But as seconds ticked by into minutes, Simone’s anxiety returned full-force. What was Zach seeing? Why wasn’t he saying anything? And why couldn’t she be down there with him instead of up here? She loved the theater but hated being onstage, which was why she’d become a designer in the first place. Under the lights like this she felt exposed and vulnerable.
Finally she couldn’t stand it anymore. “Look, if there’s a problem, I can—”
“There’s no problem,” Zach said, his voice sounding a little odd. “It’s brilliant, Simone. I just wanted to look for a moment.”
“Oh,” she said, nonplussed. He’d never called her by her first name before, although he insisted that everyone in the company call him Zach.
Amy grinned at her, impish as Mustardseed. “You’re a hit,” she said softly. “A palpable hit.” Then she raised her voice and called out to Zach: “Why don’t you come up here? The crew never gets to be in costume. What about doing a scene with us? You’d make our night—and we could show you why we never became actors.”
“Amy,” Simone hissed, mortified—but Zach just laughed as he came toward them, resting his forearms on the apron of the stage.
“I’d be delighted to do a scene with you. How about act four, scene one?”
That was the scene where Bottom, an Athenian actor who’d been turned into an ass by the mischievous fairy Puck, was doted upon by Titania, the fairy queen, who’d been put under a love spell at the order of her disgruntled husband, Oberon. Her fairy servants—Peaseblossom, Cobweb, and Mustardseed—helped their queen lavish attention on the ridiculous creature.
Zach vaulted effortlessly onto the stage, and Simone’s female DNA, programmed for millennia to respond to masculine displays of athleticism, reminded her that Zach Hammond was a truly impressive specimen of manhood.
Not that she needed reminding.
“Yowza,” Amy said. “You’re in pretty good shape, huh?”
Zach grinned at her. “Thanks for noticing. Now for the scene: which of you is going to take Titania?”
“Simone should,” Amy said. “She knows the part.”
Zach turned those intense blue eyes on her. “You’ve played Titania before?”
Simone shook her head. “I’m not an actor.”
“Then why do you know the lines?”
Simone hesitated. She was a little annoyed with Amy for bringing it up, although that wasn’t really fair. She’d never actually told anyone to keep her ability a secret. But for some reason, she felt shy about telling Zach that she—
“Simone has a photographic memory,” Amy explained.
Simone glared at her. “No, I don’t. It’s not like that.”
Zach looked interested. “But you’ve memorized Titania’s lines?”
“Not just Titania,” Amy put in. “She’s memorized, like, half of Shakespeare. Anything she read in school and any production she’s ever worked on.”
Zach’s eyebrows went up a trifle. “Impressive. All right, then—let’s see you in action.”
There was a hint of challenge in his eyes, as though he didn’t really believe she’d memorized half of Shakespeare.
Zach’s skepticism was the only thing that could have goaded her into doing the scene.
“Fine,” she said, gesturing toward a trio of painted trees. “If you’d care to take a seat, Bottom?”
His smile grew wider as he sat down on the stage, reclining back against one of the sculpted tree trunks. “You’re sure you’re up to the task? You’ll have to convince the audience you’re in love with me.”
Simone sat down beside him. “It shouldn’t be a problem. I’ve been pretty well prepped for this role by my experiences as a single woman.”
“Meaning?”
“I know what it’s like to be in love with an ass.”
He threw back his head and laughed. “Touché, Miss Oliver.”
“I thought I was Simone, now.”
He nodded. “Simone it is. And Amy,” he added, glancing up at the stage manager. “Shall we begin?” he asked, looking back at Simone. “The first line is yours.”
Simone cleared her throat, but her voice still squeaked a little when she spoke.
“Come, sit thee down upon this flowery bed
While I thy amiable cheeks do coy,
And stick musk-roses in thy sleek, smooth head,
And kiss thy fair large ears, my gentle joy.”
She paused. “I’m not kissing your ears, by the way.”
