SEVEN
POINT OF NO RETURN
Present Day
New York City
Graumann Theater Rehearsal Room
Day four of rehearsals
I’m biting my fingernails. I’ve pretty much destroyed all of them and have moved on to the rough skin of my cuticles. It doesn’t help with my nerves, but it stops me from pacing.
Marco is talking to Holt. Taking him through the scene.
My stomach lurches with a combination of nausea and irrational anticipation. It makes me want to barf up my lunch.
Marco talks quietly, but I can hear every word.
“Sarah is here to confront you about why you’re pushing her away. Her mother has revealed she’s not the small-town girl you thought she was, and in the process, it’s made you feel like you’ll never be good enough for her. Deep down you’ve always believed this was too good to be true, and now all your doubts have been confirmed.”
Ethan nods as he frowns in concentration. His arms are crossed over his chest. Defensive stance.
He glances at me, then back to Marco, his face stone.
I’ve run out of cuticles. I need a cigarette, but I have no time.
“I want to feel that you think she’s better off without you, but it’s killing you. Understand?”
He nods and his leg judders.
He’s nervous.
Good.
“Cassie?”
My turn.
Marco comes over and puts his arm around me. “You’re confused by Sam’s behavior. You love him, and you don’t care how different your backgrounds are. He seems to have given up, but you want him to fight. Yes?”
I nod. It makes me dizzy. I want to sit down.
“This is where we feel your desperation. You haven’t seen him for days. All you want is for him to stay, okay?”
“Yeah. Sure.”
I sound more sure than I feel. He trusts me to do my job. I don’t want to let him down.
“Take a few minutes to prepare, then we’ll take it from Sarah’s entrance.”
Prepare? How the hell do I prepare for this? To feel these incredibly personal, relevant things? To kiss him?
I pace. I want to find my character, because she’s the insulation between fantasy and reality. But all I find is me. My hurt. My confusion.
I close my eyes and breathe. Long, measured breaths in through my nose, out through my mouth. I try to imagine a white sheet on a clothesline, blowing in the breeze. It’s my focus.
Today I can’t get it. The image is blurry and inconstant, like a TV channel I can’t tune.
My eyes are still closed when I hear footsteps. Then heat is in front of me, and I know he’s staring.
“What?” I ask, eyes still closed. I try to hold on to my focus. It shimmers like a mirage.
“Do you want to talk about anything?”
“Actually, yes. I have this weird burning sensation whenever I pee. What does it mean?”
I keep my breathing steady.
He sighs. “I meant about the scene.”
“I know what you meant.”
“Of course you did.”
“Let’s just get it over with and see what happens.” If I run screaming from the room, then I’ll deal with it.
“Are you sure about that?”
I’ve never been less sure of anything in my life.
I open my eyes. “Fine. What do you want to say?”
He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Where do I fucking start?”
I wait. I know he’s thinking, because he looks like he’s in pain. Some things never change.
“Cassie, don’t you think it’s insane that we haven’t spoken about any of the crap that’s gone down between us, and in just a few minutes I’m going to be kissing you?”
“No, you’re not,” I say.
“Yes, I am. It’s in the script.”
“What I mean, dumbass, is that Sam is going to be kissing Sarah. You and I will be elsewhere, right?”
He takes a step forward, and I resist retreating. I don’t do that anymore.
His body heat burns through my clothes. As much as I don’t want to look into his eyes, he doesn’t give me much choice.
“We both know it doesn’t work like that,” he says so softly only I can hear. “As much as we want it to be the character’s emotions, it’s still going to be my arms around you, and my mouth on yours. Now, I feel pretty weird about that considering all our baggage could fill a goddamn department store, but since you seem cool not discussing anything, let’s crack this fucking thing open and see what falls out.”
His ability to make me viciously angry within thirty seconds is remarkable. He wants to talk now because it suits him?
The only thing worse than his ability to make relationship decisions is his sense of timing.
“You had three years to talk,” I say. “But the only time you’d contact me was when you were drunk and unintelligible.”
“That’s not true. The e-mails—”
“Were full of mind games and pathetic attempts to get me to chase you … again. They were vague and self-pitying, and not once did you apologize, you arrogant bastard.”
“Is everything all right?” Marco calls to us. We plaster fake smiles on our faces and nod.
