he could into his voice. “Yes. We are friends now.” He grabbed her hand and gave it a loose, flapping shake. “See. We shook. It’s official. Just friends.”

“Right.” Nicola flashed him a weak smile, then strolled off down the path. He watched her go, forcing himself not to ogle her so-pattable ass in its tight jeans.

Because friends don’t ogle friend’s asses
.

Friends
.
He sighed.
Great
.

“I quite like her, Max.” Lachlan’s voice floated out from the tree line behind him. “What
is
an emotional-fuckwit?”