TEN
A VERY BAD PLAN
Monday morning, I have a killer bruise on my hip and a slight limp, but other than that, I have no lasting damage from Saturday night. Well, apart from the memory of Liam’s erection pressing into my stomach.
“Morning, sweet friend,” Angel says, as she comes over and hugs me. “Present for you.” She lays a copy of Dancing for Dummies wrapped in a big red bow on the production desk.
I give her a deadpan look. “I hate you.”
“Impossible. I’m adorable.” She laughs and heads off to prepare for rehearsal.
Beside me, Josh sighs in frustration. “Screw her and her perfect sense of humor.” He points to his computer. “By the way, have you seen this?”
I lean down and examine the screen. It’s a gossip site, and they have dozens of pictures of all of us leaving the restaurant Saturday night. Of course, the main focus is the series of shots of Liam shoving people aside, his face contorted and angry. I roll my eyes at the headline—DOES THIS RAGEHEART STAR NEED ANGER MANAGEMENT?—and the accompanying article: “Tough guy Liam Quinn allegedly assaulted innocent bystanders while out and about with friends on Saturday night. At this stage, it’s not certain if charges will be brought.”
Just then Liam enters the room. When he sees me, he gives me a quick wave, then goes and sits down. He seems on edge as he pulls out his script and bends over it in concentration. When the camera crew comes over to film him, he shoos them away, then goes back to squinting at the page in front of him.
Huh. I’ve never seen him with his script before. He tugs on his hair in agitation, and I wonder if it’s because his picture is splashed all over the Internet. Or maybe he’s still embarrassed about our exchange at the door on Saturday night. Perhaps both?
When we start rehearsal, it becomes even clearer he’s distracted. Angel enters for their first exchange, and he messes up nearly every line. After a few failed attempts, he sighs in frustration. “Shit. Sorry, Marco.”
“It’s all right, Mr. Quinn,” Marco says. “Elissa, please remind Liam of his next speech.”
I read Petruchio’s lines from my script. “You lie, in faith for you are call’d plain Kate. And bonny Kate and sometimes Kate the curst. But Kate, the prettiest Kate in Christendom. Kate of Kate Hall, my super-dainty Kate. For dainties are all Kates—”
“Stop,” Liam says, and holds up his hand. “Just slow down for a second. What comes after, ‘And bonny Kate’?”
I reread the line. He shakes his head and sighs. “Again.”
I repeat it. He says it back.
When we restart the scene, he nails it, but everything grinds to a halt again after Angel gives him his next cue.
She walks over and cradles his face. “You okay? You look flushed.”
Liam’s takes her hands and squeezes them. “Just having a bad day, that’s all. I’ll be right back.”
He pulls away from her and takes off his mic pack. Then he points to the camera crew and says, “Stay,” before he strides out of the room.
Okay, what the hell is going on? I’ve never seen Liam so unprepared.
“Damage control, please, Elissa,” Marco whispers. “I’ll stay here and work with Angel. Find out what’s going on and fix it. The last thing we need right now is to fall behind schedule. Our backers are coming next week, and I want them to feel confident our stars are worth their exorbitant fees.”
“On it.” I head off to find Liam. I check the conference room first, but it’s empty. When I hear banging coming from the men’s bathroom, I open the door to find Liam standing over a destroyed trash can.
“So, did it attack you first and you were just acting in self-defense, or—”
“Sorry. I’ll replace it.”
“No need. That trash can’s an asshole. We’re all better o without it.”
He runs his hand through his hair. I can tell he’s trying to calm himself down, but right now, he looks as though he’d like nothing more than to beat the crap out of another inanimate object. Everything in his posture screams of tension and barely controlled aggression.
“Liam, what’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
“We both know that’s not true. You’re blowing lines right and left, and that’s not like you.”
He leans back against the wall and drops his head back. “I didn’t get as much time to prepare for this week’s rehearsals as I would have liked. I don’t know the lines.”
I step into the bathroom and close the door behind me. “Well, you should have said something. I’m sure Marco will let you hold your script.”
“I can’t use the script.” I don’t miss how his hands are curled into fists.
“Are you really that averse to using your glasses? It would only be for a few days.”
“No, Elissa. It’s not about glasses. I can’t—” He pushes away from the wall and shakes his head. “I can’t believe I have to tell you this.”
A shiver runs up my spine. “Liam, you’re . . . You don’t need glasses, do you?”
