Page 96 of Mistaken Impression

“Twenty weeks is a long time, Mac. It’s tiring doing this.”

“I know… but at least we’ll be together.”

I pull back, although he doesn’t let me go. “Are you saying we wouldn’t have stayed together if we weren’t still doing the show?”

“No, of course not.” He pulls me hard against him, even though I’m still trying to lean away. “What I’m saying is, this way we get to be together all the time. That wouldn’t have been possible if I’d gone back to the theatre, or into some other TV show, or something.”

He has a point, and I relax, nestling against him. “I see.” He kisses the top of my head and I look up at him. “Are we still gonna be keeping our relationship a secret when we come back?”

“I don’t see why we need to,” he says. “But let’s wait and see how we feel when the time comes, shall we? We can always just walk in on the first day, hand-in-hand, and shock the hell out of everyone.”

“Okay.” He bends his head, kissing me, just briefly. “I take it we can both stop looking for work now?”

His brow furrows. “Probably. I’ve just about got enough to cover the rent until January.”

“You think you need to worry about money, do you?” I struggle not to smile.

“I don’t know. I’ve got this really rich girlfriend, and…”

“And you’re hoping she’ll pay your rent for you?”

He shrugs. “No, but I don’t think she’d let me starve, or allow my landlord to throw me out on the streets.”

“No, she wouldn’t… but she’d like to know what she’s getting in return.” I rest my hands on his chest, looking up into his eyes, and he flexes his hips, letting me feel his arousal.

“I’m gonna make her come… really hard… every single night.”

I tilt my head back slightly. “That makes me sound like a prostitute… having sex for money.”

“No, it doesn’t. You’ve got it the wrong way around. If you were a prostitute, I’d be paying you.”

“Oh… so you’re the prostitute?”

“Of course I’m not. I don’t have the legs for it.”

I giggle, and he captures my lips with his. “Oh, Mac…” I whisper into him and he holds me closer, deepening the kiss, our tongues dancing, our bodies rocking and swaying in perfect harmony.

He breaks the kiss, pulling back, and looks down at me, breathless, his eyes sparkling.

“Do you like surprises?”

“Sometimes. It depends on the surprise.”

He nods his head, and I wonder what he’s got in mind and whether I’ll want to do it here. “Do you remember this morning, when we left my place, I packed a bag?”

“Yes.” Where’s he going with this? It’s no mystery. Last night, before we fell asleep, we discussed what we were going to do over the weekend. I suggested we go down to Newport, but Mac convinced me my brothers could wait another week to meet him, that it’d be better to go down there over Thanksgiving, anyway… and that we could spend a few days alone at my place. I wasn’t about to say ‘no’.

“Well, that’s the surprise.”

“That you packed a bag?” I frown up at him. “It’s not a tremendous shock, Mac. I watched you do it.”

He grins. “No, the bag itself isn’t the surprise. It’s what we’re going to do with it… where we’re going to go.”

“You mean we’re not going back to my place?”

“We are. But only so you can pack a bag, too.”

“And then what?”

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