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  The smile fell from Quinn’s face as I explained what had happened to her all those years ago. If he was pissed at me over it, he didn’t let on. He simply leaned forward and listened as I pitched what I had in mind—a plan to keep close tabs on Pritchard.

  Meanwhile, I kept flicking my gaze back and forth between Quinn on the computer screen and Ashlyn, across the street. She continued to pace in front of her windows.

  Quinn finally agreed to my plan and I clicked off the conference call, then headed Ashlyn’s way, intent on telling her Pritchard was in town. And intent on convincing her Lucas was right—we had to work together. I’d tell her that for the sake of her play, we had to go along with Lucas’s ultimatum. What she wouldn’t realize was that I’d be using Lucas’s lame-brained idea to keep her safe from Pritchard.

  To convince her I could do what Lucas suggested—pretend to be someone I wasn’t—I’d brought along a prop, ready to show her just how dramatic I could be.

  Moments later I stood at her door, one hand behind my back, hiding the prop I’d brought with me. I knocked once, waited. Twice.

  The door opened. She stood, blinking at me. Then, without saying a word, she pulled ear buds from her ears and placed them, along with her iPod, on the table beside the door. Her arms dropped. “I don’t have time for this, Noah.”

  Stepping through the threshold, I reached for her wrist and snapped on the cuffs a bachelorette party had left behind at the Double Shot one night after a few too many tequila shots.

  Her blue eyes widened, then she forced a controlled facade. She raised our conjoined wrists. “So you’re into kink. But I don’t think that’s the way this is supposed to work. Obviously, you need pointers.” She scanned the small, spartan room, consisting of a loveseat, coffee table, and a fake ficus tree. “I might have a fifty-shades-of-something book you could borrow.”

  With my cuffed hand, I reached behind me and closed the door, jerking Ashlyn’s body against mine in the process.

  Mistake.

  My cock instantly hardened. All I could think about was how she smelled, like moonlight and summer. How her white tank clung to her torso, contoured over bare breasts to the point where I swore I could just make out the vaguest tinge of rose-colored nipples. How she turned me on without even trying, like no one ever had.

  As my cuffed hand found hers and I finagled her arm so that it bent comfortably behind her back, wispy strands of auburn hair, twisted into an awkward bun at the side of her neck, tickled my face. Her pulse beneath my fingertips jumped. I inhaled her sweet scent as my heart rate went into overdrive along with hers. A primitive ache with the need to fill her settled in my bones.

  But a man did not touch his best friend’s little sister. Quinn had asked me years ago to look out for her, and as we’d pledged in our fraternity as freshman, a promise once made is never broken.

  “The cuffs are to prove a point,” I said. In spite of the warning going off in my head, my lips grazed her temple when my opposite arm circled her waist.

  Ashlyn rose on toes, bringing us hip-to-hip so my erection was closer to where God intended, like she was testing how well we’d fit. Her eyes darkened a shade and I could tell she knew exactly what she was doing. Having her against me like this was a bending of rules. Bending, I reminded myself, wasn’t breaking. She also had that weird look—the one that told me she understood what I was thinking before I did.

  It was also the look she got before she became the world’s biggest smartass.

  “So,” she drawled out. “Not into kink. But it appears after all these years, I’ve been wrong about you. You’re not a eunuch, after all.”

  “Not even close, sweetheart.” My free hand covered her ass. My fingertips found bare skin beneath the curve of her shorts, and despite her bravado, she twitched.

  About time she figured out who was in charge.

  I continued. “If what Lucas said is true—that I’m the inspiration for your character—from now on, where I go, you go. Where you go, I go.”

  “Don’t you think that’s a little extreme? You do have a company to run.”

  “The point is I’m committed to seeing to it you get this script right.”

  Her eyes dropped to my lips. “You’re saying you’re willing to act out scenes with me?”

  “Not exactly.” I hadn’t thought this part through well enough. “I’m no actor. But the improv stuff seems doable.”