“We’re fine,” Holt says, voice tight. “Just workshopping some ideas.”
“Excellent. Let’s get started, then.”
Holt turns back to me, but I’m done with this conversation.
“Let’s just get it done,” I say, not in the mood to be in the same room with him, let alone play a love scene. “Grab your script, and let’s go.”
He laughs, but the sound is hollow. “I don’t need a script for this scene.”
“No, I don’t suppose you do.”
We take our starting positions on opposite sides of the space.
Marco claps his hands to silence the room. “Okay, when you’re ready, Cassie.”
I enter the space, more angry than I should be at this point in the play, but fuck it. I’ll take the anger and make it work.
We play the scene, strong words and bitter emotions parrying between us. I circle him. He keeps his distance. Hurt and evasive.
He’s nailing it.
“Do you honestly think we stand a chance?” he asks. I can feel his intensity from across the room. “We don’t. You know it. I know it. Your country club bitch of a mother knows it, and she’s the only one with enough guts to say it out loud. Stop fighting the inevitable. The inevitable always wins.”
My voice is small but simmering. Anger floods me. He’s wrong. As usual.
I crawl into Sarah’s skin and make her reactions mine. “When did you become such a coward?”
“About the same time I found out I knew nothing about you.”
“You do know me! You know the only things that are important.”
“Bullshit! I knew the person you were pretending to be, and lady, you’re one hell of an actress. You had me completely fooled.”
The room is humming with tension. He’s looking for an out. I’m not going to give it to him.
I step closer. “Sam, I know you love me. I know it like I know the sky’s blue and the world’s round. If you leave now, you’ll wake up in five years and wonder what the hell you’ve done, because people search their whole lives to find what we’ve got, and you’re throwing it away. Don’t you see that?”
My anger is filling the air, making it thick and hard to breathe.
He can’t even look at me. A wounded animal about to go to ground.
“I can’t be your project, Sarah. I’m not something you can fix.” He turns to leave.
“Wait!” The torment in my voice stops him. “You were never a project to me. And you’re not leaving until you tell me you don’t love me.”
His shoulders slump, and he mutters a curse word.
“Say it!”
He turns. His expression is full of conflict. Brimming with pain.
“If you want to ruin us,” I say, my voice tremulous, “then at least do the job right.”
He’s struggling, but I won’t back down. “Say it.”
He takes a breath. “I don’t love you.”
I can practically hear his heart cracking through the pain in his voice.
I order him to say it again. He does, but quieter. I’m breaking him, so he can’t walk away. He has to stay and be broken with me.
I tell him to say it one more time, and he can barely breathe with the effort. “I … don’t … love you.”
His attention is focused on the floor. Shattered.
“Do you believe it yet?” I ask.
When he looks at me with eyes full of agony and saltwater, I feel like I’m drowning.
“No,” he says, and before I have time to think, or prepare, or run, he’s striding toward me, and his hands are on my face. His touch makes me gasp. As the air rushes into my lungs, he covers my mouth with his.
Everything explodes. My body and mind seize. Senses overload, and three years disappear in a blinding millisecond.
His lips are just as I remember. Warm and soft. Delicious beyond words. He inhales sharply, and his hands tighten, one on my cheek, the other at the back of my neck. He makes a small sound in his throat, and heats flood me. My body is against his, and my hands are in his hair, and every single reason I should stay away melts as our mouths open to each other.
It’s rough and desperate and full of passion I don’t want to feel. But this … this is where all the best memories of him live.
This is what we should have been. Always. Mouths and hands on each other, breathing each other’s air. Reveling in our soul-deep connection, not running from it.
His hands trail over a trembling body that hasn’t felt this fire for far too long.
This is why I haven’t had a long-term relationship for the past three years. It’s why I sleep with men once and never call them again. Because they don’t feel like this.
I desperately want someone else to ruin me the way he does, but they don’t even come close. This is the first time I’ve truly felt aroused since he left, and I hate myself for it.
I pull my mouth free and manage to gasp, “Ethan,” before he mumbles, “God … Cassie,” and kisses me again.
My body can’t get enough of him, even if my brain knows it’s wrong. Every part of me craves him.
