A Midsummer Night's Fling (Much Ado about Love #1) by Eliza Walker Page B
Authors: Eliza Walker
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doesn’t mean anything. You can kiss Max.
Every day. Sometimes twice a day for the matinee performances. All summer.
The thought was far more horrifying and far more exciting than it should be.
Rita stopped the Oberon and Puck dialogue and began flipping script pages. “All right, Maxim, you keep all the business the same, but on your line, ‘wake you, my sweet queen,’ we have a kiss.”
Max cleared his throat, and his weight thudded against the flimsy platform. “A small kiss or…”
“You hold the kiss for three seconds, I think. Your wife has just been with her lover. You are trying to make an impression. Reclaim your wife. We try it, mijo. Yes?”
Oh good. I’m being claimed. Nicola lay down on the platform.
“Cheat out, mija.”
Nicola adjusted herself, per Rita’s instructions, and made sure her body was turned out so the audience could see her face and so that— sigh —Max would have easy access for the kissing.
He delivered his line and bent toward her. “Sorry, Nic,” he whispered. His breath stirred against her face, but his lips barely brushed hers even as he held for the required three seconds. She fought every instinct, every bit of lingering muscle memory, which told her to open her mouth against his and deepen that kiss. Still, when he pulled back, she couldn’t help but feel…unsatisfied.
A breathless moment passed, her body tingling with heat.
“It’s your line, darling,” Lachlan said above her, his rich voice vibrating with laughter.
Nicola blinked her eyes open. “What?”
The stage manager cued her in a flat monotone, “‘My Oberon. What visions have I seen.’”
“Right.” The scene went on even after Max kissed her. The world went on—even after such a flat, lifeless kiss as that. “Sorry.” Nicola turned to Max, making her voice go breathless with wonder, “‘My Oberon! What visions have I seen! Methought I was enamour’d of an ass.’”
“‘Silence awhile—’”
“Hold, Maxim.” Rita lifted a hand, staring at her script. “We add another kiss there, I think. Yes. Make a note, everyone.”
Casting Nicola a dry glance, Max pulled his pencil out of his pants pocket, and made a quick note in his script. She was pretty sure she knew what his look meant. She wasn’t going to forget they were supposed to kiss. The fact Max felt at least as awkward as she did with this whole thing wasn’t much comfort. But it helped.
“All right, we run the scene again,” Rita declared. “And, Maxim-mijo, can you put some enthusiasm into the kiss this time? Some fire, eh?”
“Sure, Rita.”
I’m in hell . Nicola flattened herself against the bed platform and waited, defenseless, for her ex-boyfriend to kiss her.
This next time, his lips had barely brushed hers before Rita charged onto the stage, swearing in Spanish and, then, “Nonono no . Ugh.” The director’s bracelets set up a clinking racket as she flung her arms in the air with exasperation. Rita was a little breathless after her rant. Violet the stage manager started for her, but Rita waved the woman off. “Why did I cast you two if I am going to get such lifeless kisses? I want deep. Long. Claim her, Maxim.”
Max blinked, looking stunned.
Lachlan chuckled.
Nicola wet her lips and reclined on the box. She squeezed her eyes closed. “Just do it, Max. It’s fine.”
The other actors reset.
The scene began again.
“‘Wake you, my sweet queen.’” Max’s voice rumbled above her, the resonance of it causing flutters in her belly. Minty breath stirred on her face, and she smelled him, felt his bulk and heat. She shifted on the platform, rising toward his nearness.
He kissed her.
No tentative kiss this time, his mouth pressed hard against hers. She slid her fingers along the cord of his neck into the softness of his hair. She opened her lips for him and her arousal blossomed and shattered like a rose until the tingling heat was everywhere, until her veins seemed to flow with it. Yes .
Max
Every day. Sometimes twice a day for the matinee performances. All summer.
The thought was far more horrifying and far more exciting than it should be.
Rita stopped the Oberon and Puck dialogue and began flipping script pages. “All right, Maxim, you keep all the business the same, but on your line, ‘wake you, my sweet queen,’ we have a kiss.”
Max cleared his throat, and his weight thudded against the flimsy platform. “A small kiss or…”
“You hold the kiss for three seconds, I think. Your wife has just been with her lover. You are trying to make an impression. Reclaim your wife. We try it, mijo. Yes?”
Oh good. I’m being claimed. Nicola lay down on the platform.
“Cheat out, mija.”
Nicola adjusted herself, per Rita’s instructions, and made sure her body was turned out so the audience could see her face and so that— sigh —Max would have easy access for the kissing.
He delivered his line and bent toward her. “Sorry, Nic,” he whispered. His breath stirred against her face, but his lips barely brushed hers even as he held for the required three seconds. She fought every instinct, every bit of lingering muscle memory, which told her to open her mouth against his and deepen that kiss. Still, when he pulled back, she couldn’t help but feel…unsatisfied.
A breathless moment passed, her body tingling with heat.
“It’s your line, darling,” Lachlan said above her, his rich voice vibrating with laughter.
Nicola blinked her eyes open. “What?”
The stage manager cued her in a flat monotone, “‘My Oberon. What visions have I seen.’”
“Right.” The scene went on even after Max kissed her. The world went on—even after such a flat, lifeless kiss as that. “Sorry.” Nicola turned to Max, making her voice go breathless with wonder, “‘My Oberon! What visions have I seen! Methought I was enamour’d of an ass.’”
“‘Silence awhile—’”
“Hold, Maxim.” Rita lifted a hand, staring at her script. “We add another kiss there, I think. Yes. Make a note, everyone.”
Casting Nicola a dry glance, Max pulled his pencil out of his pants pocket, and made a quick note in his script. She was pretty sure she knew what his look meant. She wasn’t going to forget they were supposed to kiss. The fact Max felt at least as awkward as she did with this whole thing wasn’t much comfort. But it helped.
“All right, we run the scene again,” Rita declared. “And, Maxim-mijo, can you put some enthusiasm into the kiss this time? Some fire, eh?”
“Sure, Rita.”
I’m in hell . Nicola flattened herself against the bed platform and waited, defenseless, for her ex-boyfriend to kiss her.
This next time, his lips had barely brushed hers before Rita charged onto the stage, swearing in Spanish and, then, “Nonono no . Ugh.” The director’s bracelets set up a clinking racket as she flung her arms in the air with exasperation. Rita was a little breathless after her rant. Violet the stage manager started for her, but Rita waved the woman off. “Why did I cast you two if I am going to get such lifeless kisses? I want deep. Long. Claim her, Maxim.”
Max blinked, looking stunned.
Lachlan chuckled.
Nicola wet her lips and reclined on the box. She squeezed her eyes closed. “Just do it, Max. It’s fine.”
The other actors reset.
The scene began again.
“‘Wake you, my sweet queen.’” Max’s voice rumbled above her, the resonance of it causing flutters in her belly. Minty breath stirred on her face, and she smelled him, felt his bulk and heat. She shifted on the platform, rising toward his nearness.
He kissed her.
No tentative kiss this time, his mouth pressed hard against hers. She slid her fingers along the cord of his neck into the softness of his hair. She opened her lips for him and her arousal blossomed and shattered like a rose until the tingling heat was everywhere, until her veins seemed to flow with it. Yes .
Max
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