Acting Up Page 10

  Cath suppressed a groan as she took off her robe and tossed it over the arm of the sofa, mindful of what Paul had told her—that he could hear all too much of what went on in her tiny apartment. Padding on quiet feet to the bed, she sat on it and turned off the light, sliding under the covers to lie on her back.

  More staring into the dark.

  A lingering throb between her thighs made her breath hitch. She wasn’t going to sleep feeling this way, she was sure of it. Pulling her hand from behind her head, she slid it under the sheet, hooking her fingers under the light elastic waistband of her pajama shorts. Reaching lower, she began to circle her clit, concentrating on keeping her breath quiet and regular, even as she wanted to writhe and moan.

  It wouldn’t do for Paul to know how close he had come to breaking down her resistance. Next time she might not be able to hold out.

  And if that happened? Say goodbye to everything she held dear: friendship, career, everything.

  Chapter 10

  Paul was awakened unusually early by the morning sunlight filtering through his bedroom window. So much for his usual ability to sleep through anything.

  He had managed to not jerk off to dirty thoughts of his best friend a second time last night after Cath left.

  But it had been a near run thing.

  They were so good together on every level. Why wouldn’t they be good as lovers? Why was Cath so convinced that sex between them would be the equivalent of career suicide and friendship Armageddon?

  Last night he had been too hazy with lust and relief that they had cleared up a decade-old misunderstanding to puzzle through the rationality or irrationality of Cath’s statements. The fact was, she had said “no.” That “no” might not have been final by her own admission, but it was something he had to respect until she decided it was “yes.” Unless it was a forever “no.”

  Oh, God. What if it is a forever “no?”

  Don’t be a creep. A no is a no.

  He heard the creak of Cath’s bed above him and closed his eyes briefly, wondering what she looked like as she stretched and greeted the day. The soft thump of her feet hitting the floor and ensuing sounds of her walking around her apartment reminded him of the softly tousled hair of last night when she met him at the door, the mussed and approachable look of her. He swallowed hard as his body responded to these thoughts and groaned when he heard her shower go on. Pushing on the mattress, he levered himself upright.

  Tousled, sleepy, clothed Cath-thoughts were bad enough.

  Naked, wet, showering Cath-thoughts were too much.

  Paul headed for his own shower. He was able to resist a second release the night before. He wasn’t that strong this morning.

  Sitting on her little sofa, hair still wet from the shower, Cath balanced her laptop on her knees and tapped at her front teeth with a fingernail. Glancing at the table where the photograph of herself and Paul sat, she sighed and clicked “Reply” to the e-mail from Michael Balducci, letting him know that she would be back in New York after the run of The Catalyst and yes, she would love to talk to him about his rock musical. Looking again at the photograph, she had the irrational urge to turn it face down on the table, as if Paul could see her through the image.

  Reading over her response, she hit “Send” before she could think about it again. After last night, it was probably a good idea if she and Paul had a bit of a break from working together. Maybe that could even enable them to sort out whatever this was. Or whatever it wasn’t.

  She looked around the dreary temporary apartment. No. It most definitely wasn’t. It couldn’t be. Even if they had a break from working together, she couldn’t imagine never working with him again. So that ruled out a more intimate relationship.

  But damn that man could kiss.

  Cath rubbed her face with impatient fingers. This was not information she needed to think about today. And certainly not when she needed to get to the theater and be a professional in front of a lot of observant actors.

  Particularly Susan.

  Shit.

  Cath squared her shoulders and closed her laptop, putting it on the coffee table and picking up her bag with her working script and everything else she needed. Swinging it over her shoulder, she left her apartment and walked down the stairs. She half-expected to see Paul pop out of his apartment and join her on the walk to the theater.

  The door remained closed.

  Hesitating, Cath wondered if she should knock. What would she have done yesterday, or last week, or last year?

  Just-friend Cath would definitely knock.

  Just-kissed Cath stood for a long, indecisive moment before turning toward the front door and walking out into the street.

  Paul heard Cath come downstairs and pause in the hallway. He waited for her knock, but instead the next thing he heard was her feet continuing to move and the front door of the apartment house closing softly.

  If I leave now I can catch up with her easily. Just like any other morning. We’ll walk to the coffee place, we’ll joke around, we’ll go to the theater and get down to work.

  Right. Or he could have done that. If he hadn’t gone and made it weird last night. He squirmed slightly, remembering the heat of her body, the long column of her neck, the way she had felt pressed up against him.

  Dammit. The shower wank wasn’t enough. Not even the memory of the smell of the New York City subway was going to help with this one. He was missing his window to catch up with her. Every moment meant another step that she was taking away from him, but there was no way he was going to run down Main Street in sleepy little Churchill, Connecticut with a hard-on straining against the zipper of his jeans.

  Gritting his teeth, he packed his messenger bag and went one step further in the non-sexy thoughts category.

  Susan.

  Well, that did it. The narcissistic actress was a boner-killer for sure. He chuckled as he thought how much that information would enrage her.

  And how much it would delight Cath.

  Cath.

  Yeah, she would have enjoyed the idea. If he hadn’t gone and pushed her away by trying to pull her close.