The noises he’s making are plaintive and desperate. Hands pull me closer. Arms wrap around.
I can’t believe that in the world of wrong we’ve created together, this can still feel so right.
“Okay, that’s enough,” Marco says before clearing his throat. “Let’s stop there before we need to get you two a room. Good job. Excellent chemistry.”
The spell is broken, and as I pull back, Holt’s eyes snap open. “Cassie…”
I push him away. He can’t kiss me like that and say my name with that tone, and completely own me without my fucking permission. He steps forward, but I can’t cope anymore. Before he can touch me again, I slap him.
He steps back, his expression so confused that for few seconds, I feel bad for doing it.
I shouldn’t. This is his fault. He knows what sort of power he has over me. He counted on it, and he exploited it. Now my body is pounding and aching. Needing him in ways I can’t deal with.
I hate that he can still make me feel like this. That with one kiss, he can demolish every single defense mechanism I’ve ever had against him.
I hate him for doing it, but I hate myself more for wanting him to do it again.
Six Years Earlier
Westchester, New York
The Diary of Cassandra Taylor
Dear Diary,
After all the crap he’s put me through in the past two weeks, Holt admitted he was attracted to me.
Well, he said reading my diary made him hard, which I guess is the same thing.
Why do I even care? He’s a rude, egotistical, apology-phobic ass, and nothing good would ever come of us hooking up. Except maybe some mind-blowing sex.
Oh, the sex. I can just imagine.
I can’t deny it anymore. I want him, even though he drives me insane.
And now that I’ve admitted that to myself (and to you, dear diary), I’m absolutely terrified he’s going to read this, because according to him, it’s inevitable. As soon as I write down something highly mortifying, the universe is going to find a way to let him see it.
Well, in that case: Hey, Holt! Yeah, you diary-reading jerk! I want to grope you. Wanna have angry sex and blow my horny, virginal mind?
I drop my pen and rip the page out of my diary before scrunching it up and throwing it at the trash can. It bounces off the edge and joins the other seven balled-up pieces of paper littering the floor.
“Fudging corksucker!” I launch my diary across the room, and it hits the door with a loud thud. I flop back onto my bed and throw my arm over my eyes.
It’s no use. I can’t write in my diary anymore. He’s ruined the ritual of it, because I can’t get past the terror that he’ll read it again. The one thing that helped me make sense of my ridiculous feelings for him is now unavailable, and that sucks beyond all words.
“Cassie?” There’s a knock at the door, and Ruby’s head appears. “You okay?”
“No,” I say before rubbing my face and sighing.
“Holt?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“He’s playing Romeo. I’m Juliet. We got into a fight.”
“About the diary?”
“Among other things.”
“Still no apology?”
“Of course not. Plus, he practically demanded I give him a hand job.”
“That’s not cool. He should have at least said ‘please.’” She walks over and sits on the edge of the bed. “You know he likes you, right?”
“I don’t care.”
“Yes, you do. You like him back.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Sometimes liking someone has nothing to do with what you want and everything to do with what you need.”
“Ruby, he’s a dick.”
“You’re passionate about him.”
“We’d be terrible together.”
“Or wonderful.”
I exhale and sit up. “So what are you saying?”
“I’m saying you should make a move.”
I rub my eyes. “God, Ruby, no. We just don’t mesh. It’s like we’re oil and vinegar. No matter how much we shake each other up, we’re never going to blend.”
“Cassie,” she says, giving me her best heed-the-pearls-of-wisdom-I’m-about-to-impart expression, “you forget that even though oil and vinegar don’t blend, they still make delicious salad dressing.”
I narrow my eyes. “Okay, that makes zero sense.”
She sighs. “I know. I’m sorry. I had nothing. Still, salad dressing is delicious. My point is this: You should fuck Holt. It’d be yummy.”
I look at her in shock. “What?! I should … what? I mean … I can’t even comprehend—”
“Don’t you dare tell me you’ve never thought about jumping that boy’s bones, because I know you have.”
I slump and pout. “Okay, fine, I’ve thought about it. Doesn’t mean I’d actually do it.”
“Need I remind you that you dry-humped him shamelessly when you were drunk? And from all reports, he wasn’t complaining.”
“That doesn’t count.”
“You rubbed your girl flower on his love muscle, Cass. It counts.”
