by Leisa Rayven
“You just going to stand there and watch?” he asks, a little out of breath.
“Yep.” The contraction of his abs has me completely mesmerized. I can’t look away. “Anyway … uh … this is about as close to exercise as I like to get. But please, you knock yourself out.”
My God, his body is insane.
He chuckles at my slack-jawed expression. “Okay, then. There’s a chair if you’d like to make yourself more comfortable.”
I lean against the door frame instead. Don’t really trust my legs to make it the three steps to the chair right now.
“How many have you done?” I ask, vaguely fascinated.
“About a hundred.”
“How many do you have left?”
“Another two hundred.”
“Seems excessive.”
“Not really, considering Miriam wants me to spend most of the play shirtless. She told me last night. No pressure or anything.”
He goes back to grunting every time he sits up. My knees go weak.
“When I heard you,” I say, “I thought you … um, had a girl in here.”
He sits up and rests his elbows on his knees. “What?” I watch as a droplet of sweat runs down his neck and onto his chest.
“I thought you were…” I bob my head in the “you know” gesture.
He frowns. “You thought I was having sex?” I nod. “In my dressing room?” I nod again. “With someone who isn’t you?” He screws up his face. “Jesus, lady, go get yourself another cup of coffee, because you’re not thinking straight.”
He goes back to his sit-ups. “Besides, this sounds nothing like the noises I make when I’m having sex.”
“What sort of noises do you make, then?”
“Can’t tell you. I want it to be a surprise.” He raises an eyebrow, and I can’t help but laugh.
“Aaaand on that note, I have to go.”
“Really? Wouldn’t you rather come?”
I shake my head, and as I grab the door to close it, he starts moaning. “Oh, God, Liss. Yes. Grab that hard door handle. Right there. Fuck, yes. Wrap your hand around it and pull. Ahhhhh!”
I close the door and shake my head as I walk away. I make a mental note that it’s not cool in any way to be aroused by exercise grunting or dirty talk about doors. It’s a pity my body continues to ignore all logic and reason as far as Liam Quinn is concerned.
* * *
I grab the stack of paper off the photocopier, and soon I’m smiling.
Reviews. Lots of them. All of them glowing. Our show is officially a hit, and even though everyone in the cast is excellent, Liam and my brother Ethan, who’s playing Mercutio, are getting all the attention.
It doesn’t surprise me. Hot actors who are also talented as hell? It’s the bedrock on which Broadway was built.
I head backstage and distribute the reviews to the dressing rooms. Actors love reading nice things about themselves. It will put the whole cast in a good mood for the show tonight.
When I get back to my console, side stage, I roll my neck and wince as it cracks. I don’t think I’ve sat down all day, and the dull thud of a potential headache lingers behind my eyeballs.
I jump when large hands curl over my shoulders.
“Relax.” Liam’s deep voice resonates behind me. “You’re so tense you’re going to sprain something. Thank you for the reviews; I’m sure my parents are going to wallpaper their living room with them. I appreciate you taking the time to copy them, so I’m here to do something nice for you.”
Strong fingers dig into my neck muscles, and I bite back a groan. “Oh, my God.”
“Come on now. We’re past that sort of formality. You can call me Liam.”
I close my eyes as he kneads away the tension in my neck and shoulders. It feels so good, it borders on sexual.
“Liam … Oh, wow. Uh … you should stop.”
“Should I? Why? You seem to be enjoying it, and I’m sure as hell enjoying it.”
“The leading man can’t be seen massaging the stage manager. It’s wrong and unnatural.”
“Who can massage you, then?”
“No one. I’m unmassageable.”
“Hardly seems fair. You have one of the most stressful jobs here, but aren’t allowed a little help to unwind? Fuck that.”
He digs his thumbs into the base of my skull and my eyes roll back into my head. “Ohhhh … No, really. This is bad. Stage managers are strange creatures. We thrive on stress, caffeine, and lack of sleep. You can’t mess with that. Make us too relaxed and we fall apart.”
