Triple Threat

Nick snuck a glance at Holly and frowned. Ethan, her self-appointed bodyguard, had once again glued himself to her side. They sat together, shoulders touching, heads bowed over a copy of the script.

Jesus. The guy was like her freaking shadow. Nick wouldn’t be surprised to find out they went to the damn bathroom together. At first he thought maybe they were a couple, with their constant chatter, light touches and little laughs. That illusion had been blessedly blown to bits when Ethan’s boyfriend had shown up to meet him after rehearsal.

Still, Ethan needed to get accidentally locked in the prop room for a good half a day.

Overnight would be even better.

Nick turned back to his impressionable costar and flashed her a grin that he hoped was reassuring. “Of course.” He patted the chair next to him, and Marisa sat down. “But I keep telling you, call me Nick. After all, we are married, in a manner of speaking.”

She blushed and ducked her head, her mane of long dark curls covering her face. “Okay, Mr.... I mean, Nick.”

“Now that we’ve got that settled, what can I do for you?”

“I’m just curious.” She peered at him through her bangs. “You’ve done stage productions before, right?”

“It’s been a while, but yeah.”

“Are you nervous?”

“Not really,” he lied. “It’s like riding a bike. And nothing beats performing in front of a live audience. The instant response. The connection.” The chance that any minute you could forget your lines or your blocking. No one to bail you out by yelling, “Cut.”

“No, I mean because of the—” she stopped and looked around as if to make sure no one else was listening. When she spoke again, her voice was a whisper “—curse.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “The what?”

“The crew says we’re cursed. Because of all the weird stuff going on. You know. The bomb threat. The food poisoning. The blackout.”

Nick nodded, finally understanding. Of course Marisa would be worried. It was her plane that had been grounded by a bomb threat in Toronto, where she’d been wrapping a film, making her miss the first read-through. Then half the crew had gotten food poisoning from some bad sushi. And yesterday the power had gone out at Pearl, costing them half a day’s practice.

But all shows hit rough waters, and Nick wasn’t about to let Marisa drown in them. These were hiccups, not the Titanic.

“Nah,” he assured her. “Theater people are suspicious by nature.”

“Really?”

“Sure. That’s why we say ‘break a leg’ instead of ‘good luck.’ And leave a ghost light on onstage. And, most importantly, never, ever say or quote from Macbeth in a theater.”

Marisa tilted her head, looking confused. “What do you call it, then?”

“You don’t.” Nick chuckled. “Or, if you must, it’s the Scottish play.”

“That’s silly.”

“Yep. Like believing we’re cursed is silly.”

“I guess so. Thanks, Mr.... Nick. Sorry.” She stood and stretched, showing a wide expanse of her flat stomach that, in another lifetime, one before Holly had reappeared, would have had him itching to see more. Now he wasn’t interested. He ran a hand across his face, trying to erase the unfamiliar feeling.

“I think I’ll get a Diet Coke from the vending machine in the hall.” Marisa flipped her thick, dark curls over her shoulder. “Do you want anything?”

“No, thanks.” He picked up a stainless-steel water bottle with the UCONN Huskies logo on it from the floor next to his chair. “Tap water’s good enough for me.”

“Score one for you,” she said, her eyes flicking to Malcolm before she bounded off.

Nick leaned back in his chair, a trace of an amused smile playing around his lips. Smart girl. Perceptive, too. She was going to do just fine in this business.

He took a long, cool drink from the Huskies bottle and checked his watch. Ethan’s ten minutes were almost up, and Wes and the Evian were still conspicuously absent. But instead of ranting and raving like the first-rate prima donna everyone knew he was, Malcolm was perched on the edge of the table next to Holly, with Ethan nowhere in sight.

Shit. The bastard had swooped in before Nick could react to the fact that she’d finally lost her guard dog. He’d been fawning all over her at every possible opportunity from the first day of rehearsal. Bringing her coffee in the morning. Complimenting her word choices in the script. Touching her whenever—wherever—he could.

Like now. Malcolm pulled a strand of her hair from his mouth and gave a low laugh.

Nick’s fists clenched. If the guy got any closer his tongue would be in her eardrum. And at the rate it was drifting downward, the hand lazily caressing her back would be on her ass before long.

If Ethan was getting locked in a closet, Malcolm was going into a Dumpster with a thick chain and padlock. And maybe a couple of hungry rats.

Nick sprang from his chair, slamming it into the wall behind him with a loud clang. Fuck this. He was done standing by while freaking Malcolm Justice made time with the woman who, barely more than a week ago, was melting into his kiss, panting at his touch, moaning his name.

Something had scared her off that day in his hotel room. One minute she’d been all over him, meeting his tongue thrust for thrust and grinding against him so hard he’d almost shot his load then and there. The next she was running for the door. He’d waited long enough to find out what had spooked her. Today he was getting some answers.

* * *

OH, CRAP.

Holly’s stomach sank as she saw Nick stalking toward her, his forehead creased, the lips that had kissed her so wantonly pressed together.

“Excuse me, Malcolm,” she said, interrupting another of his self-absorbed stories. This one, as far as she could tell, was building up to how he’d outsmarted Scorsese. “I’d better see if Ethan and the others have any questions.”

“Justice.” Nick cut in before she could break away. “You won’t mind if I steal our illustrious author for a few minutes.”

Malcolm reached for Holly’s wrist but she shook him off. “As a matter of fact, I would.”

“And why is that?”

“I don’t think that’s any of your business, Damone.”

“I’m making it my business.”

“Not if I can help it.”

“Stop, both of you!” Holly’s head ached from pinging back and forth between them. “You’re acting like a couple of overgrown frat boys, arguing over me as if I weren’t standing right in front of you.”

They continued to glare at each other over her head for a moment, making her feel a little like a choice sirloin in the middle of two hungry dogs. Was it possible to be flattered and disgusted at the same time?

Nick was the one to finally concede the staring contest. “Holly.” He put a hand on her elbow, his touch not demanding but imploring, those beautiful brown eyes sucking her in closer. Heat spread from his fingers to her traitorous girlie bits. “I just need a few minutes of your time. To...discuss my role.”

“Don’t you mean ‘show you my etchings’?” Malcolm leered.

Nick’s attention didn’t waver from Holly. “Please.”