“Don’t break character,” Zach admonished her, but he was grinning.
A beat went by, and a subtle transformation seemed to pass over him. His mocking expression softened into gentle amiability. And then, like magic, he became Bottom.
“Where’s Monsieur Mustardseed?”
Amy stepped forward. “What’s your will?” she asked.
“I must to the barber’s, monsieur; for methinks I am marvelous hairy about the face; and I am such a tender ass, if my hair do but tickle me, I must scratch.”
Zach’s tone, rustic and courtly at the same time, pulled Simone into the absurd, sweet magic of the scene. When she spoke her next line as Titania, she found herself gazing at Zach as though she were, indeed, ensorcelled by Puck’s love potion.
“I have a venturous fairy that shall seek the squirrel’s hoard, and fetch thee new nuts.”
Zach shook his head slowly.
“I had rather have a handful or two of dried peas. But, I pray you, let none of your people stir me; I have an exposition of sleep come upon me.”
His eyelids were drifting shut as he spoke. Simone put her arms around his shoulders and lowered his head gently into her lap.
“Sleep thou, and I will wind thee in my arms. Fairies, begone, and be all ways away.”
She bent over him and brushed his hair away from his face.
There was a breathless pause. Simone gazed down at Zach, who appeared to be slumbering peacefully in her arms. Then his eyes opened, and he smiled at her upside down.
Just like that, the spell was broken. She had Zach Hammond’s head on her lap, and her fingers were in his hair, and he was looking at her like—
There was a burst of applause from the house. “Bravo!” Norbert called out.
Bright red with embarrassment, Simone pushed Zach off her lap and scrambled to her feet.
Zach rose, too, brushing off his jeans and grinning at her. “You got up so fast I bumped my head on the stage. But since you’re a brilliant set designer—and a bloody fine actor—I’ll forgive you.”
“I’m not an actor.”
Amy shook her head. “Sorry, Simone, but I have to agree with Zach. That was awesome.”
“It really was,” Norbert agreed, coming forward. “And the set and costumes look great. Should we talk through the scene transitions now, or do you want to wait until Monday?”
“Let’s do it now,” Zach decided.
“I’d like to get out of this thing first,” Simone said, looking down at herself. She’d felt exposed in the barely there Cobweb costume even before holding Zach’s head on her lap. Now it felt as though the places they’d touched were visible to everyone, as if a neon map had been drawn on her body. “Although, to be honest, I don’t really want to put on what I was wearing before.”
“I’ve got some spare sweatpants and a T-shirt,” Amy said, and the two of them went backstage to change.
The next hour was purely technical, with all four of them debating lighting and other cues and Amy taking notes. At first, Simone found it difficult to meet Zach’s eyes—she felt a sizzle of heat and embarrassment every time she remembered the weight of his head against her thighs and the feel of his hair against her fingers. But he was all business now, and Simone gradually forgot to be self-conscious in the familiar terrain of stagecraft.
Fi
nally Zach looked at his watch. “All right. We’ve done good work here, but I should leave now if I’m to change before dinner.” He smiled at Simone. “I’m assuming you need to change, as well.”
For a moment she just stared at him. Dinner? What dinner?
Then she remembered.
Oh, God. Jessica’s rehearsal dinner.
Her friend had met Zach a couple of weeks ago and had managed—in a moment Simone relived in nightmares—to rope him into doing a reading from Shakespeare at her wedding. Apparently she’d invited him to the rehearsal dinner as well.
They’d moved from the stage down to the house for their meeting. Simone had been sitting cross-legged in one of the red velvet seats, but now she jumped to her feet. “What time is it?”
“Six thirty,” Zach said. “Don’t worry, you have plenty of time. The invitation was for eight o’clock.”
“Your invitation was for eight o’clock,” Simone corrected. “You’re an honored guest. But I’m a bridesmaid, otherwise known as an indentured servant, and I’m supposed to be there at seven.”
