A Midsummer Night's Fling (Much Ado about Love #1) (23 page)

N
icola couldn’t sleep
, and if she couldn’t sleep, then there was a good chance Max couldn’t sleep either…but before she could work up any kind of initiative to do something about this realization, someone scratched at her door around three a.m.

Smirking to herself, she padded across the room. “What’s a nice boy like you doing—” She jumped as she opened the door to find Peter standing there. “Peter? What’s up?” She frowned at the travel bag clasped in his hand. “You’re leaving? Did you and Max fight?”

“No. Well, yes, but that’s not why I’m leaving. Here, um.” Peter paused, head cocked to listen as he peered at the closed door to Max’s room. “Can we talk for a minute or two?”

“Uh, sure. Of course.”

“Kitchen, I think.” He led the way, skittering down the stairs on tiptoe, sneaking uneasy glances at Max’s door, as if his brother were a sleeping bear he didn’t want to wake.

Peter led her toward the large kitchen, but she craned over to check Lachlan on the couch as they passed the living room. Lachlan was bundled in a rose-colored chenille comforter, snoring.

Nicola hadn’t yet had a good peek at the kitchen. It was as enormous and decadent as the rest of the house, with what felt like miles of light wooden cabinets and counter space. The focal point was a white marble-topped kitchen island that would have been the size of a normal family’s kitchen table. The Bunkhouse also had a formal dining room, though, so the kitchen island felt a bit superfluous.

Four high kitchen chairs were arranged around the island, and Peter dumped his bag on one of the chairs, then pulled out another one for her. “You thirsty? Hungry?”

She hoisted herself into the high, high chair and scooted her butt back so she wouldn’t overbalance. “No and no. Thanks.”

Peter shuffled to the fridge and hauled the massive wood-fronted door open. He stuck his head in, staring all around like he was sightseeing. “Bacon?
Tsk tsk
, Max. What would Mother say?”

“I think that’s Lachlan’s.”

“Don’t make excuses for Max, or you’ll be non-kosher by association.” Peter surveyed more of the shelves then let out a disgruntled huff. “No orange juice. What’s the world coming to when a man can’t get a glass of OJ in the middle of the night?”

“Peter, what is it?”

“I’m stalling, aren’t I?”

“Yes. Badly.”

He closed the fridge, then leaned against the front, a grin on his face that looked so much like Max’s that she blinked. Peter eased onto the island, mirroring her posture as he leaned on his elbows. “Would you say, aside from you and Max, that I am the most intimately acquainted of anyone with the details of your relationship?”

She recoiled, thrown for a loop, then she shrugged. “More or less. You were around for the beginning, the middle, and, I guess, the end?”

“Oh yes.”

“So?”

Peter tilted his head sideways, a wry, apologetic gesture. “You’ve figured out we’re having a ‘leave my brother alone’ talk, right?”

She sat straight in her chair and sucked in a calming breath. “I thought we might be.”

“I like you, Nic. It’s not about that. It never was.”

“What is it about?” Blood thundering in her ears, she folded her hands on the table, ready to be amazed.

“I pissed you off.”

“A little bit.”

“I’m batting a thousand tonight.” Peter fluffed a hand through his hair, then slapped his palm against the table like a judge calling the court to order. “All right. Let’s try it this way. What are your intentions with Max? What’s the endgame?”

“Max and I haven’t even figured that out yet. I think I should talk to him about it first, don’t you?”

Peter narrowed his eyes, his mask of geniality falling. “All our friends, everyone who’s been close to you two, they always talk about how Max broke
your
heart. Twice. But no one ever talks about how you broke his.”

Nicola swallowed, sick to her stomach, as if Peter had physically socked her instead of just delivering an emotional sucker punch.

“Max asked you to marry him,” Peter continued. “You said yes.”

“
I remember
.”

“So, it’s not like you two have ever been casual.”

She scowled at him as her heart thudded with anger, with fear. “Why are you dredging all this up? Yes, Max asked me to marry him back then. I said yes at first, but then I thought better of it. We were
kids
. We’d never even seriously dated other people, and we were going to get married? It was a
bad
idea
.”