He pulls in a shaky breath. “I’m dyslexic. Severely. I can make out a few words here and there, but it takes forever. All the words swim and blur in front of my eyes.”
I take a moment to process it. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
“Like I wanted you to know I’m a dumb-ass.”
“Oh, please. You’re one of the most intelligent men I know.”
“And yet, I can’t read a menu at a restaurant without hurting my brain.” I can see how much he hates admitting it. “Outside of my family, only my agent and my assistant know. And now you.”
“Angel doesn’t know?” He shakes his head. “Liam, she’s going to be your wife. She loves you. Telling her isn’t going to change that.”
“She’ll treat me differently. Everyone who knows does. They don’t mean to, but they do.”
“I won’t.”
“You say that now, but give it time.”
“How have you managed to hide it all these years?”
“The glasses excuse is gold; usually, no one thinks to question it. When I first started acting, Mom would run lines with me. Or record them so I could learn them in my own time. When Anthony Kent signed me, I figured he should know. He immediately lined me up with David, my assistant. He’s been with me on all the movies.”
“How on earth do you learn a whole movie’s worth of words?”
“Easy. On a movie set, we only ever get a few pages of dialogue each day. But in theater . . .” He leans against the vanity. “You guys expected me to have the whole play learned by the time I got here. Do you know how many freaking lines Petruchio has? And Shakespeare isn’t exactly the easiest stuff to remember. I thought I was doing pretty well staying ahead of the schedule. Then on the weekend, David’s dad had a heart attack back in England.”
“Oh, no . . .”
“His dad survived, but he’s in the hospital. Of course, I put David on the first plane home. I’ve been trying to learn today’s scenes by myself, but . . .” He kicks the remnants of the trash can, which flies across the room and slams into the wall. “I have to reread everything five times, and even then, I don’t know if I have it right.”
“It’s okay. We’ll figure this out.”
He sighs. “You can’t tell anyone. Please.”
“Liam, having dyslexia is nothing to be ashamed of.”
He stares at a spot on the wall, and I hate how down on himself he seems. “You don’t understand what it’s like to not be able to do something most six-year-olds can. How stupid it makes me feel. This is why I took so long to try my hand at acting. I knew it would be a major obstacle.”
“Well, Tom Cruise has done okay over the years, and he’s hugely dyslexic.”
That gets me an eye roll. “Yeah, but he also believes people are inhabited by the souls of dead aliens. Please don’t hold him up as a role model.”
My mind races. In all my years of professional theater, I’ve never come up against something like this. Still, I’m all about finding solutions, so that’s what I’ll do.
“Okay, tell me how I can help you.”
He rubs his forehead. “I don’t know. Go over the lines with me, maybe. We’re only doing one page of that scene, and then we’re going to go over some scenes from last week. If I can make it through this morning I’ll be okay, for today at least.”
I look at my watch. “How long will it take you to learn the lines?”
“A whole page? Maybe fifteen minutes.”
“Be right back.”
I race to the rehearsal room and grab my script from the production desk. Josh is there making notes on the scene Marco is running with Angel.
“Hey, what’s up? Is Liam okay?”
“He just needs to run some lines. Tell Marco we’ll be back soon.”
I rush down the corridor to the men’s room and find Liam waiting.
“Okay,” I say. “Let’s do this.”
Exactly twelve minutes later, Liam and I walk back into the rehearsal room, and even though Marco raises an eyebrow at me, he doesn’t ask what’s going on.
I help Liam reattach his mic pack. Within seconds his camera crew is hovering.
Angel walks over and puts a hand on Liam’s arm. “Everything okay?”
He gives her a warm smile. “Fine. Not enough sleep. Just needed a little refresher on the lines.”
“That’s not like you.”
“I know. It’s fine. Elissa helped me out.”
“Okay, then,” Marco says, “let’s try it from the top of this scene.”
Liam shoots me a nervous look. I hope he can pull this off. He learned the lines in record time, but I worry about his retention. Twelve minutes to learn a page of Shakespearean prose is no easy task.
Marco calls for quiet, then says, “Begin when you’re ready.”
They start the scene, and I’m relieved to see it’s a huge improvement over their earlier attempt. Not only is Liam on point with his lines, but Angel’s time with Marco has also yielded results. She’s learning how to imbue Kate with enough vulnerability to match her bitterness, and the chemistry she and Liam create is palpable.