Zach looked mystified. “Why so early? The wedding’s tomorrow, isn’t it? What is there left to do?”
“I have no idea. Maybe she wants us to fold a thousand paper cranes or teach swans to sing the Ave Maria. All I know is that she wants us there an hour early, and if I’m late, she’ll kill me dead.”
“Where’s the restaurant?” Amy asked.
“Uptown. Ludano’s.”
“You can make it if you grab a taxi and go straight there.”
Simone gestured at herself. “Like this?”
Amy frowned. “We must have something here that will work.” Suddenly she snapped her fingers. “You can borrow Hermia’s costume. It’ll fit you, and it’s fancy enough.”
“It’s also Elizabethan.”
Amy shrugged. “It suggests the Elizabethan era, sure. But you can pull it off. Unless you want to go home to change and be a little late. Of course, having met your friend Jessica . . .”
“Point taken.”
“I’ll go out front and flag you a taxi,” Zach put in.
“Thanks,” Simone said gratefully, and he strode up the aisle toward the front of the house.
“You can go wait with him,” Amy said. “I’ll get the costume and bring it out to you. You can change on the way.”
“Perfect. Thanks, Amy.”
Amy grinned at her. “No problem. Thank you for making us look good in front of the director.”
“I second that emotion,” Norbert added. “He loved the set, Simone. Slam dunk.”
Simone took in a deep breath and let it out. She wasn’t sure if it was the scene they’d done together or Zach’s reaction to her set, but she felt a little giddy. “He did like it, didn’t he? Thank God.”
She and Norbert headed for the lobby while Amy went backstage to get Hermia’s costume.
“I couldn’t help noticing that the set isn’t the only thing Zach liked,” Norbert commented.
Simone frowned at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He smiled. “I saw the way he looked at you.”
“Onstage? We were doing a scene.”
“Not onstage. When he was in the house and you came out as Cobweb.”
“Don’t be silly.”
“He thought you were hot.”
Simone smacked him on the shoulder. “I know you read the tabloids, which means you’ve seen the type of women Zach Hammond finds hot—and they’re nothing like me. And anyway, he’s a big flirt. He flirts with everybody.”
“Sure he does. I would too if I looked like him. But I haven’t seen him look at anyone the way he looked at you.”
Her heart skipped a beat, but she knew better than to indulge in wishful thinking. It was one thing to have a crush on a man like Zach; it was another to believe he viewed her as anything but a colleague.
They came into the lobby and saw through the glass doors that Zach had found a cab. He was standing beside it, holding the back door open, and when he saw Simone, he bowed.
“Look at that,” Norbert said. “What a gentleman. I’ll bet he’s not a gentleman in bed, though.”
Simone agreed, but she wasn’t about to say so.
“Really. And what makes you draw that conclusion?”
“He’s got a rakish look about him.”
“Rakish? I don’t think I’ve ever heard you use that word before.”
“Well, he’s British. It seemed appropriate.”
“I see. And how would you describe him if he were American?”
As the two of them watched through the glass, Zach leaned back against the cab, folded his arms, and grinned.
Norbert shook his head slowly. “Hot sex on a platter.”
At that moment Amy came through the side door with Hermia’s costume over her arm.
“Here you go,” she said. “Have fun tonight—and at the wedding tomorrow.”
“Not much chance of that,” Simone said cheerfully. “Jessica is Bridezilla in the flesh. I hope you guys have a good weekend, though. I’ll see you on Monday.”
As Zach watched Simone come out of the theater, he was still seeing her with new eyes. She was wearing the sweatpants and T-shirt she’d borrowed from Amy, both of which were a bit large on her, but though the clothes made her look like a ragamuffin, he was no longer fooled by that.
He didn’t think he’d ever forget the moment she came onstage as Cobweb.
