Playing With Her Heart (Caught Up In Love #4)(10)
Author: Lauren Blakely

I shake his hand, and it’s awkward. I mean, I’ve already pretty much tackle hugged the man back on the street outside Sardi’s when he gave me the news. Now we’re back to some sort of uber professional dynamic.

“Good to see you again, Ms. McCormick.”

Ms. McCormick?

Oh. I get it. We’ve done the celebratory drinks, and now we’re all business. “And you as well, Mr. Milo.”

I wait for him to correct me. To tell me I can call him Davis. To return to the witty banter of the other night. But instead he peers down the hall. “Where’s M.J.?” he asks, and he seems annoyed that she’s not here.

“She’s stuck on the train. She can’t make it.”

“You and I can chat for a few minutes then. There’s a hook on the door for your coat,” he says, and I take off my coat and hang it up. He gestures to a beige couch and I sit, crossing my legs. A chair is angled across from the couch and it only seems natural that he’d sit there. But he glances at his desk, an almost painful look in his eyes, as if he’s deeply considering the seating arrangements. He pushes a hand through his hair, messing it up again, and the tousled look he now has going on is terribly inviting. Even though I know I shouldn’t think of him that way. I shouldn’t notice his looks, but if he weren’t my director I’d surely send his picture to Ellie for her hot guy collection.

He finally sits in the chair. “I called this meeting because you probably have the most difficult job in the show.”

I lean forward and listen eagerly. Whatever weirdness is in the air doesn’t matter anymore. This is the important stuff—his first direction for me.

“Being an understudy might be the toughest job on Broadway. You have to learn all the chorus parts you regularly play, as well as another role. You’re essentially rehearsing two parts. You’ll be in nearly all the chorus scenes and songs, but you also have to know Ava cold. And you might not ever go on.”

I nod, knowing some understudies warm the benches for an entire run. “Right.”

“But some understudies have to go on at a moment’s notice, and if that happens, it’s the sort of event that can make your career,” he says, and there’s an intensity now to his voice as his body language shifts. He’s leaning slightly closer to me, the change in his tone loosening him up. “And I’m going to expect that of you. You’re going to need to know all the lines backwards and forwards, all the songs inside and out, and all the blocking will have to be committed to memory,” he says, his dark blue eyes locked on mine. He’s so passionate as he gives me his instructions that it nearly erases his earlier coldness, and this change reminds me how much he must love directing.

“I’m ready to do whatever it takes,” I say, completely earnest and serious as I match his stare. Then I add, almost mischievously, “Mr. Milo.”

Because I want to get back to where we were.

He turns to stare out the window, but there’s the slightest grin tugging at the corner of his lips. He’s trying hard not to smile. He wins, keeping his expression stony as he returns to the task at hand. “I want you to take the script home. I want you to start learning it. By heart.”

“Absolutely. I would be thrilled to.”

“I’m going to ask a lot of you, Jill. I have ridiculously high expectations for the show, and everyone has to meet them, and that includes the understudy for the leading role.”

“I won’t disappoint you.”

He leans forward, his elbows resting on his thighs, his hands clasped together. “Do more than not disappoint me. Exceed my expectations.”

The room seems to compress, to tighten into this one tense line from him to me as he holds my gaze, but his dark eyes give nothing away. I’m not sure if he’s trying to break me down, or to see if I can withstand the pressure. “I will give you everything, Mr. Milo.”

At last, a smirk plays on his lips. Then he whispers in a low, sexy voice that makes me heady for a moment, “It’s Davis. Just call me Davis.”

“Okay,” I say, then, as if I’m trying it on for size, I repeat his name. “Davis.”

He shakes his head twice and breathes out hard, and for some reason, I like the way he responds.

He walks over to his desk and I try to look elsewhere—at the walls, at the table, at the floor—but I can’t seem to stop checking him out, from his broad shoulders to his deliciously sculpted ass. I try to remind myself that I should not, under any circumstances, be looking at his fine ass as he grabs a spiral-bound thick set of pages.

The script.

It’s like a treasure. The book and music for the newest Stillman musical, and he holds it as such, as if it’s a great and powerful thing. I’ve only seen the pages from the audition scene. Now I’m about to dive into the whole story. I cannot wait, and when he hands it to me I take it reverently.

“Spend the next few weeks immersing yourself in it,” he says, and he’s still standing, so it’s clear that the meeting is over. I stand up, tuck the script in my purse and loop the strap over my shoulder. He walks with me to the door and as I’m reaching for my coat, I wobble in the too-big heels.

Stupid shoes.

But then his hand is on my elbow, instantly. He steadies me as I’m reaching for him so I don’t fall. When I look up at him, I can feel the flush of embarrassment creeping into my cheeks. I decide to make light of it. “That’s what I get for borrowing my roommate’s shoes. She has big feet.”

He glances down at the black pumps. “Nice shoes.”

As I follow his eyes, I realize my hand is on his shirt, my fingers fisted around the cloth, clutching it. I should let go. But I don’t. Because I can’t help but notice he has that clean and freshly showered smell that makes any woman want to lean in and lick a guy’s neck.

Close her eyes. Inhale, and trail a tongue all the way to his earlobe, enjoying the sound of a low groan.

“Nice shirt,” I say softly, running my index finger across one smooth button. Then I look up to find him staring down at me. His dark blue eyes aren’t cold anymore. They’re not keeping me at bay. Instead, they’re heated, searching mine.

It’s hypnotic the way he looks at me. Completely hypnotic, as the room goes quiet, the air between us charged.

I press my teeth against my lips and I think, but I’m not entirely sure because thought has vanished, that I nod briefly, almost as if I’m giving him permission. Then he bends towards me, and my breath catches. Before I even process rationally what’s happening his lips are on mine, and my pulse is racing. It’s barely there, just him brushing his soft lips against mine, but I want more. So I pull him closer and deepen the kiss. He groans and then suddenly his hands are in my hair, and he’s twining his fingers through my long, blond strands, and tugging me close.