It was. She had to believe that. She couldn’t play
what if
, couldn’t second-guess the decision her younger self had made. She smoothed her palm along the marble, found an uneven crack and wormed her nail into it to avoid Peter’s probing gaze. “Anyway, you’re forgetting, Max was pretty relieved when I called it off. I remember the pictures in all those magazines. Seemed like he was drinking and partying every night. Don’t tell me there weren’t any girls at those parties. Max was fine after I left.” Relieved to be rid of her? Her eyes prickled, and she gritted her teeth to keep the tears back.

A long-drawn-out moment of quiet followed. Peter went to the sink and got himself a glass of tap water, and all the small sounds were overloud, echoing in the quiet kitchen, the clink of glass, the flow of water, the sound as he took his first long gulp. Torture.

Nicola curled her hands into fists, her fingernails making red crescents in her palms. Peter set his glass down, a precise
click
of glass on stone filling the kitchen, then he said, voice going hoarse, “I never told you how I got the part in
Fortune’s Fool
, did I?”

“I always assumed you knocked it out of the park at the audition as usual. You make a fantastic pirate.”

“
Mmm
. Not exactly. I don’t think it’s a secret that back then Max and I were going out for a lot of the same parts.”

“Right. You both auditioned for that football movie he ended up making.”

Peter grimaced. Clearly it still rankled Max got that part over him. “Yeah. Well. On
Fortune’s Fool
, the producers screen-tested both of us.”

“He never told me that.” Seeing Peter’s face, his deep guilt, she reached out to touch his hand. “Oh, Petey, I’m sure Max doesn’t harbor a grudge about that. Like you said, you guys were competing all the time.”

Peter ground his teeth, a muscle in his jaw flexing. He dropped his gaze from hers. “Max booked
Fortune’s Fool
. The director cast Max in the lead role first.”

“
What?
”

“They
cast
Max. He had the part. His big fucking break. Shit.” Peter rubbed his face, looking tired, as haggard as someone that beautiful could manage.

“What happened?”

Peter stole another gulp of water.

When he lowered his glass and just stared at the counter, Nicola jiggled his arm. “
Peter
. What happened? You started the story. Tell me.”

Peter sucked in a long breath, then blew it out on a sigh. “The week of the first big production meeting was the week you broke the engagement with Max.”

“Oh
shit
.” Nicola hunched on her stool, holding her stomach as every particle of alcohol she’d drunk that night seemed to slosh sickeningly into the back of her throat.

“Max went on a bender after you left him. He was dead drunk for weeks. Yes, he partied a lot after you broke up, but that was because he didn’t give a damn about anything anymore. Not his career. Not his family. Not himself.”

Nicola held up her hand, trying to stop the tide of his words, but Peter just barreled on, “Max showed up drunk to the production meeting, and they fired him on the spot.” As Peter went on, his voice became harsh, ragged. “But the director liked Max’s look, his physique. Someone from casting said, ‘Hey, doesn’t he have a brother?’ I got the call, and I accepted the job even though I knew what it would do to Max. And my baby brother spent the next year drunk. I’ve got one of the best careers in Hollywood right now, but it all started at the expense of Max.”

She turned away, sliding out of the chair to land on her feet. “
You bastard
. How could you do that?” She wobbled and slapped a hand onto the island to steady herself. The marble felt cool against her flaming skin.

Peter crossed the island to stand next to her, towering over her, a full head higher. Max was as tall as Peter, but somehow he never used it against people, never made them feel small.

Nicola pushed against Peter, trying to get past him, but he caught her wrists, holding her in place as he hammered her with his words. “Between us, Nic, we managed to royally fuck up Max’s life. His name is still mud with the studios. I’ve tried to get him small parts in my movies. In friends’ movies. He’s been sober for years, but Max is still on the blacklist. When you left, it destroyed him, Nicola. It killed him. And
I
had to put him back together.” Peter gave her a small shake, just enough to startle her into meeting his gaze. His face was bleak, his eyes sad. “Don’t start things again. Don’t hurt him again.”

Her face was wet, and, as a small sob broke from her throat, she realized she was crying.

“I didn’t punch you for
Henry V
,” Max’s voice rumbled from the doorway, “but you can bet your ass I’ll pound you for upsetting Nic.”

Peter released her and lifted his hands in surrender. “We were talking before I leave for Mom’s house.”

Max stepped close to her and smoothed his palm along her arm. “What’s wrong?”

