“I know you long for my bite…I know you are burning to surrender,” he said, his voice sonorous and enthralling.
    “No,” she said, forcing herself to struggle against his grip upon her shoulders.
    “Look into my eyes and tell me that.”
    “I won’t.”
    She closed her eyes tight against the urge to obey him, to gaze into the entrancing fire that burned in his impossibly deep brown eyes. She felt his right hand let go, and then his fingers swept slowly, lightly down the curve of her throat. Each fingertip left a trail of fantastic pleasure on her skin, pleasure that she knew would deepen if only she looked at him…if only she gave in to the desire that beat against the weakening walls of her resolve.
     I can’t let myself feel this, she told herself. If I do it will only end in heartbreak. I mustn’t feel it.
    “Cut!” cried Jack, the director.
    Tom released her and took a step back, turning to Jack. Jennifer likewise backed away, a little shocked by the interruption, and then more shocked to realize how deeply she had been into the scene. No, not the scene: she wished she could blame the scene, but it wasn’t that.
    It was, of course, Tom Orphens.
    Jack approached the stage; she could barely see him through the lights. “Mr. Orphens, Ms. Washington, I know we’ve done this scene a hundred times but I must be frank. It’s never quite worked for me. With opening night tomorrow, I can no longer remain in denial about this. Guys, it’s just weak. It’s weak, and it has to be the most intense moment of the entire play.”
    Jennifer exchanged looks with Tom. She knew it wasn’t his fault. Certainly he knew it too. But all he did was shrug a little with his eyebrows, as if to say, “I have no clue.”
    Jack hoisted himself up onto the edge of the stage and approached them. “Look, Jen, you’ve worked with Tom for years, you’re always perfectly relaxed with him.    more >>