Page 51 of Second Act
Chapter 13
The limousine pulled up to a plain metal door well away from the regular entrance to the theater.
“Is that the stage door?” Jessica asked.
He shook his head as he pulled out his phone and tapped at the screen. “Too obvious. This play is prime paparazzi territory, and they’ll be watching the stage door. So we’re going in through the delivery entrance.” His phone beeped with an incoming text. He glanced at it and stowed the phone in his pocket before he put his hand on the door handle. “Get ready to dash.”
A bubble of delighted laughter escaped her throat as Hugh took her hand and pulled her across the sidewalk, his strides so long that she had to trot to keep up. It felt ridiculous until she saw a man with a camera running in their direction, shouting, “Hugh! Hugh Baker!”
Hugh angled his body between her and the photographer for the last two steps before the door swung open and they hustled into the utilitarian, behind-the-scenes area of the theater. A flash of bright light made her blink.
“Damn it!” Hugh muttered. “Now they’ll be watching for the limo. I’ll get a regular sedan to pick us up.” He squeezed her hand. “I don’t think they got you in the photo.”
“Would you care if they did?” Jessica asked as they followed the stagehand who’d opened the door for them down a narrow hallway.
Surprise flickered across Hugh’s face. “I thoughtyouwould. You weren’t big on being photographed in the past.”
“I was always worried that I would hurt your image.” Because Hugh had been so concerned about it. She liked to match her sneakers to the color of her scrubs, but that was the extent of her attention to fashion. “Now I imagine your image is virtually bulletproof, and we’re not an item, anyway.”
He laced his fingers between hers. “I would be proud to be photographed with such an impressive woman by my side.”
Their escort stopped in front of an elevator and pressed the call button. “The box is on level four. Someone will meet you at the elevator up there.”
Hugh nodded his thanks while Jessica stared at him, fighting the unsettling pleasure evoked by his words and his touch. There was a potent, almost sexual intimacy in having his fingers thrust between hers. A shudder ran through her when he lifted her hand to brush his lips over her knuckles while they waited for the elevator door to slide open. The flood of sensation almost obliterated the fact that he’d called her impressive, but she hung on to the memory.
The backstage elevator was barely large enough to allow the two of them to squeeze in, which magnified her awareness of Hugh a thousandfold. His scent enveloped her, his clothing rubbed against hers—even his breathing was audible in the charged silence that fell between them while the creaky contraption crawled slowly upward.
“I want to kiss you.” Hugh’s voice was a rasp. “Badly.”
She knew it would be a mistake, but she couldn’t stop herself from looking up at him. His eyes blazed down at her, sending a flash of heat searing through her belly. “Yes,” she whispered.
Somehow he pivoted in the small space and sandwiched her between the back wall and his muscled body, the living, breathing solidity of him making her feel fragile and feminine. Threading his fingers into her hair, he tilted her face up and brought his mouth down onhers in a kiss that merged promise and demand. She locked her fingers around the swell of his biceps and hung on as lips and tongues met in a dance of seduction that melted her insides into pure desire.
An electronic ping sounded from what seemed like a great distance, and Hugh lifted his mouth from hers. “I don’t care if I see this damned play, but you deserve to.” Before she could tell him she didn’t care about the play, either, he had shifted his delectable body away from her and turned to face the door.
An older woman dressed in a black usher’s uniform, with a pile of programs resting in the crook of her arm, stood just outside the elevator, her expression a mixture of awe and shock.
“Good evening,” Hugh said without any sign of embarrassment. “We’re going to Box C.”
“I know...of course,” she stuttered before composing herself and gesturing toward the luxuriously carpeted and wallpapered corridor. “This way, Mr. Baker. We’re honored to have you with us this evening.”
Hugh put his hand on the small of Jessica’s back to allow her to go first. When it slid lower to rest on the upper curve of her buttock, she had to swallow a gasp of arousal. Hugh had always been clever at touching her in ways that seemed acceptable to the public eye but that sent her nervous system into a paroxysm of lust.
The woman led them to a paneled door, pulling out a key on a long chain attached to her belt to unlock it. Inside was a tiny antechamber with two spindly gilded chairs, hooks for coats, and another door set in the red velvet-covered wall. “Enjoy the show,” she said, handing them each a program. “If you need to leave, you can open the door from the inside. When you want to return to your box, I’ll be outside with the key.” She stood silent for a moment, as though she were debating something.
“Would you like an autograph for someone?” Hugh asked with a smile.
“Oh, yes! My nephew is crazy about your Julian Best movies. He would be so thrilled.”
Hugh took a program from her stack and pulled a silver pen from his pocket. “What’s his name?”
“Eric with aC,” she breathed, watching Hugh scrawl over the cover. When he handed her the signed program, she nodded approvingly. “Thank you for your graciousness. May I say that I know several actors who should take lessons from you on how to behave toward their admirers?”
“I appreciate that,” Hugh said before he closed the door.
“How did you know that’s what she wanted?” Jessica asked.
He sighed. “I’ve seen that look on a thousand faces. They have someone to whom they want to give the gift of my autograph, but they don’t want to impose or seem unsophisticated. Since I appreciate their generally good intentions, I like to give them what they’re hoping for.”