She scraped at the betraying tear tracks. “I’m fine.”

“Are you?”

“Yes. Don’t pound Peter.” She tugged on Max’s shirt, pulling him to her level so she could whisper, “And don’t make Peter stay with your mom. He’s a jerk, but he doesn’t deserve that.”

Max chuckled and straightened. “Peter, go back upstairs. We’re fine for now.”

Peter hesitated, then grabbed his bag. As he passed Nicola, he kissed her cheek and murmured, “I don’t like to see you get hurt either, kiddo.”

“I know,” she whispered.

“Be careful,” Peter said.

Nicola managed a small grin, but as Peter left and she stared at Max, warm and sleep-rumpled and wonderful, she could only think,
How?

How
could she be careful? She’d been trying to stay away from Max for weeks. How could she manage that now? How can you push the flood waters back when the dam’s already burst?

* * *

T
he boards creaked
on the stairs as Peter bounded back to Lachlan’s room. Nicola circled around the counter to put a glass into the sink, probably Peter’s, because she grabbed a fresh glass for herself out of the drying rack and filled it. “Peter found your bacon,” she said.

“Crap. I’m glad I let him stay. Now there’ll be time to smother him and hide the body before he can tell Ma.” Max watched Nicola, her stiff, uncertain movements, and knew he should have punched Peter when he had the chance.
What did Pete say to her?

Max didn’t know what he’d hoped from her, what he wanted the two of them to be. But, staring at her hunched, defeated frame, he knew it wasn’t this. If he couldn’t make her happy, then he shouldn’t be with her. “Say it, Nic. Quick cuts hurt less.”

She still had her back to him, but he heard the click as she set her glass on the counter. “How would you feel about a fling?”

“A fling?”

“Yes.” She whirled to face him, her eyes red. “These feelings we have aren’t going anywhere. I want to pull you down and have my way with you right now, in fact. But I think we can both agree any kind of a real relationship between us is not a good idea. So: we have a show fling. We don’t fight the chemistry. We screw our brains out.”

“After the show’s over?”

“You stay with the RSF, and I don’t. I meant to tell you before, I got offered another national tour.
Anything Goes
. I’m going to do it.” She gave him a wobbly smile. “But we’ll have a few more good memories out of the whole thing.” Her voice cracked, and one tear rolled down her cheek.

He smudged the tear away. “A fling, Nicci? Really?”

“I can’t do it, Max. My heart can’t take it.” She was crying now, tears tumbling from her eyes too fast for him to wipe away. “But I would like to have you again. To borrow or something. For the short time we can steal until
Midsummer
is over and I leave.” She sucked up a deep breath. “I understand if you don’t want to do that, but a fling is all I can handle, all I can give you. Light and fun. No strings.”

He cupped her cheeks, smoothing tears away with both thumbs, and offered her a wry grin. “Light and fun, huh?”

“Yes?”

He wrapped her in his arms, aching, mad at her, mad at himself, but wanting her more than he wanted his next breath. He leaned forward. “Okay,” he said against her lips. He kissed her and hurt inside.

A
fter their talk
in the kitchen, their “light and fun” fling didn’t start so well: her blowing her nose and Max leading her to his bedroom, where they fell asleep without making love.

But when Nicola woke in the morning beside him, his arm around her waist, his breath in her ear, a fling didn’t feel like such a bad idea. She rolled in his arms, and he beamed at her. “Hey.”

“Morning.” She burrowed against his chest, snuggling close to his body.

He eased onto his elbows, hovering over her, and she tipped onto her back. Caressing her cheek with his knuckles, he stared at her with a warmth that made her heart flutter. “So,” he said, “in a fling, it’s important to savor the moment, right? Make every second count?”

“I suppose so.”

“All right, Nicci.” He grinned. “Pay attention.”

* * *

“
M
mm
. That never gets old,” Nicola murmured from under the mat of her hair. It had fallen in her face sometime during the sex, and she hadn’t bothered or cared to move it. And she was too blissed out to move now. Her muscles had melted and were oozing into the plush mattress.

Max came to the rescue and peeled strands of her hair away so that cool air wafted over her face.

He kissed her shoulder. “We have to get up. Rehearsal.”