I pull my hair over my eyes and groan. “Ruby…”
She parts my hair and glares at me. “Cassie, you’re obviously hung up on this guy. You’re going to have to deal with whatever’s bubbling between you before you both have a complete meltdown. You can’t go on with all this unresolved sexual tension. It’s not healthy. I vote for fucking him until you both can’t stand, but hey, that’s just me.”
I grunt in frustration and flop back onto my bed.
She stands and walks over to the door before turning back to me. “You know, a wise man once said, ‘Love cannot be found where it doesn’t exist, nor can it be hidden where it truly does.’ Think about it.”
“That’s deep, Rubes. Is that out of your Philosophy Quotes 101 book?”
“Nope,” she says with a smile. “David Schwimmer. Kissing a Fool. Terrible movie.”
I laugh.
“’Night, Cass.”
That night, I dream of Holt, and thanks to Ruby, the rating is definitely X.
The next day, as I walk to our first day of rehearsal, I’m still unsure how I’m going to deal with him.
When I turn the corner to the drama block, he’s there, leaning against the railing outside the theater, sunglasses on, a cardboard cup in each hand. As I get closer, he sees me and stands up straight. I stop in front of him.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hey.” He looks down at me and chews on the inside of his cheek.
We stand there for a few seconds before he thrusts one of the cardboard cups at me and says, “Oh, shit. This is, uh … this is for you.”
I take it and hold it up to my nose.
“What is it?”
“It’s an I’m-a-dick-achino.”
I try to stop the smile that lifts the corners of my mouth. “Huh. Smells like plain old hot chocolate to me.”
“Yeah, well, it turns out they were out of dick-achinos. I offered to make some more, but they said I was overqualified.”
“They were right.”
We sip our drinks in silence, and I figure a hot chocolate is about as close to an apology as I’m going to get from him. For the moment, I’m okay with that.
“So,” I say. “You know your lines?”
He nods. “Unfortunately. Shakespeare really could have used a good editor. Dude was wordy.”
“Found any love for Romeo yet?”
He looks down at his cup and fiddles with the edge. “No. The more I worked on the lines, the more clear it was how fucking stupid this casting is. I can’t play this role, Taylor. I really can’t.”
“Erika thinks you can.”
“Yeah, well, Erika’s deluding herself. She thinks I’m someone I’m not.”
“Or maybe she has faith in the someone you could be.”
He shakes his head. “She can have all the faith in the world. All I’m capable of giving her is a bad Romeo.”
“Maybe that’s what she wants. A perfect Romeo is boring. It’s more interesting to watch him struggle with his emotions. You know, triumph over his insecurities.”
He studies his cup for a few seconds before saying, “And if he doesn’t triumph? What happens then?”
I’m wracking my brain for an encouraging answer when Erika arrives. We file past her and throw our empty cups into the trash as we enter the dim theater. After we dump our bags in the auditorium, we join Erika onstage.
“How are you guys feeling today?” she asks.
Holt and I mumble something vaguely positive, then the small talk is done.
“I don’t want to scare you,” Erika says, looking at each of us, “but the success of this whole production hinges on you two and the believability of your relationship.”
Holt exhales. “Jesus, Erika. No pressure or anything.”
Erika gives him a sympathetic smile. “The good news is, I know you’re both more than capable of making these characters come to life.” Holt rolls his eyes. “But you’re going to have to trust me and each other, and give yourself over completely to the experience. Do you understand?”
We both nod. Holt looks like a spooked horse, shifting his weight and ready to bolt.
“This is the party scene where you first lay eyes on each other, and as corny as it sounds, you have to convince us that it’s love at first sight.”
“Holt doesn’t believe in love at first sight,” I say.
“He doesn’t have to believe it,” Erika says, smiling. “He just has to make the audience believe it. Right, Mr. Holt?”
He looks at the floor. “Whatever you say.”
She laughs and positions us on opposite sides of the stage.
“Okay, so you have to imagine the space is filled with partygoers. Romeo, you’re bored out of your mind. Your friends have promised to make you forget all about Rosaline by introducing you to other beautiful women, but you couldn’t be less interested. As far as you’re concerned, Rosaline has ruined you for any other woman, and you’re just counting the minutes until you can leave.