Warm breath and soft lips graze my ear as he whispers, “I’m looking forward to watching you fall apart one day very soon, Liss. Twenty-one days and counting, in fact. I have the closing-night party marked on my calendar.”
He pushes his thumbs into the muscles on either side of my spine, all the way down to the waistband of my jeans. When I bite back a groan, he chuckles. “Are you sure you want me to stop?”
“No, but you should.”
He sighs. “Fine. But first, stand up and come here. Your back is a mess.” I stand and turn to face him. He bends his knees and wraps his arms around me. “This will relieve the pressure on your vertebrae.” He lifts me off my feet and tightens his arms, and a rolling series of cracks travels up my spine. Almost instantly, I feel relief.
He sets me down, and I roll my shoulders. “Wow. That’s much better. Thank you.”
“Are you kidding me? I got to press my chest against your boobs. The pleasure was all mine.”
He smiles, and my face flushes. I don’t enjoy these involuntary reactions. Despite my best efforts to remain detached, he’s like a sexual lightning rod, and all my sparks gravitate toward him. It’s exhausting. I try to lean back, but the wall is right behind me.
He’s still standing close, staring at my lips. I’m also staring at his. They’re beautiful, and every time he kisses Juliet, it drives me insane. Not only because I get hot flashes of jealousy, but the way he holds her face and cradles her in his arms is incredibly passionate and sweet. And then there are those groany sounds he makes in the back of his throat when Romeo and Juliet have sex on their wedding night. Those tiny noises slay me. Every damn time.
I close my eyes and take a breath, and try to pull myself together. “Okay, so … I’m about to give the half-hour call.”
“I should go get ready.”
“Yeah.”
“Okay.” He reaches over and gently cups my cheek. I don’t want to lean into it, but I do. “Here I go,” he says as he grazes his thumb over my lips. “Leaving.”
I can’t deal with the desire in his expression. It makes me so light-headed, I instinctively grip his T-shirt. “Your version of leaving is very … stationary.”
“Yeah, I’m trying to convince my hand to stop touching you, but it’s not listening. And don’t even get me started on what my lips are telling me to do.” He leans down, and I know I should push him away but I can’t. There’s not enough willpower in the world to stop this moment. “Did you know I dream about your mouth? How it feels. And tastes. Every time I see you, the urge to kiss you is so damn strong, it hurts to deny it. Tell me you feel the same.”
His mouth is right there. All I’d have to do is stand on my toes and I could have it. Put us both out of our misery. “Of course I feel the same, but—”
He cuts me off by grazing his thumb over my lips again. “Less talking. More kissing me.”
I’m holding my breath in anticipation of his mouth meeting mine when a burst of laughter makes us both pull back. The actors playing Juliet’s parents pass by without a glance in our direction, but the close call reminds me where we are. And who we are.
Liam stares at me for a few more bone-melting moments, then stalks off toward his dressing room without another word.
I slump down onto my stool and pull on my headset. After a few deep breaths to calm myself, I click the button on the microphone in front of me.
“Ladies and gentlemen o
f the Romeo and Juliet company, this is your half-hour call. Thirty minutes until places for Act One. Thank you.” It’s only when I click off that I realize how stupidly breathy my voice sounded.
At least I don’t have a headache anymore. Nope. Now, the ache is a whole lot lower.
“Elissa.” I look up to see my brother striding toward me. He’s holding up one of his headshots. Someone has defaced it with devil horns and a goatee that looks vaguely like a penis. “Was this you?”
“Ethan, please. Do you honestly think I’d produce such crude work? That penis-beard doesn’t even have veins. It was probably Olivia.”
Ethan has been pseudo-dating our Juliet, and as usual, he’s screwed things up as only Ethan can.
He looks briefly at the photo. “Huh. Olivia did seem pissed when I saw her earlier.”
“What did you do this time?”
“Nothing.” I shoot him a look, but he holds up his hands. “I mean it. I’ve barely spoken to her since last week.”