She groaned and rolled over. His hair was tousled into soft, dark blond waves, and his eyes were bright, bluer than the clearest sky could aspire to be. She smoothed her fingers into his hair and, joking, murmured, “‘Yon light is not daylight, I know it, I: it is some meteor that the sun exhal’d. Therefore stay yet.’” She banded her arms around his neck, pulling him toward her. “Maxim, we
so
don’t need to get out of bed yet.”

His mouth twitched in amusement and he settled his body over her, the corded flesh of his thighs and arms pressing against her. “‘Let me be taken,”’ he said. “‘Let me be put to death. I am content, so thou wilt have it so.’” He kissed her navel, then turned and rested his cheek on her belly, the hair of his beard a delightful prickle on her sensitive skin there. “‘I’ll say yon grey is not the morning’s eye…’” He paused and lifted his head, his forehead screwed up in a frown.

She smoothed the frown lines and, cueing him, murmured, “‘’Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia’s brow—’”

“
Tsk
. You freaking know-it-all.” Laughing, he blew a raspberry against her stomach, and when she giggled and tried to wriggle free, he held her down by the wrists and punctuated every line from
Romeo & Juliet
with another tickling raspberry on her belly: “‘Nor that is not the lark…’”
Tttthpbt
. “‘…whose notes do beat the vaulty heaven so high above our heads…’”
Tttthhhppbt
. “‘I have more care to stay than will to go…’”
Tttthhhppbbbt
. “‘Come, death, and welcome! Juliet wills it so.’” He finished with one particularly loud and long razz against her stomach that left her convulsing with laughter.

“
I hate you! Maxim! Stop!
”

His eyes crinkling with laughter, he gave her a large, smacking kiss on the mouth, then let her wrists go. As she stared up at him, her heart did that awful
flopflipflop
thing, like a landed fish trying to jerk its way back to the sea. But her heart was reaching toward
him
, aching for
him
.

As if he could sense the feelings welling inside her, threatening to swamp her, the grin slid off his face. Max traced the line of her cheek and bent to kiss her again, slowly.

Someone banged on the bedroom door, making the hinges rattle. Lachlan’s hoarse voice boomed through the wood, “Oy, Max, we’re running late!
Nicola
, tell your boytoy to hurry the hell up! You lot can shag at rehearsal if you have to!”

Max groaned and rolled out of bed, going to his dresser. “Damn Brit. I should charge him more rent.” He shrugged into clean clothes: a pair of blue sweats and a white T-shirt. It was a baggy, slovenly outfit yet he could have been in an ad campaign. One of those classy black-and-white spreads with the gorgeous, moody models.

Grinning wryly at life’s unfairness, Nicola picked her own clothes off the floor. She snagged her leggings and tank from yesterday but the thought of wearing the sweaty, stinky clothes was unbearable. “Maxim, do you have anything that would fit me? That I could wear to rehearsal? I forgot to wash these last night.”

Max peered at his own ripped, six-foot-plus frame, then over at her petite five-foot-mumble-mumble something stature. He puckered his lips in a gesture of uncertainty. “Um.”

* * *

E
ventually
, she ended up in an old Placebo T-shirt from a concert he’d attended freshman year of high school—before the growth spurt that had turned him into a six-foot-plus demigod—and a pair of his gym shorts, which had seen better days.

They wandered to the kitchen together. Peter and Lachlan were already eating. Peter was busy at the stove while Lachlan slumped in one of the chairs around the island. Lachlan’s eyes were red with black circles beneath them.

“Morning,” she said.

He grunted at her and wallowed into his coffee cup, pounding the drink back like a shot, then holding his mug out to Peter for more. Peter poured and eyed Nicola’s outfit at the same time. “Making a fashion statement today, are we?”

Nicola stuck out her tongue. “I’m doing a walk of shame, and you know it. So don’t be a smart-ass.”

Max kissed her. “You look very fetching, Nicci.”

“Nicola-love,” Lachlan said, more closely resembling Human now the caffeine had worked into his system. “Some of my clothes might have fit you better. I’m not so wretchedly muscle-bound as dear Max.”

She grimaced. “Yeah, but everyone at rehearsal is going to be talking about my walk of shame. At least if I borrow Max’s clothes, the rest of the cast won’t have to guess which one of you two I slept with.”

