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"That will be up to you. If you want to do clothes, wear something that's not loose, like leggings and a sports bra. If you're okay with no clothes, I can incorporate more things into the experience. Like candle wax."
"Got it. Um, anything else?"
"Yeah." He brushed her face with his knuckles. "Bring someone with you, like Madison. It's important to be safe, and it will help you keep the control you need right now. You don't really know me as a rigger and, while I have a good reputation and you're not going to be hurt under my care, you've only got my word on that."
"So it will be rope, maybe some candles, and Madison there. No sex."
"No sex. Not that night. And not just because of Madison's presence." He had his back to the sun, so his eyes were dark. He had a very straight nose, a firm chin. Nice features upon which she tried to focus so she wasn't caught in his deep, rich earth eyes. She should be saying no to this. A big hell no. But she'd suggested it, hadn't she?
"This is your first scene, isn't it?"
She warred with embarrassment, even as she knew it was stupid to feel it. It wasn't like saying she was a virgin. He snapped her attention back to him as he wrapped her hair fully around his hand, used it and the pressure on the base of her neck to bring her closer to him. Her hand fell on his chest again.
"Answer me, Julie," he said quietly.
How did he do that? "Outside of my really vivid imagination, yes. This is my first scene." She pretended she didn't sound breathless.
"That's what I thought. And why I'll save my vast seduction techniques for another night."
She was fairly sure he'd already seduced her in the Conservatory. It sounded like a game of Clue. Mr. Hayes, in the Conservatory, with that intriguing pain-pleasure grip on her hand. It had made her nervous, her knees weak and her whole body stimulated. But he was trying to make her smile now. When she couldn't summon one, he touched her face, his own expression sobering.
"I'll come at six o'clock, day after tomorrow. You have my number, Julie. If you have to cancel, cancel. But I hope you won't. I've enjoyed spending time with you today." He straightened, making a show of surveying the parking lot. "And look. No zombies."
"Yet," she said ominously. "They would attack urban centers and then fan out, right?"
"You are a fascinating, weird woman." Giving her a friendly look, he left her side, headed for a battered green Ford pickup she expected was his. "I look forward to seeing you soon."
Chapter Three
For the first production, Julie and the stage manager were doing double duty as co-directors, and Julie already considered Harris a gift from the gods. He was an obese thirty-something with sharp pale blue eyes, a golden beard and silky blond hair he kept in a long tail down his back. He looked like the first mate on a pirate ship. He'd done stage manager work in dinner theater out on the West Coast, and was in a position to volunteer fulltime to help Julie.
Like most of the cast and crew, he was part of the BDSM scene, a submissive who served and lived with two Mistresses, also lovers. Though Julie had yet to meet them, his adoration for Millie and Tiana was obvious.
Over the past few weeks, he'd shared long hours here with Julie, and his eyes had glowed as brightly as hers as they took each step toward turning the building into a playhouse and bringing the production together. He had the marvelous and terrible passion that afflicted all those dedicated to the theater, whether in front of the curtain or behind it.
Madison had recruited theater students from the area community colleges to provide technical skills. On Julie's recommendation, she'd shamelessly used Julie's resume to attract their interest. Whereas actors could look for work through the trade papers, those interested in a career in backstage work had to build themselves from the ground up, not only volunteering in high school and college productions, but doing heavy networking to get experience that might lead to paying jobs. Julie had worked in almost every backstage capacity in her twenty years in theater, including paid work on Broadway and Off-Broadway shows, before deciding to move to community theater work. Working under her would look good on a theater student's resume.
Harris's ability to organize the students freed Julie up to focus on the other million details a managing director had to handle. Like today, when he was at the theater handling some technical direction, while she was signing off on the scene pieces the set design students were finalizing in Logan's barn.
Unfortunately, once she took pictures and measurements for Harris, she was still later than she'd intended to be. Tonight was the night she was supposed to meet Des at the theater, and being late only spun up her nerves further. Rush hour traffic had her pulling back up to the building at 6:20.
Harris was already gone, but he'd received her text to let Des in before he and the others took off, because Des's old truck was out front without Des in it. She'd texted Des as well, filling him in on the delay.
As she walked past the Ford, she glanced in the open bed. Tar paper, shingle bundles, several coils of twine. A cut piece of PVC pipe, an empty gas can, a scattering of fresh clumps of dry red clay and dried leaves. A crumpled coffee cup was wedged beneath the shingle bundles. She wondered if he'd tucked it there to throw away later, because except for it and the natural debris, everything in the truck was organized and secured with twine.
The bindings on the shingles seemed more thorough and far more elaborate than she suspected was the norm. Had it been an idle pastime on breaks between jobs, practicing his skills?
She hadn't let herself think about what was going to happen tonight, though it had been in the back of her mind simmering like a witch's cauldron ever since she'd somewhat agreed to it. The parameters he'd set had helped her rationalize away the multiple flares of panic. It was just a session. That was all. It didn't have to be anything outside of that. Inside of it, it could be incredible and intense, as Madison had warned. Yet when it was over, it was over. No fallout. That was what she wanted. As long as she held onto that, she could fully enjoy the experience.
She hadn't had a second thought about Des being in her theater without anyone else there. Out of all the worries she had about Des, trusting him here wasn't one of them. That feeling was reinforced when she found him sitting on the edge of the stage.
He had his hair pulled back more sleekly tonight, accommodating the jaunty black plaid fedora he wore. He wore a dark blue button down over stonewashed jeans. Several brightly-colored woven bracelets were on his right arm and he had a small knife sheath threaded onto his belt. The untucked shirt crumpled high enough up on his hip in his seated position to see it, and the curve of his ass pressed to her stage. His biceps rippled in an appealing manner as he sipped from a bottle of his preferred flavored water, black cherry. When her footsteps made him twist around to find her with his russet eyes, he smiled.
He could lasso a woman with that smile as easily as with any rope he could call to hand. It was the real deal, a gift of the gods. Not artificial charm, not the luster of the sun reflected off a fortunate surface, but the sun itself, a limitless energy source.
If she was composing flowery narrative, she was in trouble. He screwed the top back on the bottle and set it to the side as she crossed the stage. The curtains were drawn, leaving a several foot wide apron of the stage visible. A ghostlight was on to illuminate the theater area. In theater lore, it was kept burning throughout the night for friendly spirits. It also kept unfriendly ones away, supposedly. She mused it must be working, since all she saw was Des.
"Hey there. What are you doing?" She took a seat next to him. It felt natural to sit close enough to brush his shoulder, particularly when he flipped open the cooler next to him and twisted the top off an Angry Orchard to hand it to her. It was crisp apple flavor, her leisure time drink of choice. He'd talked to Madison.
