Wicked Heart (Starcrossed #3)(23)

“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?”

“Hmmm?” I look up at him. His jaw is tense.

“If you don’t stop touching me like that, I’m going to forget I’m supposed to stay away from you and do some very unprofessional things to you right here in the middle of the stage. Now, I’d actually enjoy that, but I’m predicting you wouldn’t. So, continue at your own risk.”

Reluctantly, I take my hands off him and step back. “It’s not that I wouldn’t enjoy it. It just can’t happen.”

He runs his hand through his hair. “I understand. Sort of. I’d better go find my keys. And have a cold shower. Please don’t fall off the ladder and kill yourself while I’m gone. That would bum me out.”

I try not to smile. “I’ll do my best.”

He heads backstage to his dressing room. By the time he returns, I’ve hung the last lamp and have started plotting a few of the light settings we’ll be using the next day.

He holds up his keys. “Found them. Also, did you know there’s no shower in my dressing room?”

“Yep. There’s only one shower in this entire theater, and right now, it’s filled with paint cans and half-washed rollers. Welcome to the glamorous world of theater.”

He throws his hands up in mock exasperation. “I can’t work under these conditions! I’ll be in my trailer.”

I smile. “Getting a head start on your star attitude, huh? I approve. You are going to be a star, after all.”

“Really?” he asks. “I’m doing an okay job?”

I roll my eyes. “Miriam hasn’t gushed over your performance enough? You’re amazing. We all think so.”

He takes a step closer, and suddenly, I have no idea which cue I’m up to anymore. “We? As in, you think I’m amazing?”

I pause and give him my most sincere expression. “Eh. You’re okay.”

He chuckles as I go back to my cue sheet. I can feel his eyes on me as I continue to punch buttons and set light levels.

“Well, I think you’re amazing,” he says, gently. “Is there anything you can’t do?”

I smile. “Lots of things. Calculus. Burpees. Nickelback karaoke.” He puts his hand over mine, and it makes me suck in a quick breath.

“I mean it, Liss. You’re incredible. If you’re almost done, we could grab a pizza and head back to my place. Sit on the roof. Watch the lights. Nothing unprofessional. Just . . . friends. Who lust after each other.”

He strokes the back of my hand, and I’m tempted. I really am. But being alone with him for an extended period is sure to result in us being naked and handsy. “I can’t, Liam. I’m sorry.”

He nods. “I figured you’d say that, but I had to ask.” He removes his hand and exhales. “Okay, then. I’ll let you get back to work. See you in the morning?”

“Yep. See you then.”

He smiles and walks away, and when I hear the stage door slam closed behind him, I put my head down on the desk and groan with frustration.

Sometimes having impeccable work ethics sucks giant hairy yak balls.


Most days, I’m the first person to get to the theater. I enjoy it because it means I can take my time and get organized before everyone else arrives.