It’s the first meeting between Kate and Petruchio, and the way Marco has directed it makes all of the verbal barbs and insults seem like wordy foreplay.
“If I be waspish, best beware my sting,” Angel says, assessing Liam like he’s something to eat.
Liam moves toward her, slow and seductive. “My remedy is then to pluck it out.”
“Ay, if the fool could find it where it lies.” Angel’s voice becomes breathy.
“Who knows not where a wasp does wear his sting? In his tail.” He winds his arms around Angel and unapologetically strokes her butt.
Angel looks like she’s about to orgasm. “In his tongue.”
“Whose tongue?” The way he’s looking at her is making me hot. In my pants.
Angel looks like she’s feeling the same. “Yours, if you talk of tails. And so farewell.”
She attempts to break away, but Liam traps her hands behind her back. Angel lets out a quiet moan.
Liam smiles at how he affects her. “What, with my tongue in your tail? Nay, come again, Good Kate. I am a gentleman.”
My tongue in your tail? My God, Shakespeare was a perv.
Liam leans down and holds his mouth just above Angel’s. Everyone in the room holds their breath.
Angel battles with her composure for a few more seconds before she stands on her toes to kiss him. Liam moans and releases her hands as he kisses her back.
My face flames when they move against each other, kissing and grasping. My feelings vacillate between extreme arousal and violent jealousy. It’s not pleasant.
Then Angel breaks away and slaps Liam, hard. “That I’ll try.”
He smiles in triumph. She goes to hit him again but he grabs her arms roughly. “I swear I’ll cuff you, if you strike again.” His tone is dark but promises more pleasure than pain. Angel looks even more turned on than he does.
“Yes, good, Liam,” Marco says beside me. “Now, cross downstage left, and take her with you. Don’t be gentle. Remember, the more forceful you are with her, the more it arouses her. She likes to be dominated.”
Liam glances at me, and I avert my gaze to my script. I take in a shaky breath and write down the stage directions.
When Liam ends the scene by throwing Angel over his shoulder and soundly smacking her butt, Marco says, “Okay, stop there. Excellent work! That’s coming along nicely. This scene needs just the right balance of lust and violence to set up the first BDSM interpretation this show has ever received. I can’t believe no one has ever explored the possibility that the reason Kate provokes Petruchio so much is that she’s desperate for a good spanking. Or that Petruchio morphs from a jovial hood into an alpha male because he’s at last met someone who wants to be dominated by him. It seems so obvious.”
Now I really need to fan myself.
I’m concerned that Liam playing a dom may make my body spontaneously combust.
The camera crews have left, and the cast is packing up at the end of the day when I notice Liam throwing me nervous glances. Angel is chatting to Marco about her costumes, so when Liam gives me a pointed look before he heads out the door, I wait a minute, then follow.
On a hunch, I find him in the conference room.
“Thanks for saving my ass today,” he whispers. “I never want to be in that situation again.”
“Ditto. Although I can’t take the credit for anything. You’re the one with the super-fast memorization skills.”
“Yeah, well, that happens when scripts are useless.” He looks at the door, then down to his hands. “Listen, I know it’s a lot to ask, but could you . . . I mean, could I ask you to help me learn my scenes, just until David gets back?”
“I . . .” A big part of me is dying to say yes, because it means I’d get to spend more time with him, but the logical part knows spending more time with him is the worst idea ever. “Liam . . . I just—”
“Look, I know you have a lot on your plate, but I don’t trust anyone else. You’d just need to run lines with me for an hour or so each night until I get the scenes down for the next day. David should be back by next week. Please. I can’t do this without you.”
“Where would we go?”
“My apartment is right around the corner.”
“Won’t Angel get wise that something’s up if we’re running lines in front of her?”
He blinks a few times. “Uh . . . well, we aren’t sharing an apartment while we’re in New York. She has her own place.”
I frown. “Isn’t that weird? You guys are engaged. I kind of thought living together came with the territory.”
“Not for us,” he says. “Working and living together is stressful. Plus, she drives me insane with her messiness, and she hates my compulsive cleaning. It’s just easier if we have our own space. She’s just one floor down, though, so we’re still close.”
From all my cyber-stalking, I thought I knew the ins and outs of their relationship, but apparently not.
“Do you not hang out after rehearsals?”
“Sometimes, but most nights she locks herself away to work on her lines. Another reason I don’t want her involved in this. She has enough pressure without me adding to it.”