“Juliet, you’re desperately trying to avoid your mother and Paris. When you see Romeo for the first time, it’s like something awakens inside you. Everything and everyone fades to black and all you can see is him. You’re scared by your extreme attraction.”
I nod as nervousness bubbles inside me. I look at Holt. He’s pale as a sheet.
“Do either of you have any questions?”
Holt swallows and shakes his head. I do the same.
“All right, then. Let’s go from when you see each other across the room. I want to see the passion. The sense of destiny. Let’s have a go and see what happens.”
She goes and sits in the front row of the auditorium with her script and notebook. Holt and I are alone onstage. He looks as nervous as I feel.
“Okay, when you’re ready,” Erika calls.
I take a deep breath, then push it out slowly. I look over at Holt. His eyes are closed, and he’s frowning in concentration, like he’s psyching himself up to jump out of a plane or walk over hot coals. He takes several deep breaths and shakes his hands. I can see his lips moving but can’t hear what he’s saying.
At last, he opens his eyes and looks over in my direction, starting at my feet. He seems satisfied with them before he moves to my knees. I wore a skirt today. Denim. Kinda short. His gaze moves higher, up my thighs before continuing over my stomach, my breasts, then onto my neck and finally, my face.
He looks at my mouth for a few seconds then … oh, God … he looks into my eyes. I gasp as I feel our energies connect. It’s like I’m falling into him and absorbing him at the same time.
I can see him trying not to be scared, but he is. For a moment, I think he’s going to run. His body goes rigid while a flash of panic lights his eyes. Then he exhales, and I see Romeo emerge, intense and desperate. He’s channeling his emotions into the character. Using the fear. Transforming it.
I look at him through Juliet’s eyes, and he’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.
Yesterday afternoon we were screaming at each other. But now …
Now, he’s everything.
We move toward each other. My skin is alive with fluttering excitement. My body, filled with expectation. His eyes burn into mine, deep and intense. When he stops in front of me, I can barely breathe.
He’s looking at me like I’m beautiful. Like I’m some miracle of nature that was made just for him.
I need to touch him, to feel that he’s real and here and wants me, but I know Juliet wouldn’t. So I stand there and drink him in. His strong jaw and high cheekbones. His beautiful eyes and riotous hair.
All his parts have their own unique beauty, but when they’re added together, he’s magnificent beyond my ability to describe.
The fear is still in his eyes, lurking, but he pushes through it. His hand comes up to my face. He touches me gently, but my reaction is intense. His eyelids flutter as he strokes my cheek. There’s heat under my skin, and it builds with every soft pass of his fingers. His fear peeks out a little more, flickering behind his resolve.
His attention is fixed on my mouth, and he clears his throat before he murmurs, “If I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine, the gentle fine is this: My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch … with a tender kiss.”
The words are formal and archaic, yet the way my body reacts to them is timeless.
His fingers are still on my cheek as he leans down, slowly. All I can see are his lips, parted and soft. I know that Juliet would pull away, but I don’t want to.
I remember my purpose and remove his hand from my face. I hold it and softly stroke his fingers.
“Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, which mannerly devotion shows in this; for saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch. And palm to palm … is holy palmers’ kiss.”
I press our hands together, and my voice is airy. My rhythm’s off. I can’t think straight. He’s so close I can smell him—soap, and cologne. The sweet scent of chocolate on his breath.
I can feel him in every part of me, and my hands tremble.
He brings his other hand up to cover mine, then caresses it. The soft hush of skin moving against skin is the most intimate thing I’ve ever experienced. The intense current that passes between our hands shimmers in my blood.
It must affect him as well, because his voice becomes low and quiet. “Have not saints lips, and holy palmers, too?”
I can feel the vibration of his voice against my face.
“Ay, pilgrim,” I answer, as he caresses and weaves his fingers between mine, stroking the soft skin there and making me shudder. “Lips that they must use in prayer.”
“O, then, dear saint,” he says, focusing on my mouth again, “let lips do what hands do; they pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.”
The intensity of his energy is filling me up. I barely have enough air to speak.
“Saints do not move,” I whisper, “though grant for prayers’ sake.”
“Then move not,” he murmurs as he moves closer, “while my prayer’s effect I take. Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged.”
