A Midsummer Night's Fling (Stage Kiss Series Book 1) (29 page)

I should leave, let them sort it out
. She didn't have a claim on Max anymore. Leaving would be the mature thing to do.
Right. Yes
. She glanced over at Max.
I don't
wanna
leave
.

Peter seemed to sense her hesitation, and his scowl deepened. Max grinned at her, the laugh lines around his eyes showing, and Nicola thought,
Yeah
,
I'm not going anywhere
.

Peter wheeled toward Max, unleashing a stream of low-voiced, livid German, "Was machst du mit ihr?"
What are you doing with her?

Max groaned and replied in English. "That's rude, Peter."

"Es ist mir scheissegal. Max, das ist verrückt. Du kannst nicht – "
I don't fucking care. Max, this is nuts. You can't
–
 

Nicola shifted on her feet then said, "Um, Peter, habe ich dir jemals gesagt, dass ich drei Semester Deutsch auf dem College hatte?"
Um, Peter, did I ever tell you I had three semesters of German in college?

Peter flinched, and – from the stuffed expression on his face – she rather thought he'd be blushing if he didn't have such a great tan. "I didn't know that," he said, in English, then started across the hall. But, before Peter reached the other room, he stopped and turned back. "Wait a minute, if you two started up again then why is Nicola sleeping in the guest room?"

Nicola opened her mouth, then froze.
Good question
. She jerked her head over to meet Max's irritated gaze.

He ran a hand over his face and rubbed at his temples. "You're kind of a mood killer, Peter."

Peter brightened at this and marched himself into Lachlan's room. He closed the door.
 

"Nic – " Max started toward her, reaching for her hand.
 

The other door popped open and Peter stuck his head out, grinning. "
Gute Nacht!
" he bellowed, the German making the words extra bombastic.
 

Max flipped Peter the bird over his shoulder. Nicola stood on her tiptoes and stuck her tongue out at Peter over Max's shoulder too.
 

Peter winked at her. "I did miss you, Nic. Sleep tight, kids." He shut the door.
 

Max paused, head cocked, and Nicola also held her breath waiting to see if Peter would return. When he didn't, after a long moment, they stared at each other.

The bulk of the whole house seemed to be weighing Nicola down. Max appeared equally daunted. Peter's appearance was a bit like having the wrecking ball of their past crash through the bedroom wall. Their night now felt like a timeout, a stolen interlude. As if they'd found a window to the past and climbed through together, but now the glass was broken and they had to figure out a way to scrape the pieces off the floor bare-handed. "Peter really is a mood killer," she muttered.

"Story of my life." Max rolled his eyes. "Hey, I always wondered: why did you start taking German classes? Peter and I didn't speak it in front of you too often, did we?"

"No . . . sometimes when you and I would be . . . in the middle . . . when things were intense you'd, um, start speaking German."

Max opened his mouth then shut it with a click. He cocked his head to the side and puffed out a laugh. "What would I say?"

Ich liebe dich, Nicci. Ich liebe dich so viel.
Her eyes prickled as she remembered.
I love you, Nicci. I love you so much
. "Usually it was some variation on 'You're so hot' or 'You feel so good.' Sometimes it was just 'I love you.'" She twisted her hands together. Her body was still tingling, loose-limbed and languid from their earlier love-making, but her stomach was churning.

He reached up, hesitated, then cradled her jaw, smoothing his thumb along her cheekbone. "Shall I sleep in my room for the rest of the night?"

NO
. The thought seemed to tear itself straight from her chest, a visceral, gut-level certainty. But still she found herself avoiding his gaze and nodding. They'd managed to wade through their past for these few stolen hours, but now they were drowning in it again.
 

He kissed her forehead and squeezed her arm. "We'll talk in the morning, OK?"

"All right."

She returned to the guest room and stretched out on the bed, but the smell of Max was all over the sheets, the mattress still warm from his body.
Ich liebe dich, Nicci
.
Ich liebe dich so viel . . .
 

She buried her face in his pillow, waiting for morning to come and her good sense to return.

***

Max hovered until Nicola's door closed, then he set his jaw and made his way to Lachlan's bedroom. He wanted to bang on the door, knock it down to get at Peter, but he didn't want to disturb Nicola. So he settled for opening the door without knocking and closing it firmly behind himself.

Peter lay facedown on the edge of Lachlan's bed, snoring already. For the first time, Max noticed the circles around his brother's eyes, the hollows under his cheeks. Peter had to be exhausted to go from a fight to unconscious in under ten minutes.
Poor Pete
.

Max put his hands under his brother's arm and flipped him over. Peter startled awake, flailed, rolled, then fell backwards off the bed to land on the floor with a satisfying
thud
.

Peter clawed his way upright using the edge of the bed. "What the
fuck,
Max?!"
 

"What are you doing here, Pete? What are you
really
doing here?"

Peter pushed to his feet and cracked his spine. He turned from Max, sitting on the foot of the bed. "I was worried about my idiot baby brother. Things didn't end well the last time you tried to make it work with Nicola."

"You didn't fly back from Vancouver just to get me away from Nicola."

Peter threw his hands up, his face muscles stiff with annoyance. "No, I'm visiting Ma too. I told you that. I've also got a meeting with my agent and my manager. My publicist. All the usual LA bullshit errands I have to do when I'm in town. You know the drill."

"No." Max clenched his hands, his blood firing with anger, a hot, pulsing anger which wasn't entirely Peter's fault. But it was Peter's problem now. "Your people come to you if it's urgent. There's something else. What is it?"

"Max – " Peter stood and tried to shove past him.

Max caught his brother's shoulder, holding Peter still. Max's hands were shaking. "You are not doing this to me again. You fucking asshole. Don't do this to me again. How can you do this to me
again
?"

"What are you talking about?" But Peter's gaze slid away as he said it.

"Henry the fucking Fifth!
" Max yelled. "You came into town to meet with Isabelle about the part. Didn't you?"

Peter patted Max's arm, his voice gentle. "Nothing's decided."

Max's blood seemed to pop inside him, actually boiling. "I've worked my ass off at that company. I've studied Shakespeare. I've done three full seasons with the RSF and you fucking waltz in and get Henry handed to you. This is such
bullshit
. You don't even know what iambic pentameter is!" Max shoved Peter's hand away and stalked toward the door.

Peter bounded after him. Max grabbed the door handle but Peter slapped a palm against the wood, holding the bedroom door closed when Max tried to pull it open. "Max, I'm at a critical point in my career. I want to break out of the soapy, heartthrob hero roles. Doing something like
Henry V
with a bit more gravitas could help, could show people in this town that I'm not a one trick pony."

"Right." Maybe this one hurt so much because Isabelle knew Max, knew what he was capable of, how diligently he worked, but she was still willing to throw Max over to work with Peter instead. "You need this opportunity so you'll screw me over to get it. That's fine, Petey. At least I'm used to it."
 

"It's only a meeting, and I only took it because I was coming down here anyway for
you
. I'm worried about
you
– "
 

Max shouldered Peter aside, and yanked the door open. "Save it."

Chapter Nineteen

Nicola 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 3am.

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 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 which 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?" he asked. "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 sight-seeing. "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 grunted. "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 which 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," he said.

"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. And 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.