“Okay, fine. Your place. I’ll get there as soon as I can after I finish up here.”
“Great,” he says, and gives me a knee-buckling smile. “You’re amazing. Thank you.”
“Liam?” Angel calls. “Where are you?”
Liam pushes me behind the door and holds a finger to my lips. When the door swings open, he catches it right before it smashes into my nose.
“Hey,” he says to Angel.
“What are you doing?”
“Just grabbing some water for the ride home. Ready to go?”
“God, yes. There’s a bottle of low-carb wine at home with my name on it. Want to come over for a drink?”
“Ah, not tonight. I have to learn some lines.”
“Me, too. It’s never-ending. My brain hurts.”
“So just a small ache, then?”
She groans. “You’re not funny.”
“Yeah, I am.”
After they leave, I head back into the rehearsal room and clean the production desk in a semi-haze.
I’m finishing up when Josh and Denise come over. “Drinks at Lacey’s?” Josh asks.
Denise immediately says, “Hell, yes!”
“Can’t,” I say. “Got stuff to do.”
“What stuff?” Josh asks.
I hate not telling him, but I know I can’t. “Just work stuff, but it has to be done before tomorrow. I’ll see you at home later, okay? You guys go and have a good time.”
Josh hugs me good-bye, but I can feel he’s suspicious.
After he and Denise have left, I take some deep breaths and tell myself it’s possible to be alone with Liam and not let him know how hung up on him I still am. Power of positive thinking and all that.
When I finish the tenth affirmation and still don’t feel prepared, I mutter, “Screw it,” and head to the exit.
Liam opens the door shirtless.
I nearly pass out.
“Hey,” he says, out of breath. “You got here fast. I was trying to get in a quick workout.”
I’m gaping at the thin sheen of sweat making all of his muscles glisten when he selfishly puts on a T-shirt. I inwardly curse that I didn’t even get to examine his new ink.
I shake my head to clear it. “So, let me get this straight. You rehearse for eight hours, then have the energy for a workout? You’re such a freak.”
He checks the fitness tracker on his wrist. “You say the nicest things. Did it occur to you that the reason I have the energy to rehearse for eight hours is because I work out?”
“I’m going to have to take your word for that.”
“Still not a fan of exercise, I take it.”
I whisper, “Not a lot of people know this, but I’m in the fitness protection program.”
He tries not to smile. “Is that right?”
“Yep. Every new year I’m hunted by gym memberships, but they haven’t found me yet.”
He laughs, and man, I love that sound. “Wow. Badass.”
“I know, right?” I look down the hallway. “So, are we planning to rehearse out here? Or are you going to invite me in?”
“Oh, shit. Of course.” He holds the door open for me. “Come in.”
I walk past him, making sure to stay as far away from his rippling body as possible. The T-shirt and workout shorts are really doing nothing to hide his hotness.
When I see the full extent of his apartment, it hits me just how far he’s come from the man I knew six years ago. A far cry from his old Broadway apartment, it’s a penthouse in one of the new kazillion-dollar complexes that are springing up more and more in the theater district. Everything is sleek and glass—high-tech and luxe beyond what most normal people could comprehend. Of course, it’s spotless. There’s not one fingerprint on the high-gloss kitchen cabinets. Impressive.
“Wow,” I say. “You own this?”
He shrugs. “I was told it was a good investment, but I’m hardly ever here.”
I can feel him watching me as I take in the open space and million-dollar views. It’s weird how awkward I feel in this environment. It’s hard to process this version of him. The millionaire. The movie star. Yet in a lot of ways, he still feels exactly like he used to, just with more money and nicer stuff.
“I don’t think I’d know what to do with myself in a place this pretty,” I say. “I’m used to noisy radiators, mismatched dishes, and nonexistent water pressure. I’ll bet this palace has none of those things.”
“Not true,” he says, and pulls open one of the kitchen cabinets. “Observe.”
There are four plates in the cupboard, and two of them have cartoon characters on them.
I smile. “You eat off Captain America plates?”
“Not anymore. But these guys are hangovers from my old place. Back then, I only had two plates, and two glasses that used to be jam jars.”
“I remember those. You served me milk in one the night we met.”
He smiles and rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, and because I was trying to impress you, I gave you the one without the chip in it. Plus I would never have forgiven myself if you’d cut your lips.”
I remember how he kept staring at my lips that night. It’s similar to how he’s staring at them now.