  “Okay, James. Let’s try it again from ‘Molly, I don’t get it.’”

  Cath bit her lip, watching Paul direct James. He had scheduled the actor to rehearse alone, since the majority of the scene was a long monologue delivered to a sleeping Molly.

  Yeah, best not to have Susan just hang around and expect her to do nothing but pretend to sleep. That would not go well.

  James started the monologue again, the effort visible in the stiffness of his posture and his expression of extreme concentration. Cath bit her pencil, almost feeling the waves of frustration rolling off Paul. He had circled around to stand next to her, one hand fluttering and fidgeting next to his thigh. Cath realized with a sick twist in her stomach that under normal circumstances she would have wrapped her hand around those restless fingers, stilling them, soothing him from his irritation.

  She couldn’t now. Not after last night.

  With an effort, Cath opened her jaws and removed the pencil as Paul broke in on James again. Glancing sideways at Freddie, she saw the younger woman was looking at her, worry crimping her brows.

  “What?” Cath hissed.

  Freddie looked at Paul and then again at Cath, seemingly coming to a decision. “Nothing,” she whispered.

  Looking back at Paul and James, Cath realized that both men were nearly facing off, tense and unhappy. Time for an intervention.

  “Paul, time for a break?” Aiming to make her tone light, but landing on something closer to brittle, Cath cursed her utter lack of acting ability. When he turned to face her, his face stormy, she dropped the pretense, smiling tightly. “Union,” she said from between clenched teeth. “James, you can take fifteen.”

  James rolled his head, trying to un-kink tense neck muscles, and headed for the door. “Thanks,” he tossed over his shoulder.

  “You’re welcome.” Cath said, already digging in h
er bag for her wallet. “Freddie, a caffeine infusion, please?” Handing money to Freddie, she tried to smile. Freddie gave her a baffled look, but took the cash and headed out.

  Alone with Paul, Cath took a deep breath and willed herself to appear calm. “You have fifteen minutes to sort yourself out. I suggest you take it.”

  Paul gaped at Cath. “Sort myself out? What the hell are you talking about?”

  Cath’s mouth went tight, her eyes hard and flat. “Paul, you’re not yourself. Again. You’ve never tried to force a performance. But you did it with Susan on day one and now you’re doing it with James. And you of all people don’t get hard with actors who aren’t used to stage work. James is trying and you’re not helping.”

  “James needs to up his game.” Paul clenched his jaw and rubbed his eyes as he realized he was echoing Susan’s words. Susan, of all people. Christ.

  Cath arched an eyebrow. “And this is the best way to do that? You’re better than this. James deserves better than this.”

  Jealousy flared, hot and bright in Paul’s chest. “James deserves better? So this is about James?” Paul dug his fingers into his hair, turning away from Cath and almost growling in frustration.

  “No.” Cath’s calm and rational voice made his heart thump faster. He wanted her to be pissed off too. He wanted her emotion to match his. She moved to stand behind him and the back of his neck prickled with the awareness of her. “It’s about the play. We have a job to do. Lots of people relying on us. Remember?”

  Paul inhaled, held the breath for a few beats, and let it go. “Yeah. You’re right.” Turning to Cath, he forced himself to look into her eyes. They seemed serene and clear: free of the tightness that clamped around his own lungs and heart.

  Sure. She was the one who had no problem putting a stop to everything last night. You’re the only one with a problem.

  “Fine. I’ll treat James with kid gloves. As long as you stop misrepresenting union rules.”

  “Calling a break ten minutes early isn’t misrepresenting. And sometimes you need to be saved from yourself.”

  Paul’s head snapped up at that, the tightness inside him clamping even harder. “Right. I guess we’ve clearly established that you are the self-proclaimed savior of Paul Mainwaring.”

  Paul’s words reverberated in Cath’s brain until she thought she would explode. “What the actual hell does that mean?”

  The expression on Paul’s handsome face was raw, almost ugly. “I don’t know. You tell me. Why have you spent the last ten years following me in and out of New York and from one small-town shithole to the next?”

  Mouth agape, Cath couldn’t process that statement for a long moment. Then her own anger flared, the pressure behind her eyes almost unbearable as her heart started to thud rapidly. “I thought we were a team. I thought we balanced each other. But you think I work with you for pity?”

  “Well, you said there was a possible pity-fuck on the table last night, so why not a pity-career?”

  “Jesus, Paul. That’s hands-down the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard you say.” Fighting back tears, Cath pitched her voice lower, guarding against the possibility of anyone lurking in the corridor overhearing her next words. “And if this sudden irrational crap is about last night, it only proved how right I was to put a stop to things.”

  Squeezing his eyes tight, Paul pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. “Well, thank goodness we had an adult in the room. What would we do without Saint Catherine to set us straight?”

  Jaw tight, Cath took a deep breath. Time to separate the professional from the personal. The play comes first. “Paul, I am going to go take a walk. I will be back in—” She picked up her phone and checked the time. “Ten minutes. You get yourself sorted out. Do deep breathing exercises, yoga, self-actualization, I don’t care. But get a grip. Your focus is shot to hell, your temper is out of control, and you don’t even seem to realize that your rehearsal has gone completely down the tubes. You and I can figure out…whatever we need to figure out later.” Cath started for the door.

