New York City
The ladder wobbles as I stretch up on my toes to grasp the power cable that hangs from the lighting bar. When I shove the plug into the socket, I breathe a sigh of relief and grip the top of the ladder with both hands. Being a short-ass and rigging lights don’t really go hand in hand, but experience has taught me that stage managers on low-budget shows need to be Jacks-of-all-trades. Or Jills, as the case may be. The first week of rehearsals may almost be over, but the hard work for me and my crew has just begun.
I pause when I hear a noise backstage. I listen for a few seconds, and try to ignore the sudden thundering of my heart.
“Hello?”
Silence greets me.
Great. I love being stuck in a dark theater by myself with creepy sounds. Not freaking me out at all.
I’m halfway down the ladder when large hands close around my hips and make me scream.
“Ahhh! Get off me, creeper! I know karate!”
I immediately flail, and kick the ladder over in the process. Strong arms lift me away as the ladder topples noisily onto the stage.
“Hey! Chill, Daniel-san. It’s me.”
The arms tighten around me, and the familiar smell of all things Liam invades my senses. I grip his hands and exhale as he lowers me to the floor. “You scared the hell out of me! What are you doing?”
When I push away and turn to face him, he looks way too amused for my liking.
“Sorry,” he says, not looking at all apologetic. “Didn’t mean to freak you out. I thought you heard me behind you.”
“Well, I didn’t. And if you sneak up on me like that again, I’m going to make you wear a collar and bell.” I brush my hair away from my face and try to calm my hammering heart. “Why are you even here? Everyone else went home hours ago.”
He wanders over to the ladder and sets it upright. “I think I left my keys in the dressing room. At least, I hope I did, otherwise I’m sleeping on the street tonight. Why are you here? Isn’t rigging lights Sean’s job?”
“His wife went into labor and we need these specials for tomorrow’s rehearsal. Figured I’d just do it before I left.”
He stops in front of me, a little too close for comfort. In the low light, the shadows define the hard line of his jaw, as well as the soft curve of his lips. He’s so damn attractive, it’s frustrating. True to his prediction, being around each other every day and ignoring our insistent attraction is putting us both on edge.
“So, you’re here alone?” he asks quietly. “No Josh?”
I shake my head. “It was his gammy’s eightieth tonight. Every Kane in the tristate area is at the Four Seasons for her birthday dinner.”
“What about you? Have you had dinner? You look . . . hungry.” However I’m looking at him right now, it’s making his breathing speed up.
“I’m fine,” I say, but my voice is breathier than I’d like. “I’ll grab something when I’m done.”
I force myself to move away from him and head to the lighting desk at the front of the stage. I feel him behind me as I bring up the faders in sequence to check that all the lights are working.
“Let me stay and help you.”
“That’s not a good idea.”
“Why not?”
I grab another light from the cart and walk over to the ladder. “Can’t have you dirtying your pristine actor hands doing filthy crew work. How will you sign autographs and wave at all your nubile female fans if you chip a nail?”
He chuckles as I set the light down and reposition the ladder. “You have a point. I guess my hands got too soft lugging around bags of cement and tons of steel when I was constructing buildings for a living. Hanging a few lights is clearly beyond me.”
I flinch in surprise when he takes my hands and rubs our palms together. “Hmmm, would you look at that? It seems that of the two of us, the hard-core crew leader is the one with the velvet-soft hands. How did that happen?” He turns my palms over and examines them while trailing his forefinger over the sensitive skin. It shouldn’t be unbelievably erotic, but it is. “Liss, you don’t have a single callus on these dainty digits. How is that possible?”
A shiver runs through me. “I moisturize.” I flip his hands over and carry out a similar examination. As the pad of my finger traces his many calluses, he sucks in a sharp breath.
“Wow,” I say. “Looks like you’re all out of hand cream. I could grate cheese on these babies.” I’m exaggerating. His hands are rough, but not in an unpleasant way. In fact, I love their texture. I remember how they felt when he cupped my face and pushed under my clothes. Not that I should be thinking about that while we’re alone together. Nothing good will come of it.
“Liss?”