He blinks, then takes a breath and closes the cabinet. “Anyway, can I get you something to drink?” He walks over to the gleaming fridge. “I promise, I have proper glasses these days.”
“Please tell me you have alcohol.”
“One thing I definitely have is alcohol.” He opens the door to reveal shelf upon shelf of fresh food, as well as a plethora of wine and boutique beer. And cheese. Lots and lots of cheese.
“Did you stock up for me?” I ask, and point to the cheese. “Or do you usually have a fridgeful of potential mouthgasms?”
He smiles. “The cheese cabinet at a deli would be like a porn shop to you, right?”
“Pretty much.”
He grabs a wheel of something covered in wax and expensive-looking and slides it across the island to me. “As much as I’d like to say I stocked up for you, I didn’t. The irony of being so rich you can afford anything is that people insist on giving you free stuff. When you’re broke, people wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire, but rich and famous? ‘Here: Take everything!’ ”
I grab the cheese and bring it up to my nose. “Oh my God. Italian. Aged. Smells amazing.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Would you like to be alone with it?”
I put the cheese on the counter and stroke it, lovingly. “No. As much as I want him, he isn’t mine. I’ll just pine for him from afar.” Funny how that seems to be a recurring theme in my life.
Liam grabs a carry bag from the cupboard. “Unacceptable. True love should never be denied.” He places the cheese inside, then holds it out to me. “I hope you two are very happy together.”
I put my hand over my heart. “Wow, this is a defining moment in our relationship. Only a true friend would give me cheese.”
When I take the bag from him, our fingers brush. In that second, all the buoyancy in the air turns to lead. We lock eyes, and for a few hideous moments, I think I’m going to launch myself at him.
He breaks eye contact and clears his throat. “So, beer?”
“God, yes.”
He heads back to the fridge to retrieve two beers, then pops the caps before holding one out to me. “Try this. It’s my favorite.”
I take a mouthful and swallow. “Wow. Expensive beer actually tastes like it’s been fermented with money. That’s delicious.”
“Glad you like it.” He walks over to the couch and invites me to take a seat next to him. I drop my bag on the floor and sink into the soft leather.
Oh, God. I’m never getting up. This is amazing. It’s like being hugged by a leather jacket.
I sit back and close my eyes. It’s possible I moan.
When I feel heat on my face, I turn to see Liam staring at me, eyes hooded and dark. “Comfortable?”
“Very.” I shouldn’t like his eyes on me as much as I do. It’s wrong. And stupid.
“Good. I want you to feel at home here.”
I’m tempted to say I feel at home wherever he is, but even for me, that’s too cheesy. Still, that doesn’t make it not true.
“Was it strange?” I ask. “Getting used to all this?”
He looks around. “This apartment?”
“This life. The money. Fame.”
He looks down at his beer. “What makes you think I’m used to any of it? Every paparazzo on the West Coast will tell you how well I don’t deal with it. Hell, you saw it firsthand the other night. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to being treated like a commodity instead of a person.”
“I guess to Hollywood, it makes sense to treat you like a commodity. I mean, think about it like this—if Hollywood is an Italian restaurant, then you’re Parmigiano Reggiano and Angel is black truffle.”
“Wait, why does Angel get to be one of the most expensive foods ever, and I’m stinky cheese?”
I smack his arm. “Who the hell are you calling stinky, buddy? I’m talking about one of the most delicious and exclusive cheeses in the world.”
He thinks for a moment. “You’re right. I apologize. Knowing how much you love cheese, I should have realized that’s the highest compliment you could have paid me. My ego is satisfied. Continue.”
I smile, happy to see that his adorable arrogance is still intact. “Okay, so, the chef knows that if he uses the cheese and truffles, everyone is going to love that dish before they’ve even tasted it. It’s a surefire hit. Same with you and Angel. Put you two in a movie together, and even if the rest of the ingredients are crappy, you’ll make it a hit.”
He takes a sip of beer. “Okay, I see your point, but I still think it’s unfair to stalk and harass truffle and Parmesan until they have zero life. It’s bad enough that they can’t go anywhere, but it’s even worse that no one seems to want one without the other. I mean, what if the cheese just wants to be in a dish by himself? Are you telling me that dish will only be half as good without the truffle?”
“Not at all. But do the math. Parmesan has passionate fans. Truffle has passionate fans. Put them together and twice as many people are going to order the dish.”
He frowns. “I think you’re talking about ticket sales now, but this metaphor is making me so hungry, I’m having trouble concentrating. You want some food?”