  Ashlyn lowered herself to standing flat-footed and moved backward, attempting to create space between us. “That’s too bad.” The tip of her tongue darted out as she licked her lips. “There’s one hot love scene between Andy and Caroline.”

  Damn her for fake flirting. Needing distance myself, I inserted the tiny key into the lock of the cuffs, setting us both free.

  She rubbed her wrist and a frown wiped out the faux-seduction look she’d worn seconds ago. “What if I told you Lucas is right? He should find another writer, and another script.”

  “You don’t mean that.”

  “What if I do?”

  I stepped over a plate of barely eaten microwave pizza lying on the floor and took a spot on the slip-covered loveseat, discovering it had more lumps and craters than the surface of Mars. “Never figured you for a quitter, Wheels.”

  She picked up the plate. “No? Guess there’s more to me than being self-involved.”

  Probably I deserved that. But having my words tossed back at me wasn’t something I enjoyed.

  I turned in my seat, watching Ashlyn as she took the plate to the kitchen and dropped it in the sink with a clatter. A bead of sweat ran along her temple. When she wiped it away, I realized the heat wasn’t just the result of the friction between us.

  “Jesus, it’s like a sauna in here.”

  “You heard Lucas. The theater has no money. Even if the third floor AC wasn’t blocked off, it’s for performances only.”

  No wonder Wheels was having a hard time writing. Who could focus in this heat? She shouldn’t keep living in a place with no AC. It was inhumane. An idea clicked. A way where I could use the pretext of us hanging out to follow Lucas’s order and protect her all at once.

  Mind made up, I stood. “Pack a bag. You’re coming home with me.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”

  “Unless you like living in a sweat lodge, you’ll be more comfortable at my house.”

  “Unbelievable,” she said, walking around to stand in front of me. “You’ve got some nerve coming in here, ordering me around like I’m a child.”

  Ashlyn was right. I was acting like an authoritarian dick. At least my five-thousand square feet of living space would put some distance between us while still keeping her close.

  “Lucas’s mind is made up, Ashlyn. If you and I don’t work together, we’ll all lose. You, especially. That’s one big fortune on the line. Your grandmother wanted you to have that money.”

  “I have two months until my thirtieth birthday. A lot can happen in sixty days—even without The Marshall Theater.”

  I held my hands up, a gesture of surrender, and figured I’d try acting contrite. “You’re right, Wheels. I thought we’d be more comfortable at my place. Where there’s air conditioning.” I worked to soften my tone. “I’m sorry I acted demanding. I shouldn’t treat people that way.”

  Something in her eyes softened and her shoulders slumped. For a minute, I actually thought she would give.

  Then she said, “That’s the thing. You don’t treat people that way. For some reason, it’s only me.” She walked to the door and opened it. “It’s late, Noah. Go home. But I’m staying here. I’m all out of fight tonight. I’ll give Lucas my answer to his stupid plan in the morning.”

  Yeah, right. Like I was going anywhere.

  I ignored the open door and kicked my feet up onto the coffee table. “You might as well grab me a pillow, Wheels. If you’re staying, I’m staying.”

  Instead of slamming the door shut, Ashlyn gently closed it, secured the lock, and ru
bbed her eyes. “I wasn’t kidding when I said I was all out of fight.”

  Ignoring my request for a pillow, she walked barefoot to her bedroom, and lay down under what apparently was the only fan in the apartment.

  Leaving me alone, sweating in the heat.

  Chapter Three

  Ashlyn

  The mattress shifted. A hand came to rest on the curve of my spine. My own personal Adonis, in my bed. How lovely. I could feel the gentle rise and fall of his chest.

  Wanting more, I moved closer. His hand slid to my hip. When fingers traveled down my leg, then back up, raised gooseflesh followed their path. Need ignited. Then he notched my leg over the outside of his thigh.

  “I want you,” I whispered.

  God, I loved sex dreams.

  Everything that made me a woman ached as he pressed his thickness against me in just the right spot. My hand traced the contours of his bicep, played over his muscled chest while his fingers continued their slow and glorious caress of my body.

