The Austen Playbook (London Celebrities #4)(74)

“Dylan’s much better as Darcy than I thought he’d be. Well,” Freddy amended, “at least, he’s nailed the pre-first-proposal, arrogant, nose-in-the-air Darcy. He’s less believable as the more approachable, sacrifice-pride-for-love Darcy. I still put the possibility of him joining the fictional body count at about twenty percent.” She let one of her knees fall to the side as his fingers advanced farther up her leg. “Lydia’s definite whodunit bait. I give myself a fifty-percent chance of an early exit to the green room. Although I think she has a lot of built-up anger by that point and I fancy myself more in the role of unveiled murderer than poisoned corpse, so I’m hoping people vote for the third variation in the final choice. Tell your friends.” She wriggled at his touch. “Actually, I’m hoping people vote, full stop.”

“Yes.” With everything up in the air with the film project and Rupert as yet ignoring both Freddy’s calls and Griff’s private message, the bills for his parents’ latest extravagance were pressing and the larger the cheque from the Austen crowd, the better. “Charlie’s enlisted everyone he knows to watch and vote on Friday, so that should bring in half of London.”

“Fingers crossed the other half tune in for the chance to fictionally off Dylan, then.” Freddy squirmed again as his fingers reached the skin at the top of her inner thigh. It was unbelievably soft, silkier than the fabric of the very brief briefs she wore. When he touched her there, she made that little purring sound in her throat that had a similar effect to a physical stroke on his own flesh. The wash of lust was a welcome release from the feeling of being constantly on edge.

Swiftly moving his hands down, Griff circled his fingers around each of her ankles and pulled. Fortunately, she’d grown up performing athletic manoeuvres in the musicals she loved, so she ended up where he’d intended. In his lap, her legs fully wrapped around his waist, and not sprawled on her back with the wind knocked out of her.

She immediately looped her arms around his neck. She was so damn affectionate, so unhesitatingly generous with her touches and her laughter; and entwined with the intense sexual attraction between them, Griff found a bone-deep comfort in her presence that he’d never experienced. Never realised he wanted. He cupped the back of her head and kissed her neck, the spot below her ear that made her hum and melt into him.

“I may not be the best person to help you rehearse,” he murmured to her throat, and felt the vibration as she spoke, low and husky.

“Call it practice for the Wickham kiss in the first act.”

Griff stopped kissing her neck, lifted his head, and looked at her. She’d been drawing patterns on his back, but the moment the words left her mouth, she stilled. Delicately clearing her throat, she ventured, “Er...delete last comment and insert something really sexy that doesn’t mention snogging another man?”

“If you want to kill the mood so you can get back to work,” Griff said, unable to hold back a smile at her comically chastened expression, “I suggest you just throw the mug of cold tea in my face.”

She took his face in both hands, smacked a kiss on his mouth, and crawled back to a safe distance to reach for the script again.

“Is there a kiss with Wickham?” he asked idly, stretching out his legs.

“Mmm.” She flipped through the pages, looking for the right scene.

“And Wickham would be the model who keeps sauntering around the grounds taking selfies, would he?”

“Sounds plausible.” Finding her place, Freddy smoothed out the script and glanced up at him through her lashes. “It’s just another scripted gesture. A bit awkward the first time, and then it becomes part of the routine. About as passionate as boiling an egg.”

Griff leaned back against the tree trunk and closed his eyes. “I’m sure.”

“He uses too much lip balm. It’s like pressing my mouth against a melted candle.”

“Is it.”

“He has bad breath, too.”

“Good.”

“And the one time I thought he was scowling at me, it turned out to be a false alarm. He had something in his eye. He just smiles all the time, like some sort of unhinged clown. Where’s the fun in that?”

She squeaked and started to giggle when, lightning-fast, eyes still closed, he tossed a stray bread roll at her. Grinning, he lay listening to her read lines, but when her voice trailed away, and she obviously thought he’d dropped off, he cracked open an eye.

For the fifth time in the past hour, she was checking her silent phone. She’d called Rupert back this morning, and several times since, and obviously thought she was getting the silent treatment over the missed audition. Rupert switching up his usual steamroller attitude for a touch of passive-aggression.

Griff had very few good things to say about Rupert Carlton in general, and an even bigger bone to pick with him now, but he especially did not fucking like the way the man treated Freddy.

Freddy, in turn, was obviously not very impressed with his own parents’ priorities.

It was going to be a bloody awkward Christmas dinner this year.

When Freddy went back to rehearsal, Griff went in search of his brother and found him in the garage, working on his latest project.

“Hey,” Charlie said, frowning into a shoddy-looking engine. “How goes the production? Is it going to soar on Friday and keep us here for another Christmas?”