“Uh . . .” Before I can refuse, he’s up and striding into the kitchen.
“I don’t have truffles, but I’m sure I can whip up some decent pasta.” He pulls open the fridge and starts placing ingredients on the bench. “Hey, look at that.” He holds up a wedge of cheese. “Parmigiano Reggiano.”
He gives me a smile, and for a single glorious second, I pretend that we’re in a different reality, one where he’s allowed to smile at me like that, and I’m allowed to get butterflies in my tummy because he’s so damn beautiful.
“Liss?”
I blink at him. “Hmmm?”
He gets out a cutting board and grabs a knife. “Come and sit by me while I cook. You’re too far away.”
I push up off of the sofa and sit on one of the stools at the island. He quickly puts on a pot of water before dicing an onion and some garlic and throwing them into a sizzling fry pan. Then he chops some bacon and throws it in as well. A blast of mouthwatering aroma hits me.
“God, that smells good.”
He flashes me a smile and keeps going. He looks so sure of himself in the kitchen, it’s just adding to my attraction to him—the last thing I need.
“Your mom teach you how to cook?” I ask.
He nods. “She started teaching me and my brother when we were little. The first thing we learned was scrambled eggs. Mom showed us how to gently crack the eggs, but Jamie and I were only about five so we didn’t know the meaning of the word ‘gentle.’ ” He laughs and shakes his head. “There was so much eggshell in that first batch, it was crunchy as hell. But Mom smiled and ate it anyway. Said it was the best eggs she ever had.”
For a moment, sadness crosses his features. Then, it’s gone, and he puts some diced tomatoes into the fry pan before adding all sorts of herbs. “What about you? Do you cook?”
I nod. “My mom passed along her love for cooking to Ethan and me. From the age of ten, we each had to cook one family meal a week. Of course, the first thing I learned to make was mac and cheese.”
He looks up from the fry pan. “Of course. Not normal cheese, though, right?”
I scoff. “As if. My first attempt included Castello White and buffalo mozzarella. It was heaven, even if I do say so myself.”
“I love mac and cheese. Promise you’ll make it for me one night?”
I want to remind him that making each other dinner is stepping over all sorts of lines, but his face is so hopeful, I knock it back to a simple “Maybe.”
He throws some pasta into the boiling pot along with a decent pinch of salt. “Angel can’t cook at all. She loves gourmet food, but has no idea how it’s made. I guess that’s what happens when you grow up in a house with a nanny, a chef, and a housekeeper.”
At Angel’s name, I tense up. With everything falling back into such a comfortable routine with Liam, it’s easy to forget we now live in completely different worlds.
If he notices, it doesn’t show. He nods toward the cheese on the bench. “Want to grate some of that for me? Grater’s in the drawer, bowl is in the cabinet behind me.”
I hop up and do as I’m asked. When I’ve grated a decent amount, I place it next to him and glance over his shoulder into the simmering pan. “The sauce looks amazing.”
He stirs it once more before scooping up a little with the wooden spoon and blowing on it. “Here. Taste.” He holds his hand under it and moves it toward my mouth. Without even thinking about the intimacy of the action, I close my mouth around the spoon. I immediately freeze, and when I look up, Liam’s staring.
I lick my lips and swallow, feeling more than a little self-conscious. “Delicious.”
His gaze travels up to my eyes and then back down to my mouth. “Uh-huh. Is there . . . uh . . . enough salt?”
“Yep. Perfect.” After a couple more seconds of pinning me in place with his gaze, he turns back to the sauce. I sigh in relief and head back to the safety zone on the other side of the island. My entire body is buzzing. I wonder if he affects all women the same way. Does Angel feel like this? Like he’s a bolt of lightning in human form, charging the air around him?
I sip my beer, and we lapse into silence as he finishes the dish. When he places a steaming bowl in front of me, topped with a generous serving of Parmesan, my mouth waters like crazy.
“Thank you.”
“As usual with you, Elissa Holt,” he says with a mischievous smile, “the pleasure is all mine. Bon appetit.”
He sits next to me as we eat. It’s both comfortable and tense, and I’m realizing that’s kind of normal for us.
“So,” I say. “You seeing your mom and dad while you’re in town?”
He shakes his head. “I bought them a round-the-world trip ages ago, and didn’t realize it coincided with my stay. They’re traveling for the next two months. Hopefully I’ll get to see them before I head back to L.A. If the show lasts that long.”