I hold my breath as his lips get lower, suspended above mine, so far away from where I want them to be. I’m just about to close my eyes and savor the moment when he stops. He blinks and shakes his head. His grip tightens on my hands.
Ethan, no.
He squeezes his eyes shut and makes a frustrated, strangled noise.
“Mr. Holt?” Erika calls from the auditorium. “That’s your cue to kiss her. Is there a problem?”
He drops my hands and steps back. The fear he was trying so hard to suppress has broken free. It fills his expression and bunches his muscles.
“I told you I couldn’t,” he says, his voice is tight with panic. “I told you both.”
“Mr. Holt?”
He shakes his head and shoves his hands in his pockets. Shoulders hunched. “Why does no one ever fucking listen to me?”
He strides off into the wings, and although Erika calls after him, he doesn’t stop.
I start to follow, but Erika motions for me to wait.
“Cassie,” she says as she comes onstage to join me, “be careful with him. He clearly associates emotional intimacy with painful consequences, and it’s possibly a trigger for much deeper issues. I have no doubt he can do this role, but he needs to be convinced. Realistically, you’re the only one who can help him.”
“I don’t know about that. Our usual form of communication is screaming at each other.”
She smiles. “Haven’t you noticed you’re the only person in the whole class he makes an effort with? He barely talks to anyone else.”
I feel bad that I hadn’t realized how alone Holt is. At lunchtime he disappears when I sit with Connor and Miranda. After class when everyone else is leaving and chatting, he’s the first out the door.
Alone.
I thought that he was just avoiding me, but maybe he was avoiding everyone.
“I’ll talk to him,” I say.
She smiles. “Sometimes people put up walls, not only to keep people out, but also to see who cares enough to tear them down. Understand?”
I nod and exit the stage. As I weave through the backstage darkness, I hear a scraping noise and head toward it.
“Holt?”
I find him in one of the dressing rooms, slumped in a chair with his head in his hands. The lights around the mirror glow behind him like a halo.
I step inside the doorway. He looks so miserable, I want to tell him it’s going to be okay, but I’m not sure what to say.
“Just let me quit,” he says without looking up. “You need someone else. Not me.”
“I don’t want someone else,” I say, moving toward him. “I just think if you trust yourself, and me, we could create something really amazing.”
“Taylor…” He pushes out of the chair and goes over to the windows. “I know my limit, and this is it.”
“Just try,” I say as I come up to stand behind him. “That’s all I’m asking. I know this stuff is hard for you, but don’t quit without at least trying.”
“Is there any use in trying, when I know how it’s going to turn out? I’ll choke and bring you down with me. You’re better off cutting your losses while there’s still time to rehearse someone else into the role.”
“It’s already too late for that,” I say, watching how his shoulder muscles strain against his T-shirt and wanting to soothe them. “I know the other day I said I didn’t want you to be my Romeo, but I was wrong. It’s supposed to be you. I can’t imagine anyone else doing it.”
He puts his hands on the windowsill, and his shoulders slump as he drops his head. “Why do you have to say shit like that?”
“Like what?”
“Stuff that makes me like you. It’s fucking annoying.”
I can’t stop myself any longer, so I place my hand between his shoulder blades and rub gently.
His muscles tense under my fingers, and when he inhales, it’s loud and ragged.
“Just get Connor to do it,” he says as he turns to face me. “He’d probably cream his shorts as soon as you kissed him, but he’d get the job done.”
“I don’t want to kiss Connor,” I say. “I want to kiss you.”
He freezes, and I think he’s stopped breathing.
He studies me for a moment before taking the smallest step forward. I keep my focus on him despite every instinct screaming at me to run. He could very well reject me again, but I’ve come this far. I can’t back down now.
“You really want me to kiss you?”
“Yes. Please, Ethan.”
“You don’t know what you’re asking.” His brows furrow.
“I do,” I say, and step forward. “If this is what you need to do to see if you can play this role, then let’s do it. It’s just a kiss.”
He steps back, panic building in his expression as I move forward.
“What if it’s not just a kiss?” he asks, as his back hits the wall. “What do we do then?”
I put my hands on his chest and feel how fast his heart is pounding. A noise vibrates in his throat, and I look up to see him staring at me. The need emanating from him makes my brain fuzzy and my legs weak.
