Bad Romeo (19 page)

“Absolutely.”

“If this was real, it would hurt.”

“I know.”

He pulls his hips back and puts his hands between us as if aligning himself with me. His fingers brush against me, and I inhale in surprise.

“Here we go,” he says.

He thrusts against me, and I gasp as a look of wonder passes over his face.

Is that what he’d look like if he were inside me? Sweet Jesus.

I play my part, wincing in pain as he pushes himself hard against me.

“You okay?” he asks softly, and I don’t know who wants to know, him or Romeo.

I give both of them a small smile. “I’m fine.”

He smiles back. “Good.”

He moves, slowly and carefully. I don’t have to act to show both pleasure and pain as he slides against me, because my body is alternating between screaming out for more and moaning that it’s all too much. He watches my face, and I’m sure he can feel my desperation.

“Still haven’t had an orgasm?” he asks as he kisses down my neck to the faint mark he left at the beginning of the week. He licks it before closing his mouth over it and sucking hard.

“Don’t,” I say as I wind my fingers in his hair and tug.

He pulls back and looks down at me, his hips circling … pressing … grinding.

“Don’t mark you? Or don’t make you come?” He’s breathing just as heavily as I am.

I don’t answer.

I can’t.

I can feel it. The elusive feeling. It’s spiraling inside me, spinning and coiling in tighter and tighter circles. I hate that he can make me feel it, and I can’t. It’s too much power for him to have, and he knows it.

“If you don’t want it, just say the word and I’ll stop,” he says, his voice becoming low and rough.

I don’t say anything. I can’t speak. I’m clinging to him as he thrusts, and I hold my breath while squeezing my eyes shut and concentrating on the hard, heavy pulses that are threatening to overtake me.

“Tell me you want it,” he says, demanding and begging at the same time.

He’s moving faster, thrusting in long, firm strokes.

“I want it.”

Oh …

“Say please.”

“Please. God.”

Oh … oh …

“No, ‘Please, Ethan.’”

Oh, God, yes. Don’t stop now. Don’t stop.

“Please, Ethan.”

Please, please, please, Ethan.

It’s close. So very, very close.

“Please.” I moan. “Please, Ethan.”

He presses down, circling and thrusting and whispering my name. I can’t even think, because I’m so full up with chasing down what’s just out of reach.

“Let go, Cassie. Let yourself feel it.”

He kisses me, and as he thrusts one more time, it happens.

Oh, dear God!

I gasp and arch my back as my orgasm hits me, because none of the descriptions of waves or pulses or unwinding jolts of pleasure can prepare me for the absolute knee-buckling sensation that rages through me. My breath catches, and my muscles seize. I’m sure my eyes are as wide as saucers as I experience what has eluded me my entire life.

“God, Cassie,” he whispers reverently. “Look at you.”

I cling to him as he drops his head into my neck and grunts softly. Then he’s moaning as all the muscles in his back tense and he pushes against me one last time.

“Fuck.” He makes a long, plaintive noise that’s the perfect accompaniment to my own sounds.

Pleasure is thick in my veins as he breathes against me, shallow gasps and long moans.

Oh.

Ohhhh.

That was …

Wow.

Reality filters back in as the last shudders fade inside me. Holt and I are panting, sweaty, and spent.

“Okay,” Erika says with a slight edge to her voice. “Well, that was certainly a … committed performance. But I think we either need to work on the orgasms or fade to black before they happen. They were a little clichéd.”

The bed rattles as we both suppress our laughter.

Two hours later, Holt and I emerge from the theater, and I’m laughing like an idiot as he does Romeo’s lines in the style of Marlon Brando from
The Godfather
. For once, there’s no bickering. Orgasmic rehearsals obviously suit us.

Near the end of the hallway, a group of third-year students are clustered together, practicing in commedia dell’arte masks and cracking each other up. We’re almost past them when one of them says, “Well, well, well. Ethan Holt.”

The whole group goes silent as Holt and I stop. When a pretty brunette removes her mask and emerges from the group, I don’t miss how tense Holt’s posture becomes.

She fixes him with an aggressive stare. “You look good, Ethan.”