  “Seriously, you’re just going to walk out?” Paul’s voice rang out behind her.

  Cath whirled, dashing her hair off of her forehead and took a deep breath, fighting down a sob. “No. I’m giving you some space. Some time to think. Try to use it constructively.” Tears prickled behind her eyes and she swallowed hard. “Just…Get some perspective. This isn’t like you. The production needs you to be you. I need you to be you.”

  Before Paul could respond, she walked out, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

  Paul took a deep, shuddering breath in the empty room.

  Cath is not wrong.

  The thought, courtesy of his best self, enraged him further.

  You’re being an idiot.

  His best self was going to kill him. Or he would throttle his best self if he could.

  Pacing around the room, he shrugged his shoulders and rolled his head to try to loosen his muscles. The tension of the last few hours had become unbearable, he realized. He took a deep breath. Another.

  That’s it. Center yourself. Get beyond…this.

  The problem was, “this” was Cath. And he didn’t want to get beyond Cath. Even though she was infuriating. Maddening. High-handed. Condescending.

  And right.

  That was the worst part of it.

  He was making a hash of this play and it deserved better. Hell, he was the one who had sold her on this being the making of both of their careers and now he was failing both of them. No, more than just them. She had mentioned the rest of the production staff. They were all counting on him.

  No pressure.

  Turning back to the table where Cath’s script lay open, he flipped to the start of James's monologue. His eyes flicked over her notes, noticed they had none of the detail that would usually be there, felt shame flood through him.

  He hadn’t worked with James. Hadn’t talked through the character’s motivations, inner life. Instead, he had just flung the actor at the scene, expecting…what?

  He had gotten splat.

  Splat was what he deserved.

  Paul took a deep breath and scrubbed a hand over his face. This. This, he could do. He could fix this.

  Fixing things with Cath, though. He had no idea how to begin to do that.

  The sunlight was blinding.

  Cath blinked when she stepped out onto the sidewalk in front of the theater, regretting not grabbing her bag. Her sunglasses were back there, in the rehearsal space where Paul was probably still pacing like a feral stoat. She leaned against the warm brick wall of the theater, rubbing at her eyelids with thumb and forefinger.

  Nope. Just…nope. Cath’s stomach churned with nausea. This might be the shattering of the closest friendship she had ever had. Not to mention the loss of the biggest professional collaboration of her career.

  Thank goodness I had the foresight to be open to Michael’s offer. A rock musical. That sounds…fun. Sure. A blast.

  Leaning her back against the theater façade, she raised her face to the sky and took a deep breath. For the first time in her career, she had no idea what she might do next. A strange, clinical part of her brain found this interesting while the rest of her spasmed in panic.

  And if she was being honest with herself, the real panic wasn’t the potential loss of the next job.

  It was the potential loss of Paul.

  “Hey!” Freddie, walking up the sidewalk with a tray of paper cups held in front of her. James strode beside her, holding a cup of his own. Freddie’s face was tilted up towards James and he was grinning down at her, the picture of camaraderie.

  Cath stepped out from the wall of the theater, waving at them. “I think we should give Paul a few more minutes. Let’s take a lap.” She forced a grin and strode down the sidewalk, giving Freddie and James no choice but to follow her. Paul still needed some time.

  But for the first time in her career, Cath really didn’t want to protect
him. She wanted to shake him up, challenge him.

  And I really, really want to kiss him again, her brain added unhelpfully.

  Chapter 11

  By the time Cath came back, on time and with Freddie and James in tow, Paul had reined in his emotions. He tried to catch Cath’s eye, but she had turned to say something to James and had her back to him. He stiffened at the sight. Freddie delivered a coffee to Paul, her eyes flicking up to his face, obviously trying to gauge his mood.

  Great. He had never in his entire career behaved like such a jerk. If even Freddie, who knew and trusted him, had been knocked off balance by his display of bad temper, he had no idea what it had done to James, who was already operating at a deficit because of Susan’s sniping.

  Paul scrubbed his face with his hand and summoned up a smile he didn’t feel. “James. Let’s talk through this monologue before you try it again,” he said as Freddie and Cath seated themselves behind the table. James regarded him with a wary look, but put down his coffee cup and walked over to stand beside him.

  “Sure. What did you have in mind?”

  “So. This scene is critical. It’s the pivot point of the play.” James nodded, his eyes still guarded. “But if you can, I want you to forget that and get into the moment. You can tell you’re losing Molly—she’s slipping away and that’s killing you.”

  James nodded, rubbing his hand across his mouth, shoulders relaxing as he listened. “I’m with you so far.”

  “So, what’s your motivation for talking to her while she’s asleep? She can’t hear you, can’t respond. Why do you do it?”

  Clasping his hands behind his neck, James nodded and blinked. “I honestly hadn’t thought about that aspect of it before.”

  Aha. “Well, think about it. What does Hugh get out of talking to someone who can’t hear him?”