I roll my eyes. If my brother were any more clueless about women, he’d be a conservative politician.
I take the photo from him and throw it in the trash. “Did you get the reviews?”
“Yep.”
“Some nice things about you.”
He shrugs. “I guess. I haven’t been ordered to move to L.A. like Quinn, but still…” The shock of what he’s said must register on my face, because his expression softens. “You haven’t heard?”
“Heard what?”
“Last week, some big-shot Hollywood casting agent was in the audience. She cornered Quinn at the stage door and told him if he headed straight out to L.A. when the show closes, she could get him screen tests for some major studio movies. Olivia overhead them.”
“And what did Liam say?”
“He said he’d think about it.”
I lean back against the wall, shell-shocked. He might be leaving? My stomach churns and rolls.
No. He can’t.
“Sis?” I turn to Ethan. “You okay?”
“What? Uh … yeah. Fine.”
“Wait, you two aren’t—?”
“No.” But I thought we could be. “I’m just surprised, that’s all. You’d better go get changed. I’ve given the thirty-minute call.”
He stares at me with concern for a few more seconds. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll talk to you later.”
Once he’s gone, I slump onto my stool.
I know I shouldn’t be hurt Liam didn’t tell me, but I am. The flirting. The touches. The overwhelming connection. I thought we meant something to each other. I’ve even entertained fantasies about what it would be like to have him as my boyfriend. Wandering the theater district, going to see shows and arguing about which we liked the most. Or walking through Central Park, holding hands. Maybe sitting on a bench and making out in really obnoxious, inappropriate ways.
I squeeze my eyes shut. My headache is back, with a vengeance.
Why didn’t he tell me?
I sigh. Even if he did, what would I say? “Don’t go”?
I couldn’t. He has to do it. Of course he does.
But I have a terrible feeling if he goes, it will change both of our lives forever. And not in a good way.
SIX
THE CONSEQUENCE OF WANTING
On the closing night of the show, it’s near midnight when Josh and I arrive at the after-party. As soon as we emerge into the uber-trendy warehouse space, our Benvolio, Andy, rushes toward us with a tray of shots. He has the bright-eyed fervor of someone who’s already three drinks over the limit.
“Guys! You finally made it. You need to try these.”
I pick up the bright blue shot glass. “What is it?”
“I have no idea, but knock it back fast, and try to keep breathing.”
I throw back the shot without hesitation. When I swallow, my whole body shudders. “Jesus!”
Andy laughs. “Awesome, right?”
I grab another and knock it back, too. Josh joins me. The impact of the second isn’t any less forceful than the first.
“Fuck me.” Josh coughs. “It tastes like battery acid mixed with plutonium.”
Andy nods. “Yeah, but in a couple of minutes, you won’t care. Trust. Oh, and Elissa? Liam’s been looking for you. Like, a lot. Just FYI.”
He stumbles off to peddle his wares elsewhere, and Josh and I move farther into the party. Behind a gauze curtain, a large group is dancing to the bass-heavy music. I start to feel a little buzzed as I watch them.
“So, you and Quinn going to finally seal the deal tonight?” Josh asks. “Because God knows, if I have to witness one more second of you two panting over each other, I’m going to lock you both in a room until someone comes.”
I shake my head. “You know why I can’t go there.”
“I do. But I also saw the look in his eyes when he left the theater tonight. The man was wired. And determined. He knows you’ve been avoiding him. And let’s be honest. If you were truly serious about not getting involved, you wouldn’t have come to this party.”
I’d like to be strong enough to stay away from Liam tonight, considering our situation, but I can’t deny that the past couple of months have taken their toll. I want him. Desperately. Even if it seems as though I can no longer have him.
Josh stumbles and leans against me. “Whoa. Those drinks were strong. Want me to get us a couple more?”
“Most definitely.”
He heads off to find Andy, and I loiter at the edge of the dance floor to avoid seeking out Liam. Everyone’s hugging, and kissing, and some are even touching each other in ways that warrant a little more privacy.
