A Midsummer Night's Fling (Stage Kiss Series Book 1) (34 page)

Nicola puffed out a laugh. "I believe you."
 

His muscles had felt like iron before, rigid with fear, but now the anxiety melted. Mostly.
 

Except Nicola was flipping the pages of his book with her thumb, a nervous tic.
 

"Nic?"

"Lachlan is upset about the
Henry V
thing."

"Lachlan's irritated with me. What else is new?"

"He kind of . . . sort of hit on me. He didn't kiss me or anything, and I think he was half joking, but I . . . thought I should tell you."

"
What?
" His blood was doing that pounding in his ears thing, and a hot, hollow place burned in his gut.

"I think you getting
Henry V
screwed with his head," she said. "He didn't mean it. He apologized. He knew he was wrong."

"So why did he fucking do it?"
 

"He
has
been hitting on me since I got here."

"That was before you and I started. . . He should know better now. You and I are together. Sort of. If he’s my friend then he keeps it in his pants." Max pushed from the bed and paced the room. He wished Lachlan was here. The blood was rushing through Max's veins.
He needed something besides the wall to punch, and Lachlan's smug face was perfect.

The bed covers rustled, then Nicola was holding him, her front pressed against his back, her hands banded around his waist. "I'm sorry."

What a screwed up evening they were having. He covered her hands and leaned back against her. "What are you sorry for?" he murmured.

"I dunno. For the possibility I might have hurt you."

"You didn't. We're OK."

"Good."

"And I'm sorry for the Judith thing. If I'd known I never would have gone over there."

She pressed her forehead in between his shoulder blades. "Max, Lachlan pointed out that with a fling there isn't an expectation of monogamy."

"He
would
point that out."

"If you had slept with Judith it wouldn't technically have been cheating. You and I are having a fling, I can't get mad if you wander."

"That's bullshit." He turned around and gripped her shoulders. "Is that what you want?"

"I thought it might be what you wanted."

"I only want you. While we're doing this fling-thing it's only you and me. I'm not doing this any other way."

"Good." She settled against him again, wrapping her arms around his waist, burying her face in his chest. He bundled her up in his arms then rested his cheek against the cool silk of her hair. The vice of fear circling his chest loosened, and he could breathe.
 

She puffed a wry laugh out.
 

"What?" he asked.

She made a small
moue
with her mouth, but her eyes were laughing. "Rehearsal on Tuesday is gonna suck."

Chapter Twenty-Three

Nicola didn't ever want to return to her apartment.
 

It wasn't just The Bunkhouse itself with its airy rooms, and pool and the
bathrooms
. Though none of those things hurt exactly. No, it was the warm sense of home she got every time she stepped through that heavy wooden door into the cheerful light of The Bunkhouse. Peter – probably under heavy threats from Max – had de-camped to their mother's house for the night.

Lachlan, understandably, had disappeared on Sunday evening after her talk with him but before Max got home. She'd texted Lachlan,
I'm still pissed at you but you didn't come home. I'm checking you're not dead. Are you dead?

I'm fine. Be back Tuesday
, he'd texted.
I'm getting reacquainted with the lovely Cassie. I won't be home. I've got a ride to rehearsal. No worries
.
 

Good for Cassie
. And Lachlan. He was a bit of a coward for avoiding Max, but Nicola couldn't blame him. The anger between Max and Lachlan had built too high. A confrontation was inevitable, but she was glad it wouldn't be
now
. Not tonight. Maybe if both men had a day to cool down, adjust to things, there wouldn't be a fight. Maybe they could even salvage their friendship.

She scoffed to herself.
Yeah, Nicola. They'll cry and hug and braid each other's hair while they're at it.

She left it at that. She was too busy enjoying Max to worry much about Lachlan. When she and Max swung the front door closed Sunday night it was like they'd sealed themselves into a little oasis of calm and happiness.
 

They didn't spend the
whole
day on Monday naked, but it wasn't for lack of trying.
 

***

Monday night, before they expected everyone to descend on The Bunkhouse once again, Max went out to get the two of them Thai for dinner, and Nicola hopped into his beautiful shower. It had frosted glass doors, creamy black and white tiles, and a shower head that seemed to pour manna from heaven. Or at least hot water which hit all the right spots when she adjusted the spray.

Max had some high quality man products. Maybe windfall from Peter's movie star stash? As she lathered her hair with designer shampoo, Max knocked on the shower door.
 

"Is Miss Czerwinski receiving visitors at present?" he called, his body a vague blur behind the frosted glass.
 

Nicola rolled back the shower door, and she peered around its edge at him.
 

He was already barefoot, working on the buttons of his blue plaid shirt.

"Taking a lot for granted, aren't you?" she said.

"I'm only doing my part to save the planet. Water conservation, don't you know." He curled a finger around the shower door and stood on tiptoe to peer past the glass at her. "Hey, are you naked in there?"

"The finer showering facilities do tend to have a required un-dress code to gain admittance."

"Damn." He whipped his shirt over his head. "I'm over-dressed!"

Being a master of the quick change, his boxers were around his ankles in seconds. He fumbled at the finish, hopping on one foot as he tried to free the other leg from his jeans. But then the shower door was rattling on its track and his feet were slapping in the puddle water of the shower.
 

"Ah." Max plucked the bar soap from her hands. "Were we lathering up? Allow me. I am an expert."

Nicola giggled and folded herself closer to him as he proceeded to cover her in soft, soapy suds. She leaned into him, her wet skin sliding on his, the heat of the water and their bodies warming her down to her marrow. "What happened to dinner?"