  And just as I reached for him to pull him closer, a flash of light brought me wide awake. The M on the shorted-out Marshall Theater sign had reclaimed life, and now the light filled the room. Showing me I was not alone.

  Oh, God. Not a dream.

  Noah.

  In my bed. Grinning at me in a most irritating way.

  Mortified over what had almost happened—and worse, how much I’d wanted it to—I rolled to the edge of the bed and sat up. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I demanded, pulling the sheet tight to my chest and kicking at him until he stood.

  “I needed to borrow a toothbrush,” he said, as if that explained everything.

  “A toothbrush?”

  He raked fingers through thick hair. “I came in to see if you had an extra toothbrush, but you were asleep. It’s a million degrees in your living room. You have a fan. I figured I’d lie down for a minute. Get cooled off. I didn’t mean to fall asleep. What happened wasn’t supposed to happen.”

  His words, though true, were like an anvil on my heart, a fact that only served to irritate me more. “Of course it wasn’t, because you weren’t supposed to be in my bed.”

  “You know, you weren’t entirely innocent in this, either.”

  “It’s my bed, you jerk. I’m not the one who shouldn’t have been in it.”

  “You’re pissed because you liked it. Admit it, Wheels.”

  “I…just…argh.” Witty comebacks were not my forte at four a.m. “Whatever you say, Noah.”

  Exasperated, I stood and made a beeline for the bathroom. After a quick, cold shower to remove the sweat and any lingering trace of him from my skin, I threw open the bathroom door. Dark and the ceiling fan chain tinking against the light votive greeted me. The M had burned out again. Noah had taken off, but he’d left a note: Need to work. Be back later. Think about what we should do for improv.

  I crumpled up the note and threw it across the room. Damn Noah and his assumptions. Just because he chose to kowtow to Lucas’s crazy scheme didn’t mean I would. There had to be another way to get the results we all needed.

  Reaching for my laptop on the bedside table, I pulled up my current work in progress. What Lucas didn’t know—rather, what I’d neglected to tell him—was that Midnight in Summer wasn’t one of my typical scripts. I’d been working on it for over a decade. It haunted me.

  Why? Because Andy Rich’s character moved me like no other. There was something about him, so tortured, so alpha, so…male, that compelled me like none ever had. And I had little doubt that if I could do him justice, he’d be a character remembered throughout the ages.

  If only he hadn’t met Caroline at the bus stop late that night. Her neediness had become the kryptonite to what could be a stellar script. But Andy was a guy who needed to be needed.

  As I read through the pages again and again, a pattern emerged. Lucas had a point. A very, very small one. There were definitely similarities between Noah and Andy in their need to piss on their territory and take charge. But Andy also had a soft side, one that Noah lacked.

  Noah believed there wasn’t a problem that couldn’t be solved. Sometimes even with a fist. His past proved that.

  While I respected Lucas’s opinion and his instincts, he was dead wrong here. Noah Blake was certainly not my muse.

  And I most assuredly wasn’t the virgin-turned-temptress Caroline.

  …

  After a few hours of wrestling with the script, I made coffee, had a yogurt, then decided I was getting nowhere. Lucas’s plan and Noah’s lame response had me focused on my own irritation and not Caroline’s motivation. Lucas was wrong—having Noah around was the last thing I needed to inspire my writing.

  I left my apartment and wound my way through the interior of the theater, hoping to catch my good friend, Jessica Jackson, down in the costume workroom. If anyone could help me sort through details and gain some perspective it would be her. But as I tromped down the musty stairwell, I couldn’t keep my mind from shifting to last night.

  Damn Lucas and his ridiculous ultimatum. He honestly believed that forcing Noah and me to work together was the only way to wrangle a great script from me. I just needed to prove to him that writing plays and skinning cats were one and the same—there was more than one way. And that way didn’t involve getting deliciously felt up in the dark by the Patron Saint of Assholes.

  “I need a favor,” I said, finding Jessica sitting in the workroom on the first floor, exactly where I expected she’d be.

