Backstage Romance: An Austen-Inspired Romantic Comedy Box Set by Gigi Blume (ebook reader with highlighter txt) 📕

her left hand to draw her into a kiss. She gasped, and her small form easily gave in to my gentle coaxing. I could feel her warm breath through the thin fabric of my shirt.

“Admit it, Elizabeth. You want me to kiss you again.”

In my peripheral vision, I noticed her right palm swinging towards my face. It happened in slow motion, like I had Jedi reflexes, and I caught her other wrist before she could slap me.

“Admit it.”

She opened her mouth to refute my words, but as her beautiful lips moved to form her reply, I claimed them, finding myself unable to resist their allure a moment longer. Her breath hitched, and her eyes fluttered shut. I wasn’t asking permission anymore. I was the Pirate King, virile and magnificent. She melted into me like a marshmallow over the fire, and all I wanted to do was wrap her into my arms forever. I loosened the hold on her wrists and trailed my fingertips delicately up the length of her arms. But it wasn’t enough. My thirst for her was insatiable, and I couldn’t get close enough. Drawing her flush against me, I deepened the kiss. Desperate for more. I demanded more.

Big mistake.

Because she bit me. A cold wetness throbbed from my lower lip, and the metallic taste of blood reached my tongue. Mood ruined.

“Would it kill you to act like a gentleman?” she cried.

“Gentleman?” I huffed, dabbing the blood on my lips. “Honey, this is real life, not Downton Abbey. If you want a book boyfriend, go look somewhere else.”

“I don’t want any boyfriend at all, you egomaniac,” she screamed. “Even if you were the last man on earth and the existence of the human race was hinged upon my liking you, our poor species would fade quite spectacularly into extinction.”

She was breathing heavily, and I feared if I didn’t leave her alone and soon, I’d be strapped to a guillotine.

“Okay,” I said in a defeated whisper. “You’ve made yourself perfectly clear.”

In a matter of minutes, I managed to make a complete fool of myself. I felt so ashamed of my feelings, handing them to her so she could chop them to bits. I wanted to sink into the ground. But I straightened, regarded her with a nod and bade, “I hope you have a wonderful new year. Please drive home safely.”

And then I left her, knowing it would be extremely awkward when we returned to the theatre. I had to console myself with the idea that things might boil over by then. Perhaps it would all be forgotten—at least mended. So I went home determined to set the record straight with the girl who rejected me.

21

Will with A Quill

Beth

That was bananas. One minute, I was planning Will’s demise, the next, his lips were on mine. Will Darcy was the type of guy to get what he wanted. All the time. I just didn’t realize he wanted me. But he couldn’t want me. Could he? That kiss. The way his lips encompassed my mouth, the way his breath mingled with mine, the way he held me, making me lose all thought. It seemed sincere. For that moment it didn’t matter.

But what was I doing? Kissing him back as though I wanted to. As though everything he’d done wasn’t an abomination to me. I supposed I wasn’t any different than those idiotic female leads who can’t seem to stay away from the villain in the play. Mina came to mind. She had the funky vampire hots for Dracula even though he was like a thousand years old and ate babies. She couldn’t help herself. I think the sexy Transylvanian accent had something to do with it. Maybe if I’d sung Please Don’t Make Me Love You, Will would have stabbed himself with a stake. A girl can wish.

I went home immediately, without a word to Charlotte. Without a word to Fitz. Text messages lit up my phone so much, it was like a nightclub in my purse. So I shut it off. I had to process what happened with Will. I still hadn’t fully comprehended all the things Fitz said before I was assaulted by those confusing feelings when Will kissed me. I was playing with fire with that one. Still, that pit of despair in my stomach entertained the butterflies with a nightcap. No, no, no, no! The butterflies didn’t get to stay. The butterflies weren’t welcome.

The house was (thankfully) quiet when I arrived. The last thing I wanted to do was answer questions about how my evening went. Also, my head felt like a lowrider’s subwoofer. The pounding was relentless. And lucky me. I had the morning shift at the lodge.

When sleep finally came to me, I dreamt of Paris. Will was there dressed in his Pirate King costume, but he was just out of reach. And he was wet. Completely wet from head to toe. He was drowning. But right before I could help him (I didn’t have a plan for that but just roll with it because it was a dream) Caroline threw herself all over him. And I felt jealous. Needless to say, I awoke furious with myself.

I frowned at my coffee maker. Nothing that could possibly have come out of that ten-dollar Walmart appliance was strong enough for my needs. I stopped for a triple americano at the drive-thru Coffee Bean, and I hoped for an easy day at work. Charlotte had the day off. I didn’t even realize my phone was still shut off until she called the restaurant after the breakfast crowd dispersed. I made up some lame excuse for leaving the party, imputing my swift departure to a headache—which was partially true. The headache’s name was Will.

She was on her way to Disneyland with Colin when she called but said she would have no fun at all if she didn’t check on me. I could just picture Charlotte worrying herself sick while she watched the Holiday Parade. Not even