His jaw clenches. “You, too.”

“I heard you finally got in. Did Erica make you get a psych evaluation to get over the line? Or did she just get tired of auditioning you year after year?”

He shakes his head and gives her a wry smile. “You’d have to ask her.”

“Maybe I will. I heard she’d cast you as Romeo. What a joke. It’s like she doesn’t know you at all.”

He shoves his hands in his pockets. “It wasn’t my preference, believe me.”

“I bet. First Romeo who’s ever been played by a heartless bastard.”

Someone murmurs, “Ooh, burn!” and although I expect Holt to fire up and fight back, he just drops his head and sighs.

“Nice to see you again, Olivia,” he says before turning to me. “Gotta go, Taylor. See you tomorrow.”

He strides away, and the girl directs her attention to me. “So you’re his new Juliet, huh? Has he ruined you yet?”

“I … ah…”

She leans in. “Run while you still can. Trust me on this. You do not want to be around when that boy self-destructs. He’ll just take you with him, and the damage he’ll do will fuck you up forever. Just ask my therapist. And my sponsor.”

The conviction of her tone makes goose bumps break out on my arms.

She and her friends walk away, and I’m left wondering what the hell Ethan did to her to make her so bitter.

TEN

CONNECTION

Present Day
New York City
Graumann Theater Rehearsal Room

I pack up my bag as I watch Holt out of the corner of my eye.

He’s nervous and keeps glancing over like he thinks I’m going to walk out and leave him behind.

That would be nice, but my brain is telling me we need go somewhere, so he can explain and I can rage. Then maybe we can break each other down and see if our pieces fit together anymore. But my heart is cowering like a dog that’s been beaten too many times.

What’s been happening between us the last few days scares the hell out of me. The connection I’ve tried to forget for three years is back, just as strong as it ever was, with barely any effort.

Even now, as I watch him shrug on his jacket and shove his script into his bag, the giant magnetic pull that always drew me to him is there, demanding I move closer.

I hate the familiar compulsion.

“Cassandra?”

I turn to see Marco, script in hand, with his hat perched on his head at what can only be described as a “jaunty angle.”

“Is everything okay?” he asks as he throws a glance at Holt, who is now conspicuously hovering on the other side of the room. “You and Ethan seemed out of sorts during the sex scene today. Should I be concerned?”

He’s been counting on our natural chemistry to smooth over the divots and potholes of our past. But unless Holt and I unload some of our baggage, the chemistry isn’t going to be enough. This whole journey will come to a screeching halt, and our impossible desire for each other will just be a dot in the rearview mirror.

“We’re figuring things out,” I say with as much sincerity as I can muster. “It’s complicated.”

He nods and looks at Holt again. “I’m can see that. But make no mistake, regardless of your issues, my first priority is the play.”

“I understand.”

“When Mr. Holt begged me for this role, I knew I was taking a risk on your torrid past. However, I trusted that you could put your differences aside for the sake of the show. If that’s not the case, tell me now, and I’ll have him recast.”

My stomach drops. “Wait, what? Holt begged for this show?”

Marco sighs. “Yes. After I’d decided I wanted you, I’d had discussions with another actor. A very talented unknown. But out of the blue, Mr. Holt called me and campaigned for the role. Of course, I knew his horde of rabid fans would practically ensure a box office hit, and physically, he was perfect, but I’d heard rumors about what he did to you and was skeptical it could work. He called me three times a day, every day, for two weeks. He reminded me about my reaction to seeing you both in
Romeo and Juliet
at The Grove. He was quite annoying. But his passion is what finally made me relent. The way he spoke about you … I couldn’t ignore that.”

“I’m sorry, Marco. I had no idea.”

“Don’t be sorry. Be better. If you can’t work with him, tell me. It’s still early. I could have him replaced by the end of next week, if that’s what you want.”

He looks at me expectantly. It’s a tempting offer. If Holt wasn’t in the show, I wouldn’t have to confront all the ghosts from our past. We could go back to our separate lives and never see each other again.

The thought of it makes a lump form in my throat.

“His fans would riot if we replaced him,” I say.

