A Midsummer Night's Fling (Stage Kiss Series Book 1) (7 page)

Nicola worked her jaw, clearly offended, but fighting to stay professional. "Of course. What time?"

"No. Nonono no nono
no
." Rita sliced her arm through the air. "No, Judith. That is not acceptable. We need to settle this today."

"We need a Titania," Max put in, not glancing at Nicola as he said it. "Ms. O'Fallon, do you honestly think you'll find someone better for our production than Nic – than Ms. Charles?"

Judith's nostrils flared, her cool gray eyes narrowing to slits. Finally, she flung her hands up. "All right. You, Nicola, come in tomorrow to sign your equity contract." With a dramatic flair not quite on par with Isabelle's, Judith whirled around and pretty much stormed out of the theater.
 

Rita let out a shrill victory cry and threw herself on Nicola for a hug. Max grinned, big and goofy. He had a Titania again. He had Nicola again.

Her gaze met his over Rita's back, and Nicola stilled, her face blanking out.
 

What the –
 

Nicola had the part, she should be thrilled. So why did she look like she had to barf again?

She eased away from Rita and murmured something. Rita pointed to the backstage area. Giving the group at large a reassuring wave, Nicola hurried off stage left toward the dressing rooms.
 

"Maxim, I need you to – "

He waved Rita to silence. "Give me a second?" Gut churning with unease, Max jogged backstage, following – OK maybe
chasing
– Nicola.
 

He found her in the green room leaning in the doorway, half-in, half-out, with a faraway expression in her eyes. In his younger days, Max had learned to recognize that look, and put as much distance between himself and The Look as possible. Avoidance had always been his favorite way to solve conflicts. But not now. Five years hadn't only made him older.
 

When she saw him, she held a hand out to stop him walking closer. "I'm fine."

"Bullshit."

She flashed him an irritated glance but didn't say anything.
 

"Nic, what's wrong?"

She looked up, her eyes soft, her mouth half-parted. Awareness of her body flamed over him. Memories of the taste of her skin and the softness at the base of her throat had his lower self springing to attention.

Real professional there, Max
. He shifted, uncomfortably aware of what a schmuck he was. Still, he wasn't going to walk away. "Nicola. Tell me."

She sucked in a deep breath and, when her gaze flicked to his mouth, he thought he might explode. "This, Fiesengerke." She cupped the back of his head, yanking his face down to her. "This is what's wrong."
 

Then she kissed him.
 

As her mouth touched his, he thought,
This
is a bad idea
.
 

But still Max grinned against her lips. After all, he'd sort of been hoping
this
was the problem all along.

Chapter Six

As 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 mouth was 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 which 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 break-up baggage.

"Nic – "

"I have to go." But, before she went, she made the mistake of glancing back. His gaze crossed with 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.

***

After 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?"

"Tag, bro! Wie gehts?" his brother's voice boomed over the speakers.
 

Max blinked at the German, readjusted his brain, then he answered his brother in the same tongue, "Hi, Pete. Are you on set?" They'd grown up speaking only German at home with their immigrant mother. But these days the Fiesengerke brothers only used the language with their mother or when they wanted a private mode of communication in the midst of other people.
 

"Ja," Peter's voice bobbled on the word, as if he were walking. "There's a reporter from E.W. running around. Nice kid, but you know how it is."

Actually I don't
, Max thought in 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.
 

"So, was Mom pissed that I missed Passover?" Peter asked.
 

"What do you think?"

Peter made a neutral sound in the back of his throat. "Moment mal?"

"Ja."

Peter dropped his cell down so it
thunk
ed over the line.
 

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

The phone
thunk
ed again as Peter scraped it off whatever surface he'd placed it on. "OK. We're cool." Peter shifted to English, and Max swiftly forced his brain to code switch. "I'm in my trailer," Peter said, sounding put-upon. "Hey, tell Ma I'm not entirely irredeemable; my director's Jewish so he and I did the whole Passover thing together with some of the crew."

"That's good." Max huffed his breath out, 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 turning 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 asked.

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," Peter declared. "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. All of a sudden, Max's brother switched to German. "They need me on set. Remember what I said."

"Yeah, yeah."

"Don't sleep with her."

"Awww. Ich liebe dich auch, 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 on 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 –