The costume was simple—a gray unitard made of light fabric and an overdress of floating silk. In it, Simone had looked like Arthur Rackham’s conception of a fairy, the lines of her body as fluid as air or water and as insubstantial as a shaft of moonlight. But even though she might, as in Robert Browning’s poem, have been made of “spirit, fire and dew,” there was an earthiness about her, too.
And a whole lot of sexiness.
She had a dancer’s body, if not a dancer’s grace. But as he remembered her stumbling entrance onto the stage, he found himself smiling. Whatever else Simone Oliver was—klutzy, exasperating, occasionally abrasive—she was also utterly charming.
Not to mention talented.
She came to a stop and smiled up at him. “Thanks for getting a cab. And thanks again for agreeing to be part of my friend’s wedding. Jessica really put you on the spot when she asked you to do a reading.”
“It’s my pleasure.”
“That can’t possibly be true, but it’s very nice of you to say so.” She got into the back of the taxi with the Hermia costume on her lap. “So I guess I’ll see you at eight o’clock?”
“Yes,” he said, “but if you don’t mind, I’ll ride uptown with you. My hotel isn’t far from the restaurant.”
She frowned, but she scooted over to make room as he slid in beside her.
“We’ll drop you off first,” he told her, assuming she was worried about being late. He leaned forward and spoke to the driver. “There’ll be two stops. Ludano’s on East Seventy-sixth, and St. Albans Hotel after that.”
But Simone was still frowning as the taxi pulled away from the curb.
“I can’t show up at the restaurant like this and change in the restroom. That would make Jessica tense, and she’s already wound pretty tight.”
“All right,” he said, not sure what Simone was getting at.
“So I have to change in the cab.”
“In the . . . in here?”
“Yep.”
He stared at her. “You’re going to change clothes in this taxi?”
“That is correct.”
He gestured toward the front seat. “What about the driver?”
Simone snorted. “Are you kidding? This is Manhattan. Passengers have probably had sex in this cab.” She leaned forward and looked at the driver’s ID badge. “Hey, Rakesh?�
�
Rakesh glanced at them in the rearview mirror. “Yeah?”
“Has anybody ever had sex back here?”
“Good Lord,” Zach murmured, but the driver wasn’t even fazed.
“Nope. There’ve been some hand jobs, though—and one blow job.” He grinned at them. “If you guys want to—”
Simone shook her head. “Thanks, but we’re all set. I am going to change my clothes, though. Is that okay?”
The driver shrugged. “Fine with me. I’ll try not to go over any potholes.”
“That’s nice of you, Rakesh. I appreciate it.”
She sat back again and grinned at him. “The driver’s fine with it. And you’re in theater, so I’m sure you’ve seen your fair share of naked women in dressing rooms.”
A sudden image of Simone naked made his muscles tense unexpectedly.
“They’re not usually quite this close.”
Simone shrugged. “I’m sure you’ll avert your eyes like the gentleman you are.”
“I hardly think—”
“You know, you get more British when you’re uncomfortable.” Suddenly her eyes widened. “Hey! You’re uncomfortable!”
He frowned at her. “And this pleases you for some reason?”
She was grinning again, and there was a mischievous gleam in her big brown eyes.
“Absolutely. This is the first time I’ve had any kind of psychological advantage over you.”
“A psychological advantage? Why on earth would you need such a thing?”
“Because you’re intimidating.”
“I am?”
“Of course you are. You’re famous and brilliant and suave.”
“Suave?”
“Urbane. Debonair. Sophisticated.”
“I see.”
“And I’m really, really not. But now I have a secret weapon.”
“A secret weapon?”
She nodded. “Nudity. Whenever I feel nervous around you, I’ll just whip off my top or something.”
He glared at her, hoping she couldn’t tell that this conversation was turning him on. “If nudity is anyone’s secret weapon, it’s mine. The box office take for my movies was fifteen percent higher when I took my shirt off in at least one scene.”
Nothing Like Love Page 2