Marco shrugs. “Perhaps. But better that than have critics pan us for awkward, mopey lead actors.”

“Can I think about it?” I say, and he takes my hand.

“Of course. Personally, I hope you work it out. You’re both obviously miserable without each other, and it’s depressing to watch. Him, in particular.”

He nods toward Holt, who’s now pacing slowly, watching his feet in between glancing at us.

“I thought the story was that he broke
your
heart,” Marco whispers. “From where I’m standing, it seems the other way around.”

I quash the nervous giggle that bubbles in my throat. “I assure you, I was the breakee, not the breaker. I just don’t know if…”

He raises his eyebrows. “If what?”

I sigh. “If there’s too much damage. If we can ever be fixed.”

He smiles and leans in to kiss my cheek. “Dear Cassandra, sometimes it’s not about trying to fix something that’s broken. Sometimes it’s about starting again and building something new. Something better.” He looks over at Holt, who’s stopped pacing and is staring at us. “It seems like the old foundation is still there. Use it.”

He leaves and pats Holt on the shoulder as he passes. “I hope to see you on Monday, Mr. Holt.”

Ethan frowns before looking back at me. “Ready to go?”

I nod, and we head out.

We walk in silence as we climb the stairs that lead to the foyer. He holds the door for me, and we step out into the street.

“Marco wants to replace me, doesn’t he?” he says as warm fingers settle in the small of my back, guiding me closer to him as we cross the street.

“He doesn’t want to, but unless we get it together, he will.”

As we reach the opposite sidewalk, he stops me. “Is that what you want?”

I rub my eyes so I don’t have to look at him. “I don’t know. Marco told me you campaigned to be in the show. I thought this whole thing was fate throwing us back together, but it’s not. Maybe this play is a bad idea.”

For a moment, his composure falters before steely determination slides into place. “I don’t want to screw this opportunity for you, Cassie. If you want me to quit, I’ll quit. But if you’re only doing it to avoid dealing with me, that’s not going to work, because I came back to New York for
you
. The show was just a bonus.”

“Ethan…”

“I know I’ve been an idiot in the past, but this? Being with you again? It’s all I’ve wanted for so long I can’t even comprehend it not working.”

“But it’s not working. That’s the problem.”

“It will. I’m going to prove I’ve changed. Then you’re going to fall back in love with me, and we’ll get the happy ending we should have had the first time around.”

All of the air leaves my lungs. “That’s your plan? God, Ethan! What the hell?”

“Don’t do that,” he says, his expression dead serious. “Don’t second-guess us before we’ve even tried.”

“I’m not second-guessing. I’m saying what you’re hoping for is
impossible
. Why would you have such unrealistic expectations about us? After all this time?”

He sighs, and when he speaks again, his voice is softer but still firm. “You keep your expectations low if that’s what you need to do to protect yourself, but don’t tell me to lower mine. It’s not going to happen. If they’re too high, the only person who’s going to get hurt is me.”

“Ethan, no…”

He takes my hand and brushes his thumb across my skin. Such a sweet, simple gesture, but I feel it everywhere.

“Look, Cassie, I get it,” he says. “I understand how you’re feeling, because I used to feel it, too. It’s easier to expect nothing, because then nothing can be taken away from you. But it doesn’t work like that. I tried to convince myself I wanted nothing from you and ended up losing everything.”

He looks into my eyes, and I think Marco is right. As much as he broke my heart, I broke his as well.

“I don’t want
nothing
anymore. If you kick me from the play, I’ll understand, but I’m not going to let you shut me out of your life without a fight. Are we clear?”

I can see why Marco caved. His passion is very persuasive.

He wants to fight for us? That makes a nice change.

Six Years Earlier
Westchester, New York
Diary of Cassandra Taylor

Dear Diary,

It’s the morning after “O” day—a day that will forever linger in my memory with thigh-clenching fondness.

I can’t even put into words the feelings Holt brought out in me.

It can’t be natural for one man to be so infuriatingly sexy. Maybe he’s made a pact with the devil. See, that I could understand.

He’s sold his soul to Lucifer in return for sexual powers over frustrated virgins.

It would explain a lot.