It was either stare into his eyes or pull air into her lungs. Apparently it was impossible to do both at once.
She inhaled on a gasp and found herself staring at his mouth.
What was happening?
Kissing. They’d been talking about kissing—on stage—and the necessary skills actors needed to tap for the audience to feel it.
She raised her hands and her fingertips plucked at the trim on her bodice, unable to meet his gaze. She had practically begged him to kiss her!
And he’d refused.
Mr. Dodd returned to his desk, frowning.
“The actors practice. Yes.” As her hands fell away, she stared down, not sure what to do with them. “But it’s not necessary for you and I. My apologies, Miss Sparrow.” He rubbed a hand down his face. “I seem to have forgotten myself.”
This time when she met his gaze, the temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees.
“It was my fault,” Elle replied. “I got carried away.” She was hugging her arms in front of her. It had been fake. They’d been working through a scene. That was all!
She’d do better at convincing herself if only she could remember a single line from this particular scene.
“I should not have—” she began.
“No.” He marched across to the window and stared down at the street. “I realize that I have a certain…reputation, but I no longer dally with members of my staff.” He pivoted around. “Especially you. I refuse to risk losing you.”
“But why?” Her heart lodged itself in her throat. Was he coming to care for her?
“I can always find another assistant,” he explained. “But you’re much more than that to me.”
Elle couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “I—”
“You’re my playwright,” he added.
“Your playwright?”
“Yes.” He jammed his fists into his pockets. “And I’ll need your input. At least until after we open.”
Family Duties
“Your father has been expecting you, My Lord.” Mr. Tanner, the butler at Ashwood Manor, bowed. “He is in his study.”
Carter inhaled, bracing himself. As much as he dreaded meetings with the man who sired him, the prospect had almost been enough to keep his mind off his Elle Sparrow.
There was something about her that all but shredded his self-control, making her nearly impossible to resist. She was unlike any woman he’d ever known—humble but proud, creative but practical, and sexy as hell while looking as innocent as a lamb.
Carter stood outside his father’s study, clenching his fists and then unclenching them, picturing the bottle of whisky he kept in the bottom drawer of his desk.
Rather than sleep at his townhouse that night, he would return to the theater and make use of the small apartment he kept there for unusually late nights. That way, he could drink without having to face Martin—his valet.
Always good to have a plan in place for evenings such as this one.
It wasn’t because he didn’t love his father, quite the opposite, actually. Perhaps that was why these meetings never failed to leave him raw.
Because Carter would never be the son his father expected him to be. Drawing in a steady breath, he stepped inside.
“I’m surprised the great director has time to visit his father.” The Marquess of Ashwood barely glanced up when Carter closed the door behind him. Well into his sixties, Carter’s father was no longer the sturdy and robust gentleman he remembered from childhood. Silver had worked its way into the marquess’s hair, and his shoulders sloped more than usual.
His father had aged considerably since losing his marchioness, Carter’s mother, ten years before.