I finish my last bite and wipe my mouth with a napkin. “Oh, it’ll last. Don’t worry. Parmesan and truffle onstage every night? Audiences will eat it up.”
He laughs, then takes our empty bowls over to the sink. “Well, that’s encouraging.” He grabs two more beers out of the fridge and passes me one. When we head back over to the couch, I wince as I sit.
He looks at me with concern. “Hip still sore?”
“Only a little. My bruise, however, could win awards. It’s kind of cool, in a gross, blood-filled way.”
He lays his arm along the back of the couch. “Can I see?”
“My bruise?”
He nods. “Purely for medical purposes. Sometimes a severe contusion can cause vascular issues. Better let me run my expert eyes over it, just to be sure.”
I blink. “Are you serious?”
“As a heart attack. Come here.”
He puts his beer down on the coffee table as I push up out of the couch. When I stand in front of him, he lifts up my T-shirt and examines the dark purple crescent that peeks over the edge of my low-rise jeans.
He looks up at me, and just having him this close makes me dizzy. “Can I see the rest?” His voice is dark, and way too sexy.
“Do you really need to?” I know my limits, and every one of them is fast approaching.
“I’d like to. Just to check it. I still feel responsible for you getting hurt.”
I bite the inside of my cheek as I release the button on my jeans and pull down the zipper. Everything feels very heavy. Liam is watching my hands, and I focus on his lashes as he blinks slowly.
I push the side of my jeans down, revealing the full extent of the bruise, along with the strap of my black thong.
Liam exhales and just stares for a few seconds. I see his Adam’s apple bob twice before he speaks. “Well, yeah. Medically speaking, that’s one hell of a bruise.”
The skin is dark purple with angry yellow highlights over my hip bone. He grazes his fingers over it, and I have to close my eyes and clench my teeth to stop myself from making a very aroused sound.
“It’s warm. Does the joint hurt?”
Nothing hurts right now. “No. Just my thigh muscle.”
“Uh-huh.” I open my eyes. He moves his thumb down to the top of my thigh. “Here?”
He presses gently, and I suck in a breath. “Yes.” The pain isn’t severe, but coupled with how light-headed he’s making me, I have to put my hands on his shoulders to keep my balance.
He grips my hips to help steady me. “Sorry. You okay?”
“Yeah. Fine.”
Except I’m not fine. He’s looking up at me with a sense of need that threatens to ruin me, and his hands are warm and firm, and I want to feel more of them. I want him to push my jeans down and rip off my panties, and put that magic mouth of his right where I’m aching most. I want him to realize he made a mistake by leaving me, and dump his amazing fiancée, and break his fans’ hearts just to satisfy my selfish craving. And I hate myself for wanting all of those things because any one of them would hurt a lot of people, and part of me is absolutely okay with that.
“Liss.” He’s gazing at me, eyes blazing, jaw tight. I become aware of his hands, gripping and releasing my hips in an erratic rhythm. Everywhere he’s touching me sparks and warms. “You can’t look at me like that and expect me to respect our friends pact. You really can’t.”
My breath catches. “How am I looking at you?”
“Like you want to straddle my face.” My fingers dig into his shoulders, and he hisses. “You need to stop, or I swear to God, I’m about three seconds away from making it happen.” He squeezes his eyes shut. “I vowed I’d keep my cool around you, but every time you’re close, that becomes more and more impossible.”
Without thinking, I stroke the hair away from his face. “Liam . . .”
He sighs and leans into my touch. “You can’t say my name like that.” He drops his head. “Seriously. I’m hanging on by a thread here.” My stomach flips when he pulls me forward between his legs so that his forehead is resting on my stomach. His warm breath makes me shiver, and when he wraps his arms around me, I can’t stop myself from hugging him back.
“I’ve missed you, Liss. It hurt not seeing you for all of those years, but this? You being right here and me not being able to have you? Hurts so much more.”
He pushes his hands under my T-shirt and grips my back, fingers splayed. Like he’s sure I’ll disappear if he’s not touching my skin.
I try to enjoy the moment, but I get a flash of what would happen if Angel walked through the door right now. How she would feel seeing me, jeans hanging open, Liam clutching me and breathing heavily against my skin.
It would devastate her.
As much as I acknowledge my own selfishness, I also know I could never hurt her like that.