Lachlan smirked. “Ah, my petal, they might just think you shagged us both.”

Nicola choked on a sip of coffee. Max swallowed a laugh, and she soft-punched him on the shoulder.

Peter grinned, very like Max for a sec, and shoveled her up a plate of pancakes, eggs and— “No bacon, Pete,” she said. “I’m keeping kosher even if you two aren’t.”

“I forgot to ask, Peter,” Lachlan said. “What brings you into town? What’s your plan for today?”

Peter slid Max a quick, uncertain glance, then said, “I wanted to tag along with you lot to rehearsal. I thought it might be fun to watch. I’ve never seen my baby brother do Shakespeare.”

“You sure you aren’t bumming a ride so you can meet with Isabelle?” Max’s hands were rigid around his fork as he shoveled eggs into his mouth.

Peter slapped his brother’s shoulder. “No. I changed my mind about meeting Isabelle. If it means that much to you, then
Henry V
is all yours.”

“Wait. What?” Lachlan sat forward, glaring between the two brothers.

Nicola giggled. “Ah, another drama-free day in the theater world.”

* * *

D
ressed
, fed, under-caffeinated but still functioning, they all piled into Max’s SUV, running about ten minutes late. If Nicola was worried about her reputation at rehearsal—ten minutes late and wearing Max’s clothes—she needn’t have been. Once Peter showed his so-famous face, all the rest of them could have sprouted wings or cloven hoofs and no one would have noticed.
Ah, the glorious Peter
. Max tried not to mind.

In the theater, as the rest of the cast flocked to Peter for autographs and camera phone pics, Judith settled on a polite “hello” to the movie star before she wandered over to Max.

As soon as Judith started toward them, Nicola murmured, “Later,” and skipped off to sit with Abe. Abe was one of the few other company members less than impressed with Peter. Probably because Abe had met Peter before, had seen him wandering around the Bunkhouse half-dressed, questing for a clean pair of socks. That sort of thing could scrape the mystique off anybody.

Max smiled at Judith’s approach. “Morning, Madame Director.”

She clasped his hands, her face concerned. “I had no idea Isabelle was bringing Peter out. No idea at all he was even considering King Henry this seriously.”

Max gave her shoulder a reassuring pat. “It’s all right. Peter and I talked. My brother isn’t going after the part.”

“Oh.” Judith deflated a little. Disappointed the Big Movie Star didn’t want to work with her, maybe? But then she squeezed Max’s hand, her eyes bright. “Well, good. Maybe that means I can make a certain happy announcement sooner than I thought.” Her eyelid shivered down in a wink before she departed to call everyone to order and begin rehearsal.

Henry. Yes!
Max started down the aisle, but Lachlan knocked into him from behind. “Excuse you,” Max called.

Lachlan flipped him a British two-fingered salute and stomped along to drop himself into the seat behind Nicola.

Max winced. Had Lachlan heard his talk with Judith? No wonder Lach looked pissy, if he’d just heard Judith basically announce that Max had the Henry part. Max felt bad for his friend, but his own excitement sort of surged over that.
Henry. Mine. Mine.

He bounced over to Nicola, his nerves bubbling with excitement. Hauling her out of the chair, he kissed her soundly on the lips.
Sweet victory. Sweeter Nicola
.

As he pulled away, she blinked at him in shock, and it was then he became aware of the rest of the cast gaping at the two of them in varying degrees of bafflement or satisfaction. Abe gave them a thumbs-up. Lachlan scribbled on his script, then held it aloft like a scorecard showing a four-point-five.

Oops
. Max grimaced at Nicola. “So much for a discreet fling. I’m sorry.”

“Forget discretion.” She twined her arms around his neck. “We’re living in the moment, remember? Now let’s see if we can get a six-point-oh from Lachlan.” And then she frenched Max.

Henry V
. Nicola. So far, Max’s day was off to a pretty damn good start.

* * *

M
aybe because Peter was there
, maybe because it was their last rehearsal before tech week, but Judith was much less awful than usual. Especially to Nicola. Max was glad, although he wished it didn’t take an outside audience to make Judith treat all her actors with respect. The director was always professional and helpful with him and Lachlan, with Abe and the other “rude mechanicals.” He couldn’t understand what it was about Nicola that rubbed Judith so wrong.