LOGINHe led me into the bathroom without letting go of my hand. The space was all pale stone and glass, the shower itself a wide, open expanse with dual rainfall heads and a built-in bench along one wall. August turned the water on, testing the temperature with his free hand until steam began to rise.I reached for the hem of the shirt I’d borrowed. He stopped me.“Let me.”He peeled it upward slowly, palms skimming my sides as the fabric lifted. The air was already warm; the shirt dropped to the floor. I stood bare in front of him while he looked at me the way he had the night before. He looked hungry, focused, unhurried. Then he hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his sweatpants and pushed them down. He was already hard. The sight of him sent a fresh pulse of heat low in my belly.We stepped under the water together.It was perfect. Hot enough to loosen every muscle, soft enough that it felt like being wrapped in warmth. August’s hands found my waist first, then slid up my back, drawin
I woke up to sunlight on my face and the unfamiliar sensation of having absolutely nowhere I needed to be. For a moment, I kept my eyes closed, enjoying it. Then I remembered where I was.August's bed. August's apartment. August.I rolled over. He was asleep beside me, one arm resting above his head, dark hair falling across his forehead. I'd seen him asleep in Paris, but back then I'd been trying to work out whether waking up in his arms was something we should discuss or pretend hadn't happened.This morning, I could simply look at him.I brushed a strand of hair away from his forehead. His eyes opened."Good morning," he murmured."Is it?"He looked at me. "Are you complaining?""I'm conducting a performance review.""And?""I may need additional time to reach a conclusion.""How much time?""You cleared your schedule, didn't you?"He smiled and pulled me closer."I did.""Excellent planning, Mr. Belcourt.""I thought so."We stayed like that for a while, talking about nothing in p
I found Marcus in the prop closet attempting to convince a junior stagehand that the missing hat was not, in fact, a crisis of national proportions.“I’m leaving,” I said.He looked up. “With August?”“Yes.”“Have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”“That leaves almost nothing.”“Exactly.” He grinned. “Text me if you’re not coming in tomorrow.”“I’m coming in tomorrow.”“Sure you are.”I collected my bag from the dressing room, checked that my phone and keys were inside, and walked back to the lobby.August was waiting exactly where I’d left him, hands in his pockets, looking entirely too composed for a man who had spent the last two hours watching me perform and the night before making me forget how to form a coherent sentence on my own couch.The second our eyes met, his composure cracked just enough for me to see the anticipation underneath.“Ready?” he asked.“Yes.”He held out his hand, and I took it.We stepped into the cool night air. His car was waiting at the curb, and he
By Friday morning, I had decided that August Belcourt was a menace. Not because he'd done anything wrong. Quite the opposite. He'd made a perfectly reasonable suggestion that we wait until after tonight's performance, when neither of us would have to worry about early meetings, rehearsals, or the possibility of someone calling to ask why we weren't answering our phones.I'd agreed. At the time, one more night had sounded manageable. That was before I woke up remembering Thursday night on my couch.I lay in bed for a full minute, staring at the ceiling. Then I got up and took a shower. A cold one. It didn't help."Why are you smiling at your phone?"I looked up from the rehearsal schedule. Marcus stood in my office doorway holding two coffees."I'm not.""You absolutely are.""Maybe someone sent me a funny picture.""Was it August?""Do you have work to do?""Not until you tell me why you're smiling."I held out my hand for the coffee. He gave it to me."Thank you. Now go away.""Roman
The car moved through the quiet streets with the easy confidence of a city that never fully slept. August’s hand stayed in mine, his thumb brushing slowly across my knuckles the way it had since we’d left the restaurant. The residual warmth of the evening still clung to both of us. Sophie’s laughter, Henri’s careful questions, Isabelle’s polite interest in the play that was essentially a public autopsy of my former engagement to his brother.I stared out the window for a while, watching the lights smear past.“You’re quiet,” August said.“I’m cataloguing every possible way Friday night can go wrong.”“Don’t.”Silence settled again, but it was the comfortable kind. His fingers tightened briefly around mine when the car turned onto my street.When we pulled up in front of my building, he didn’t immediately let go.“Come up,” I said.It wasn’t a question. He studied my face for a second, then nodded once.The elevator felt smaller than usual. We stood close enough that I could feel the h
By Thursday morning, I'd discovered that transferring a play to a larger theater involved considerably more paperwork than transferring an actual human being to another country. Rebecca had sent over a preliminary rehearsal schedule, Daniel wanted updated production notes, and Marcus had developed strong opinions about the Whitmore's costume storage.My phone rang while I was trying to work out whether I could attend a rehearsal at the Whitmore and still make it back to Ainsley before our evening performance. It was August."Hello, stranger.""Good morning. Are you busy?""Only if you consider running two theaters at once busy. Things are insane here right now.""I'm calling about tonight."I glanced at the clock. "Are you canceling our date?""No. Henri Varenne has invited us to dinner.""Us?""Both of us. He and Isabelle are in New York with Sophie. Apparently, Sophie asked whether you could join them.""Oh, I'd love to see her.""I thought you might.""Is this a business dinner?""