I put my hands on his shoulders and push him back. “Liam—”
“I know.” He falls against the couch and pushes the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I know I have to resist, but whenever you’re near I just . . . can’t think straight.”
I exhale and refasten my jeans. “I’m to blame, too. Clearly, there’s still an attraction between us, and hugging isn’t the best way to deal with that.”
“It’s not the hugging,” he says. “It’s just being together. It’s always been this way. Look.”
He leans forward and takes my hand. I’m about to tell him to stop when he slowly pushes his fingers between mine. Skin slides against skin, soft and sensitive.
Ohhhhh, God.
Such a simple, innocent gesture, but I feel it everywhere.
“See? I can’t even hold your hand.” He gently pulls his fingers back, then pushes them in again. My eyelids flutter as I try to keep breathing.
He keeps staring into my eyes, and I have no choice but to stare back. He continues to caress my fingers, but doesn’t touch me anywhere else. He doesn’t have to. I feel it so strongly in every part of my body, he might as well be grazing my breasts, or my thighs, or have his hand in my pants.
Judging from how dilated his pupils are, he’s just as turned on as I am.
“See? This is the problem.” His voice is low and husky. “I’ve spent years trying to block out how you look. And sound. And feel. And before this show, I’d gotten pretty good at it. But now, here you are, in front of me every day, and it blows my mind that a single touch from you still has the power to ruin me. And whenever it happens, I forget about the choices I’ve made, and the circus my life’s become, and I want you. Consequences be damned.”
“Liam, you’re engaged. To an amazing woman.”
“I know.” He looks down at our hands for a few seconds, then shakes his head. “Believe me, I know.” He brushes his thumb across the back of my hand. “And dragging you into the shitstorm of my life wouldn’t be fair, to you or to Angel. I knew what I’d be sacrificing when I made a commitment to her, and I refuse to be one of those assholes who thinks he can have it all, because I know very well I can’t.”
So there it is. He didn’t come out and say, “No matter how much I feel for you, I’m still going to marry Angel,” but that’s what I heard.
After a few more seconds, he slowly pulls his fingers free from mine and lets out a ragged breath. “So, yeah. I can’t touch you. I have to think of you as my friend, and nothing more.”
I put my hands on my hips and exhale. “Maybe being alone together is a bad idea.”
“No, we can do this. Please.” He goes to take my hand again, but catches himself. “I need you—as my stage manager, if nothing else. But, if you could also find a way to stop being so insanely attractive, I’d appreciate it.”
I almost laugh. “Uh-huh. I’ll get right on that.”
His expression turns serious. “Don’t do that.”
“What?”
“Act like I’m saying that out of obligation or pity. I’m not.”
“Well, Liam, come on. Look who you’re engaged to and then look at me. There’s no comparison.”
He stands and looks down at me, and his athletic shorts aren’t doing a thing to disguise how aroused he is right now. “You’re right. And if you had any clue of what you do to me—what you’ve always done to me—you’d know that.”
I can’t help but glance down. “Well, I guess even if I doubted you, I can’t doubt him.”
He looks down, then rubs his forehead and sighs. “Okay, so, standing up wasn’t a great idea. Just ignore it. It’ll go away eventually.”
“Uh-huh.”
He sits on the couch, and I sit next to him.
“Okay, then,” I say, in my most authoritative voice. “Here’s how it’s going to work: We’re going to run lines and discuss the show when necessary. There will be no touching. No reminiscing. No unprofessional behavior of any kind. If either of us fails to adhere to these rules, this arrangement is terminated and I’ll find someone else to run your lines. Agreed?”
“Agreed.” He stares at me for a few seconds, then grabs his beer and takes a long drink. When he turns back to me, he’s frowning. “I’m tempted to tell you how incredibly hot I found that entire rant, but that would be highly unprofessional, so I’ll keep it to myself.”
A nervous laugh bursts out of me. “Liam?”
“Yeah?”
“Just for the record, I’ve missed you, too.” Way more than you’ll ever know.
He gives me a warm smile. “Thank you, Liss.”
I open my script, and don’t bother reminding him I’ve requested he call me Elissa. Liss is the girl who still goes weak at the knees for him, and right now, I need to be slick, professional Elissa more than ever.
For the next hour and a half we run lines. No personal anecdotes. No lingering gazes. Just business.
When he seems satisfied and comfortable, I bid him a quick good night and head to the subway station. I’d congratulate myself on my self-control if I didn’t still feel a little high from having had his hands on me.