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(Unsure of his reaction)
I wish to… see your face… with my hands.
Aiden,as Beauregard, held his breath as Maylis, er, Teresa, closed her eyes and raised her dainty hands to his face, running them lightly over his features.
“Your jaw is strong,” she said in a husky tenor that Aiden—er, Beauregard relished. “Your lashes thick, your nose broad.” Her voice dropped, sending a shot of heat up his spine.She’s an actor. Why did he have to keep telling himself that? “Your lips…”
“My lips?”
“Firm.”
He leaned in and brushed her lips with his. Hers molded and clung to his. It took him a moment to remember they had an audience, that they were on display, and were in the final dress rehearsal stages. His understudy had been kicked to the curb, but it was never far from Aiden’s mind that the director watched him like a hawk.
Aiden became concerned with these stage kisses. His mind kept confusing the real with the make-believe.
Maylis—no. Teresa’s hands slid from his face to his jaw to his shoulders. The elaborately tied necktie, cravat was what it was called in history, took a stranglehold on him. He brought his hands up and encircled her wrists. He’d never felt this way about a co-star. Ever. There was an inner strength about this woman that was different from any other woman he’d worked with, or perhaps even been involved with. He wasn’t involved with this woman, he reminded himself. This was their last full-dress rehearsal before Opening Night. Aiden burned for her. But he couldn’t afford to be off his game.
Neither could she, for that matter. But he doubted she burned for him like he did for her.
Every night since the he’d allowed her in his home—almost a month ago now—he’d been in the shower, jacking off then turning the water to ice cold. He slept with the windows open to let in the late December air. He had no desire to see anyone else. His focusshouldbe on Broadway. Yet, he never joined the cast for the late-night cast get-togethers. Yet, there didn’t seem to be any way he could avoid it the next evening.
If he wasn’t able to bury himself in her soon, they might as well commit him to the nearest asylum.
Her eyes opened but didn’t focus on him. They were raised a tad and pinned on something over his shoulder. She really was good. He could almost believe her blind himself.
Teresa backed away from him.
Beauregard took her hand and wrapped it around his own wine glass, nodding to the butler who stood in the corner to clear away the one turned over. “You aren’t the monster you portend, are you?” he said.
“I? A monster?”
She jerked her hands away, tumbling this glass as well. She stumbled from the table. She feared her feelings for him. But he would take her any way he could get her. He loved her. Desired her. She belonged with him so he could keep her safe. Where no one could ever harm her.
“Fucking brilliant.” The director yelled out. He issued a couple of last-minute modifications, after which, in the final scene, his heroine dashed from a debilitating fire and tripped, hitting her head. Ash covered her face and, Aiden—erBeauregardkissed her for all he was worth. A sleeping beauty as it were, stirring her to life.
“Quit shining that light in my face,” she cried in pain.
The entire company stopped. “Light?” Beauregard said. Then their final kiss.
Their last rehearsal. He dipped his tongue in her mouth and savored the taste of her, knowing full well, the woman in his arms was playing a part. Yet, how she clung to him. As if he were her lifeline.
She’s an actor.Why did he have to keep reminding himself of the fact?
He pulled his mouth from hers and stared down into her lovely features. He leaned in again. “I want you, Maylis Smith.” His whisper in her ear elicited a reaction that set his nerve endings afire. She shivered in his arms.
“Dinner, Miss Smith?”
“Not your best idea,LordHarrison,” she said in perfectly enunciated British English.
This was too much fun. “You think they’ll let you keep the dress?”
She pushed away from him. “Hardly.”
He stood and offered her a hand. That corset she wore couldn’t be comfortable. He wouldn’t get away with assisting her out of it, he supposed.
There was a snicker from the wings where Joe, the heavyset guy playing the butler, stood next to the tall, lanky, Donna, the housekeeper and butler’s wife, played by a thirty-year-old actress, Tina.
The entire company sauntered out on stage for last comments before the director tersely dismissed them and sent them on their way, demanding they rest. “Be here tomorrow at four. No fuck-ups.” He disappeared from the front row through a door off to the left.
