Page 15 of Directing You
The paper cup in my hand was growing hot against my palm and I shifted it to my other hand, licking my lips nervously. “The control.”
His mouth twitched. “The control,” he repeated.
I jerked my head into a nod that I hoped looked more confident than I felt. “That’s right. I want more control in the projects I take.”
“I should have guessed based on your performance last week that you craved control.” He paused, his eyes passing down my body so briefly that I wouldn’t have noticed it if I hadn’t been focusing so much on him. I wouldn’t have noticed the slight hitch in his chest as he inhaled deeply or the way his nostrils flared as his gaze landed briefly on my breasts pushing against the simple black cotton shirt I wore.
Some women dressed up for auditions. But not me. Not when I didn’t want the damn part.
“But I also would have guessed based on your performance that you crave the spotlight, too.” His smile twitched. “So maybe I’m not so good at guessing.”
The tips of my breasts tightened as I shrugged, my body betraying the nonchalance of the movement. “There was a time I wanted the spotlight.”
“But not anymore?”
“For the right part, perhaps.”
He gave a thoughtfulhmmand took a step into me. Only inches separated our bodies, and a shiver tumbled down my arms and spine. It took everything in me not to physically jolt with the shiver, not to step back from him. Not to step away. I couldn’t show weakness. Standing up to Reid was like looking a tiger in the eyes. “What’s your dream role, Ms. Stone? The part that you’ve dreamed of your whole life.”
“Hedda Gabler,” I answered quickly.
His brows jumped at my admission. “Ibsen. Not what I would have expected, especially from amusicaltheater student.”
Again, I shrugged. “I still love musical theater and dancing, but that role is so rich, and I think I could bring a lot of vulnerability to it in a fresh way.” I grew quiet for a moment before adding, “Besides, I might be getting a little burned out on musical theater…particularly dancing.”
“You looked far from burned out last week.” His voice dropped low and rough, and I swallowed as my body responded to his quiet but commanding tone. His tongue darted out between two pink lips and swiped across them as that hungry gaze latched on to mine. “Or maybe you’re just a phenomenal performer,” he added. “Since I thought you were as into it as I was. Until you turned me down.” He tilted his head. “Whydidyou turn me down that night?”
I blinked, taken aback by the candor of his question. It was both shocking and refreshing to hear him ask exactly what he was thinking. “It wasn’t because I didn’twantto go home with you,” I whispered and glanced around. Even though I knew we were alone in the theater, I was paranoid as hell. “I turned you down because it would have been a bad idea to go home with a client. I’ve never done it before, and I never plan to. I just got… I got carried away with you in the Champagne Room.” I put a finger up, nearly pointing in his face. “Which, despite what I know you think of me, has alsoneverhappened before.”
“Same,” he said. “I got carried away that night too.” He lifted his hand and brushed one of my dark curls off my cheek and out of my face, and as he lowered it back to his side, the backs of his knuckles dragged down my bare arm and his palm landed on my hip, giving it a gentle squeeze. Goosebumps erupted across my flesh and my body ached to have his hands on more of me. “And I’m sorry for what I said that night. It’s probably a good thing at least one of us had some self-control.”
My throat was dry—hot and burning. I was in desperate need of relief that no water could quench. Only Reid.
He paused, tilting his head. “Then again, you probably wouldn’t have been late to class the next day if you had come home with me.”
I looked down at his hand on me, the heat of his palm burning a path from my hip to my core. His eyes followed and he jerked his hand back to his side, grumbling beneath his breath. “Shit, sorry.” He took a step back just in time as the door to the theater swung open and three of my classmates entered, chatting and smiling.
He turned away from me, facing the students coming through the door. “Please sit in the third row, and if you want to look at the audition sides, they are here on the table,” he announced.
His gaze fell to me briefly, as he tapped one of the sides pointedly, holding my stare, then he walked to the other side of the stage and took a seat while the rest of us nervously rushed to look at the audition scripts.
The script he had tapped… just for me… had only one word scribbled at the top in Sharpie with thick, bold handwriting.Nun.