"Fridge."

"What if I'm hungry now?"

He cupped her neck, gripping her hair in his fist as he gently pulled her head back. "Are you?"

"Bet your ass." She hopped onto her tiptoes to kiss him. He moaned, his tongue sweeping into her mouth, strong but slow, massaging, savoring. His hand still made languorous progress over her body, applying the soap to her skin with one hand and spreading it with the other. The kiss continued. Long, rich, a sweet drowning of a kiss that felt as if they had truly melted into one.

When he ended the kiss, she let out a deep, shuddering breath. Her legs were shaking.
 

His hands moved to her breasts, circling with the soap once. He kept his eyes on her face, his gaze hotter than the steaming water. "Oops, missed a spot." His hands supplanted the soap, caressing and rubbing until she was ready to climb out of her skin.
 

She groaned as he cupped her and coaxed her nipple to a firm bud with his thumb. She tilted into him and licked the water off his lips. He teased his thumb over her nipple – pulling another groan from her. Bending, he proceeded to lick and suck the water from her neck. His mouth was startling, exciting, slightly cooler than the water of the shower.
 

While he was distracted, Nicola plucked the soap from his hands. Building a good lather, she wrapped her hands around his cock. He moaned against her skin and thrust into her hands. She ran her palms along his length, slicking him with soap as her hands slid along his skin.
 

She'd thought him already big, but even as she soaped him, he grew against her palms.
 

His tongue plunged into her mouth, thrusting, and her hand increased its rhythm. He gasped and his free hand moved to her neck to hold her to him while he so sweetly savaged her mouth.
 

With her free hand, she gave his balls a little tug.
 

Max straightened and, without a word, turned the water off. He rolled the shower door open, blasting her with cool air. He tugged her out of the shower, their wet feet leaving puddles on the tile floor.

"Max, wh – "

He pushed her against the bedroom wall, bracing his hands on either side of her head. Her skin was hot, over-sensitized as she prickled all over with sensation, a delicious tickle which started on her skin then swam its way into her blood until she felt light-headed, drugged with feeling.
 

He nibbled at her neck, his long, heavy cock pushing against the softness of her stomach. "I must have you now." He said it in his Oberon voice, all deep and rumbly and bossy. And damned sexy.
 

She laughed. "All this from a ball tug? I didn't know you liked it that much."

"I like
you
that much." Max wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her. Her wet body slid against his as he bounced her onto the bed. Then he was covering her body with his own, a delightful, wonderful weight pressing her into the mattress.
 

"Still want dinner?" he whispered.

"Oh, shut up and kiss me."

***

"My noodles are soggy." Nicola spun up a forkful and put the peanut-y but sadly limp knot of food into her mouth. The noodles were slimy and badly reheated – one bite ice cold, the other blistering hot. She shot Max a reproachful look. "I think you should have grabbed something more reheat-friendly if you were going to jump me."

"You weren't complaining."

She pointed her fork at him. "Smug. There's smug all over you. I think you need another shower."

"Will you wash my back?" He wiggled his eyebrows.

"Only if you promise to drop the soap."

"And . . .
ick
," Peter said by way of greeting. He slapped a pizza box onto the kitchen island. "I brought dinner, but I see you guys are provided for."

"Ha." Reaching for the pizza box, Nicola pushed her plate of cold noodles away with her other hand.
 

"Hey," Max said, pouting.
 

"No guilting me, Fiesengerke," she said. "Rock beats scissors. Fresh pizza beats lukewarm noodles. You've already displayed your manly prowess for today, let this one go." She bit into the pizza – mushrooms with roasted garlic and black olives – then groaned in ecstasy.

"Garlic, Pete?" Max asked. "Is this an evil plot to keep us apart?"
 

"Yes, the tale of the star-crossed pizza."

Max stared glumly at his own dinner then glanced at his brother, at Nicola. He slid the soggy Thai into his mouth, chewed like penance, and grimaced as he swallowed. With a sigh, he grabbed his plate and Nicola's then dumped their cold food in the trash. When he returned from the sink, he snagged a slice of pizza for himself.
 

Nicola froze at the sound of a key scraping in the front door lock. Max swallowed then glanced over at her. Peter frowned, maybe picking up on their odd vibes.
 

"What are you going to do about Lachlan?" she murmured.

"Kick his ass."

"He thought you might have been cheating on me, Max. He probably thought I should have some warning on that."

Max glanced over at her, looking uncertain.
 

"I missed something," Peter said then indulged in a thoughtful bite of pizza.

Footsteps shuffled in the hallway and Nicola froze, praying Max and Lachlan weren't about to get into a fistfight.
 

But The Bunkhouse tenant who rounded the corner was Abe, not Lach. The character actor blinked somewhat owlishly as he saw them. "Hello?"

Max chuckled. "Abe. Pull up a chair. Have some pizza. I almost forgot you lived here too."

Nicola's breath streamed out of her in a relieved sigh, and she snuggled up to Max. Tomorrow, Lachlan and Max were going to have to work together for the school performance with Isabelle. And Max would have to face Judith after rejecting her advances. And Nicola was going to have to play nice with Judith instead of killing the bitch.

Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow . . .
 

Wow, you know your life is a mess when Shakespeare plots are less complicated than the shit you're going through.
Nicola took another bite of pizza.
Tomorrow. Ugh
.

***

The next morning, Isabelle texted Max's cell. He was busy getting dressed while Nicola idled in his bed. He'd forgotten how difficult it was to wake Nicola up.