  “Well, good”—she turned a slim wrist and checked her watch—“afternoon to you, too.”

  “I’m sorry.” I gave her a quick grin, knowing she’d forgive my rudeness. Then I got sidetracked by the hundreds of beads covering the table in front of her. A second later, she pulled up a cape that’d covered her lap. “Is that Caroline’s?” I asked.

  “As a matter of fact, it is.” Jess handed the cape over to me, then used a knitting needle to secure her long, honey-colored hair into a bun on top of her head. Her green eyes sparkled as I salivated over the cape, admiring what had been hours of work.

  As costume designer for the theater, Jessica also worked with the local dry cleaner, doing alterations on the side. Besides supplementing her income, it was an added perk that they allowed her to take home unclaimed merchandise. What she didn’t use for the theater she remade to sell online. But this wasn’t for profit. This cape was pure Caroline.

  “In that first scene, with the San Francisco fog rolling through and Caroline dressed in her formal best…this is absolutely perfect.” Then I checked the label. “It’s designer. You’ll get hundreds, maybe even a thousand dollars on resale.”

  “More than that if we take Best in Show at the festival and this baby follows you to Broadway.”

  “And that leads me to why I’m here.” I handed the cape back over to Jess and explained Lucas’s crazy idea. How Noah had finagled it so that Lucas brought me to Phair when he found out the theater was in trouble. How Lucas now believed getting past my block hinged on teaming up with Noah. How Noah later showed up at my place with handcuffs and a point to prove.

  And worst of all, how his late-night visit to my bed had not only rattled my nerves, but also became the cause of an intense script review that cracked through my denial and made me seriously consider whether Lucas might actually be right.

  Through it all, Jessica listened, nodded occasionally, and saved her comments for the end.

  “The success of your script would be huge. Lucas had a meeting with city officials yesterday,” Jess said, “trying to buy us more time after the festival. They wouldn’t budge.”

  “You knew about this and didn’t tell me?”

  “Rumors have been circulating for a while now.”

  Of course they had. You could expect nothing less in a small town.

  “Lucas will break it to the cast the first night of rehearsals.” Jess stood. Using a fabric ruler, she swiped beads into a plastic storage container the size
of a large shoe box. “I’ll be honest with you though, when I spoke to Lucas, he seemed excited about the script.”

  Had Lucas been playing mind tricks, assuming I’d rise under pressure? Or had Jessica talked to him before his read-through?

  I bent to pick up the beads that had fallen to the floor. “What exactly did he say?”

  “That Midnight in Summer has stellar potential.”

  Potential. Right.

  I put the dropped beads in the container Jess held and she sealed the lid. Then I pulled the rolled-up script from the back pocket of my shorts and handed it over. Having grown up in the theater with actors for parents, Jess had developed perceptions different from most. Because of that, I figured I could trust her judgment.

  “Will you read it?” I asked. “I need an objective opinion. Is Noah Andy Rich? Am I Caroline? You’re the only person who knows I once had a crush on Noah.”

  “Look, Ash. I’d love to read this and give you a different perspective, but I don’t know Noah like you do. And neither does Lucas.”

  I glanced down at my hands, realizing I’d been giving them a melodramatic wring, then looked back up at Jess.

  Noticing my hands, Jessica’s eyes narrowed. “This theory Lucas has and his plan to get you back on track—what is it really about his idea that has you so worked up?”

  A bead of cold sweat ran down the center of my back. “I’m not following.”

  “What is it you’re so afraid of, Ash? Personal failure? Letting your father win and losing your inheritance? Or that you’ll actually like spending time with Noah?”

  Her observation was way off-base and totally unfounded. She knew how I despised Noah and his constant interference in my life. Jessica’s comment made me second-guess her objectivity. “The Marshall Theater is special, Jess. It’s the lifeblood of Phair. And as much as I dislike the idea of letting my father win without putting up one last fight, I also couldn’t bear it if the fate of an entire town was hitched to my falling star.”

  “You’re not understanding what I meant.”