“Stop being so dramatic,” I whisper, as I run my fingers up his neck and along his jaw. “If we kissed, we’d probably figure out that our bodies are as grossly incompatible as our personalities.”
God, I’m such a liar. I’m already turned on more than I’ve ever been in my entire life. Every part of me is screaming for him to touch me. He feels amazing under my hands.
“Taylor,” he says as he weaves his arm around my waist and pulls me closer. “The one thing we are definitely not is physically incompatible.”
He pulls me against him, and I gasp. I can feel him, long and hard on my stomach. Knowing I did that to him brings me feral satisfaction.
I press closer. He closes his eyes and groans. “This is a bad idea. Seriously.”
I weave a hand into his hair. “Kiss me.”
I touch my fingertips to his lips, and they open. His breath is warm against my hand. I run my finger across his top lip, then stroke the bottom one.
So silky. Soft.
He looks bewildered. “I’ve been nothing but an asshole to you since the first day we met.”
“I know.”
He rests his forehead against mine as his hands move across my back. “I’ve pushed you away, time and again. Yet you still want me to kiss you?”
“Yes. A lot.”
He grazes his hands over my ribs, and his voice is soft and breathless when he says, “Don’t you see how fucked up this is? How bad I’d be for you?”
“I know,” I say, unable to stop looking at his mouth, “but do you want it? Do you want … me?”
Just say it. Please.
He swallows again, and whispers, “Fuck, yes.”
I stand on my toes and tug his head down. When his mouth is close enough, I gently press my lips against his.
Oh. God.
We both inhale loudly, our bodies tensing as our connection explodes. My insides coil and tie themselves in knots, and he makes a grunting sound that’s a perfect blend of both pleasure and pain.
I release his lips and pull back. His mouth is open and soft, and I kiss him again, a little harder. I feel him exhale against my face, and I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, but I suck gently on his lips. Heat oozes under my skin. Fires in my belly. He makes another tortured noise, then he’s sucking on my lips, too. Every inch of me blazes. Heat from his mouth pulls into my lungs, and I curse myself for not having been kissing this man from the first day I met him, because what he’s doing to me is beyond incredible.
“I can’t believe no one’s ever done this to you before,” he says between increasingly desperate kisses. Then he pushes his tongue into my mouth, and all hell breaks loose. I’m lost in the sensual slide of him. Dizzying pheromones make me ravenous. There’s nothing in the room but him. No feeling in my body but what he’s giving me. No sensation in the world except his skin beneath my hands.
In that moment, I’m that girl. The one who’s confident, and beautiful, and desirable. I’m all of those things because of him. Because of what he’s bringing out in me.
I pull back to look at him, panting and overwhelmed. His eyes are wild, chest heaving. He looks how I feel. Raw and insatiable.
“Oh, God,” I say, because now I’m always going to want him like this. There’s no going back. “This is bad. Bad, bad, bad, bad.”
“I warned you,” he says, breathing heavily and cupping my face. “Why the hell didn’t you listen?”
Then he’s kissing me again, and everything I thought I knew about kissing is obliterated by his lips. His tongue. His small groaning noises. His hands and arms are everywhere and nowhere. I rake my fingers across his scalp while moaning into his mouth, trying to get enough of him and failing miserably.
“Oh, God.” I gasp as he moves to my neck, his mouth open and sucking. Driving me insane.
He walks me backward until my ass hits the bench in front of the mirrors. He hoists me onto it and pushes his hips between my legs. My skirt rides up as his swollen crotch presses against me.
We kiss, and grind, and tangle together, desperate for more. There’s too much fabric and not enough air. His hard is pressing against my soft, and I never knew anything in the world could feel so damn good.
“Jesus.” He groans, one hand grasping my hair as he uses the other one to find my breast. “This is just … Goddammit, Taylor. I’m so fucking stupid, because I knew you’d ruin me, and I let it happen anyway. I’m so screwed.”
“We both are.” I grab his head and make him kiss me more, because I’m addicted to the taste of his lips and tongue, but my hands need more, so they push under his T-shirt and find his stomach, flat and warm, trembling under my touch.