My God, theater folk are a horny bunch.
I lean against a post and watch. Whatever was in the drinks is making me feel hot in inconvenient places.
As I look around, I spot Liam across the room. He’s surrounded by a group of girls, all trying to get his attention, but it’s clear he’s not listening to a word they’re saying. He scans the crowd and sips a beer. As soon as he spies me, his posture changes, and the sudden intensity in his expression makes every hair on my body stand on end.
Without excusing himself or taking his eyes off me, he passes his beer to one of the girls and crosses the room. All of the women he’s abandoning deflate with disappointment.
As he approaches, his expression is so primal I have an urge to flee, but I’m so frustrated and horny, I force myself to stand my ground and see what happens.
When he reaches me, he doesn’t say anything. He just takes my hand and leads me to the dance floor.
Several people stop and stare as he wraps his arms around me and pulls me close. After so many weeks of denial, the feel of him pressed up against me makes my head spin. I grasp his shoulders, and he tightens his arms.
“Liam—”
“Don’t say it.” He gives me a look that shoots sparks straight down to my toes. “Don’t you fucking dare. The show’s over, so I’m done staying away from you.”
He moves his hands over my back, which makes my heart pound and my brain go fuzzy. The alcohol is making me feel like I’ve done ten shots instead of two, and I’m in no condition to be this close to him, let alone try to deny my feelings.
When he pushes under my T-shirt and grazes the base of my spine, I close my eyes as a shiver runs through me. It feels like my skin is extra-sensitive.
“What the hell was in those shots Andy gave us?” I ask. “They’ve made us all very—”
“Horny?” The roughness in his voice is crazy sexy.
“I was going to say ‘friendly.’”
Fingers trace over my back. Soft and electric. “Right. That’s what I’m feeling for you. Intense, throbbing friendship.”
“You’re making me dizzy.”
“There’s a treatment for that. Come home with me and I’ll show you what it is.” His voice is just as distracting as his touch. When he pulls me more firmly against him, I can feel the hardness in his crotch. It awakens a deep ache insid
e me. “I want to be alone with you, Liss. Naked. Right the fuck now, please.”
“I can’t leave yet. I just got here.”
Without meaning to, I run my hands down his arms, and revel in the flex of firm muscles as he continues to stroke my back. He makes a contented noise in his chest and closes his eyes.
“Put your arms around me,” he orders quietly. In a daze, I trail my hands up over his broad shoulders and clasp my hands behind his neck. “Good. Now, loosen up and dance with me.”
Loosening up when he’s pressing against me like this isn’t even a little bit possible. I glance down between us. “Judging from your current condition, you’re after more than just a dance.”
He keeps stroking my back. “Then we’ll start with dancing and see what happens.”
“Liam, where, exactly, do you see things going between you and me?”
He moves his hands from my back to my hips, and when his fingers tighten, goose bumps run up my spine. “Well, for starters, back to my place. More specifically, my bed. After that, I have no clue. Maybe the shower? The roof garden? That would be pretty spectacular.”
It really would. I close my eyes to banish the mental image of us naked, wrapped around each other beneath the stars. “Spectacular or not, you’re leaving on Monday.”
His confidence falters and his hands freeze. “Elissa—”
“You weren’t even going to tell me? I had to hear people gossiping about it backstage?”
He looks down and sighs. “Telling everyone else was easy. Telling you?” He looks into my eyes. “I couldn’t. Just thinking about leaving you…” He tightens his arms. “I don’t want to.”
“Liam…” I stroke his face and make him look at me. “Yes, I’m pissed I heard about it from someone else, but this is a once-in-a-lifetime deal. You have to go. If you want proof of fate, then here it is. What are the odds of a talent scout coming to your first show and begging you to let her make you a star? That only happens in movies.”
He gives me a wry smile. “You’re trying to cheer me up by talking about fate? A concept you don’t believe in?”