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Her dampened panties were sticking to her beneath the 19thcentury day gown the costumer had decided to try out on her.
His mouth slanted over hers and suddenly she no longer possessed legs. His tongue swirled around hers and his lips were anything but stiff. What was happening? Instead of shoving him away, as she definitely intended, she clung to his shoulders. Hard as rock muscles, flexing beneath her fingertips.
He tugged at her massive skirts to no avail.
He jerked his mouth from hers. The shock in his expression didn’t bode well. Not for her.
If ever acting skills were critical, now was that time.
Maylis slowly removed her hands from his shoulders. She blasted him with her frostiest expression. The one she’d used when she’d played Louise in a Bloomington Community Theater production version ofGypsy Rose Leeat Louise’s most furious with her mother. “Thatis how you kiss, Mr. Harrison. Perhaps you’ll do better now that you’ve had a little instruction.” She stepped back, shook out her skirts, then turned and made her way casually to the women’s dressing room with her heart pounding hard enough to echo through the cavernous spaciousness backstage.
“Why, you little—”
“Harrison!” the director bellowed.
But Aiden had one parting shot. “I know what you’re doing, and you won’t get away with it. This isn’t over.” His words were a menacing threat. But, surprisingly, he didn’t frighten her. Not physically at any rate. Her sister had attended the theater program at Southern Methodist in Dallas with Aiden and had actually dated him a few years ago. Before she’d been forced to drop out. Tamera hadn’t said much about him, but Tamera’s friends had had plenty to say. One, he was a player, and two, he didn’t hurt women.
And knowing Tamera, she’d likely tested him to the brink and back. Maylis almost felt sorry for him. Until the anger he’d rained over her seconds ago revisited.
Thinking of Tamera brought tears to her eyes, but Maylis shoved those memories away. She would utilize them later when it came to the black moment in this Jane Austen-esque production.
2
Aiden Harrison forcedhimself to breathe through a few measured intakes. This director was not one of his favorites. Unfortunately, Aiden had only himself to blame for this entire debacle. He hated Tamera Smith with every bone in his body. The woman was psycho. He couldn’t believe they’d ended up in the same play in a small-town play. Other men had followed her as if she played a flute and danced her way through the countryside. Once she had them running after her towards the cliff, she stepped aside and laughed as each one tumbled over and crashed onto the protruding rocks below. He was not one of them. Nor would he ever be.
And that stage name she’d chosen was ridiculous. It was as old fashioned as this damned play he was in. But he’d needed the work to prove he had what it took to make it to the big time.
The director went on a rampage. “I’d had it on good authority that you were an actor. In fact, I caught you in a traveling rendition ofPhantomin St. Louis a few years ago. You did a fantasticRaoul. What the fuck happened?”
It had been the role of a lifetime, and at the age of twenty-five. Aiden’s goal to revise the role on 44thStreet were sinking to new depths. Even while attempting work on a new script of his own.
He took in the man’s wiry, tense stance. “Iamgood,” Aiden told him just as frustrated with himself. He could damn sure beat Tamera at her own game. Back in college, she’d been a terrible actor. She’d even quit school, for God’s sake. The last he’d heard she’d gone into modeling. Catalogs and such. He certainly hadn’t heard much about her in the past few years.
“Then show it,” the director snapped, jarring his wandering thoughts. “Broadway scouts are due in town opening night. You’ve got two days. If you don’t measure up, then your understudy goes on in your place. And, just so you know I mean business, I’ll be working him just as hard and often as I work you. You’re fighting for your career here, Harrison. You’re only as good as your last role. You might keep that in mind.” The man turned away, but threw over his shoulder, “Take the rest of the night off. Get some goddamn rest. You’ll need it.”
Aiden banked his fury and stormed out the back door of the small theater, gulping in a dose of cold bracing air. Christmas lights twinkled in the distance. Come New Year’s he would be thirty. A terrible age for an actor still working to build his career. He fell back against the brick, planting one foot flat against it, and waited.
There was something different about Tamera, he decided, something besides her name. She seemed… softer somehow. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to find out exactly who or what he was up against. But distance was paramount. She’d been so fucking crazy in college, he’d almost quit the theater program himself, if she hadn’t already beaten him to it. Right now, however, he had a beef to pick with her and she would not escape unscathed.
Her acting skills were the biggest improvement. Witness that little performance in the wings. That cold haughtiness. She’d gone from stalker to performer. But then Tamera was expert at going from hot to cold at the flip of a switch. That much hadn’t changed over the years. He just hated that this time around he found himself wanting her flat on her back, driving his dick into her with the force of an inferno. His skin tingled from the need that surged through him.
The door crashed back, and his nemesis appeared in jeans, dirty sneakers, and a warm cardigan over a tee he bet molded her body like hot wax. Her purse was a small leather orange thing with a skinny strap that crossed her body.
“Oh! I didn’t see you there. The director let us go early. See you tomorrow,Beauregard.”
“My name’s Aiden. Not Beauregard,” he bit out. Not once since they’d been cast had she called him by his name. That grated the most. He took her by the arm. “How about dinner.” It wasn’t a question. They were going to hash this out if it took all goddamn night.
3
“I’m not hungry.”Maylis spoke quickly. The heat from his hand burned through her cardigan where he had her arm, but he wasn’t hurting her.
“Too bad.”
Rather than dragging her across the street to the little diner that most of the cast ended up most nights, he pulled her to his car. A sporty 2006 BMW ci325. It was red. “You get a lot of tickets in this thing?”
He didn’t answer, instead, hitting the remote then opening the passenger side door and shoving her inside. It didn't take him long to get to the other side. Riddled with curiosity, she strapped in. This was a show she couldn’t seem to resist. He revved up the engine and hit the gas. While he didn't exactly tear out of the parking lot, it was clear the car had punch, and skidded on slush left over from a recent bout of snow.
He drove a couple of miles down the highway to a tavern that had a blinking arrow pointing to another part of the sign that read arry's Place—the ‘H’ had burned out—and pulled in. The place was packed. He went over to the bar and raised his hand for the bartender. “Two burgers and an order of fries to go. Two beers while we wait.”