He grunts into my mouth and kisses me deeper. Then his hands are under my shirt and on top of my bra, caressing and fondling. Making the ache inside me so hungry, it’s painful.
He presses against me harder, but it’s not enough. I’m winding tighter and tighter, and nothing he’s doing is enough. I need more. All of him.
“Please.” I don’t even know what I’m asking for. For him to have sex with me? Here? Is that what I want?
“We shouldn’t.” He pants as he leaves my lips and kisses down past my ear, his breath hot and shallow on my skin. “This is fucking insane. Tell me to stop.”
“I can’t.”
He sucks hard where my shoulder and neck meet. I know he’s leaving a mark, but the pain doesn’t matter as much as him claiming me in that way.
He lifts me, then turns to press me against the wall, and when he grinds between my legs, I cry out with pleasure.
God, he’s so hard. I want him inside me, quieting the ache. Feeding the hunger.
“Jesus.” He rocks his hips faster as he cups my ass. “Cassie, if you don’t tell me to stop right now, I swear to God, I’m going to fuck you against this wall. You feel so good. I knew it. I knew you would.”
I writhe against him. I couldn’t tell him to stop right now if I had a gun pointed at my head. He rocks against me, and all I can do is hold on and pray for him to keep moving. Everything inside me is drawing up, contracting, tightening with unbelievable pleasure. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before, and I never want it to end. I feel like I’m climbing to the top of a mountain. If he just keeps moving, I’m going to launch into space.
“Cassie, I can’t … I shouldn’t.” He pants in rhythm with his hips. He has to keep going. He has to.
I bury my head in his neck and suck on the sweet skin there, marking him the way he marked me, the tang of his cologne tingling on my tongue as we both groan and curse. I hold my breath, waiting to fly.
“Ethan…”
“Jesus. Cassie…”
“Mr. Holt? Miss Taylor?”
We freeze as we hear Erika’s voice. He stops moving. Stops breathing. The tension inside me unwinds and dissolves.
No, no, no, no, no!
I hear footsteps, then her voice. “There you are. I was wondering if I’d lost my lead actors, but it seems you’re actually doing some character work. How dedicated of you.”
She’s right behind us.
Inside the room.
I detach myself from Holt’s neck, and he looks at me, panic filling his eyes. We’re both panting. Our lips are swollen and red.
Erika clears her throat as I unwrap my legs from Holt’s waist, so he can lower me to the floor.
I push down my T-shirt and skirt, and I see Holt run his hand through his hair before shoving his hands in his pockets and exhaling.
I glance over at Erika. She’s assessing us calmly.
“So, it looks like you two have had an interesting … discussion. I take it you’ve worked through your issues about kissing Miss Taylor, Mr. Holt?”
Holt clears his throat. “Well, I was just getting to the … crux of the issue when you found us.”
Erika smirks. “So I heard.”
A nervous giggle escapes me, and I cover my mouth because I think I’m about to lose it in a big way. My body is still pounding and throbbing, my heart is beating out of my chest, and just feeling Holt behind me is doing nothing to help matters.
“So, can I assume that you won’t be quitting the show, Mr. Holt?” Erika asks.
Holt shifts his weight. “Doesn’t look like it.”
Erika nods and smiles. “Excellent. In that case, we have a lot of work to do. I’ll see you onstage in five minutes.”
She turns and leaves the room. It’s just Holt and me again, wrapped in layers of sexual tension so thick it could insulate a house.
I glance at him. He looks like a prisoner plotting an elaborate escape.
“Listen, Taylor…” He rubs his eyes. “That kiss was…”
Amazing? Stupendous? Earth shattering?
Because I know he’s not going to use any of my adjectives, I say, “It was stupid, I know. I also know you want to try and pretend it never happened, so sure, let’s do that. Solid plan.”
I can’t believe one kiss has turned my world upside down. I used to think I wanted him, but now what I’m feeling isn’t even in the same universe as want. It’s compulsion. Powerful and hungry. I wish I could go back to the vague yearning I used to feel.
He knew this would happen. I should have listened.
He shuffles nervously. “I’ll do the show and whatever that involves, but offstage, we’re just—”
“Friends. Yep. I get it.” We should avoid the train wreck we’d no doubt make of each other.
Keep our distance and try to not become obsessed.
Except, I’m afraid I already am.