Ru smiled. “I’m anxious to hear your ideas about your characters. I want the clothes to either reveal or artfully hide the character’s true nature, so the more I know, the better.”
Helena pointed to the older of the two women at the table. “I know you’ve seen the great Beverly Howard, who will be our queen.”
In fact he’d never heard of Beverly Howard, but she looked every inch a sexy monarch. She’d be fun to dress. Ru smiled and bowed. “Your Majesty.”
Beverly nodded regally and then laughed. Helena pointed to the young woman, pretty, dark, and somber. “This is Tilda Fern, who plays Ophelia.”
Ru gave her a smile, hoping for one in return, but apparently she was already working on the mad scene.
“And these two handsome gentlemen are our king, Phillip Fellstone—”
Ru gave him a hiss as they shook hands, and got a laugh.
“And this is Merle Justice. Horatio.”
Ru grinned. “I knew him well.” Merle flinched and Ru said, “I suspect I’m not the first person—today—who’s made that joke.”
Merle laughed and that made his fair hair and boyish face even handsomer. The guy got a lot of TV gigs with those looks. “Suspicions confirmed.” He shook Ru’s hand. Definite interest flickered in his blue eyes.
Ru cleared his throat. “So I’m going to start taking some measurements today. I’ll be back in the costume department. If you have a few minutes when you’re not needed for the read-through, could you please stop in and let me size you up, so to speak.”
By noon, he’d measured Beverly and Phillip and sat sketching ideas for their costumes. Phillip was a handsome guy, but older, with a bit of a pot, and long hair, thinning on top. Good. He’d make his clothes look like a man trying to appear younger—and failing.
A back door from the alley behind the theater opened. Ru looked up. A tall man with long gray hair, wearing dark glasses and a slouch hat, walked into the costume shop. He glanced around nervously and closed the door quickly. “Uh, hello.”
“Hi, can I help you?” Ru stared at the man. The cheekbones, the chin. Ru stood. “Is there someone you wanted to speak with?” His heart beat so fast it must have looked like a hummingbird got caught in his throat.
“Uh, maybe you?”
“Sure. How can I help?” Take a breath. This guy had to be Gray Anson. No matter the disguise, Ru knew that face like his own—better.
“You’re making costumes?”
“Yes.”
“I think you’re supposed to measure me. If you wouldn’t mind.”
“I’d be delighted.” Ru pulled the tape measure he’d been using all morning from his jeans pocket. Nothing quite made sense. Did Anson think Ru wouldn’t know him? Should he pretend he didn’t recognize him? “Will you take off your jacket, please?” And your wig, and glasses, and pants and— He forced himself not to nervous giggle. The guy pulled off his light jacket, revealing a slouchy flannel shirt. Seriously? “Sorry, you’ll have to remove that too if I’m going to get true measurements.”
“Oh, okay.” Weird. Nothing about this guy’s deferential manner suggested the Gray Anson Ru knew. Then—he pulled off the shirt. Holy Mother of Jesus.
His wide shoulders strained the fabric of the thin cotton T-shirt almost as much as the bulge of his biceps. On the screen his body looked huge and hard-muscled. In person it came off as slimmer, maybe the word was leaner, but just as powerful—and even more beautiful. The skin on his arms glowed, the smattering of light brown hair barely showing against his tan.
Ru cleared his throat. “Just stand relaxed.” Take that advice yourself. He stepped behind him. Gray towered over Ru’s five eleven. The man must be a full six three or four as reported. Stretching his tape, Ru measured the width of those shoulders. Have to do it. He rested a hand against Gray’s arm and let the warmth seep into his bones—and his boner. “Do you usually wear a forty-four long?”
“Uh, yes, I think so. They tailor it for my, uh, waist.”
“Um-hm.” Ru wrapped the tape around Anson’s waist, trying not to pass out. “Thirty-three.”
“Yeah.”
Though he didn’t really have to, he measured Gray’s chest and hips. “How do you see Hamlet?”
“Sorry? What do you mean?”
“What’s your understanding of the character?”
“Oh.” He shrugged. “I guess he’s confused. Pissed that everybody including ghosts wants something from him.” Whoa. That last boiled with heat. “Sorry.”
“No, I like your take on him.”
The edges of his lips turned up. “You do?”
“Yeah.” Ru knelt to measure the inseam. “Just hold still for a second.” He swallowed hard and snuggled one hand in the general vicinity of Gray’s balls. Some balls they were too, nicely framed by the crotch of a pair of old, worn jeans. Movies often unveiled Gray’s awesome ass, but the balls Ru had never seen. He pulled the tape to the floor. “Thirty-six sound right?”
“Yes. I guess.”
If he burrowed his nose in Gray’s crotch and sniffed, could he blame it on the need to gather impressions for his design? His giggle tried to escape again. He stood before he went through with it. “Let me show you what I’m thinking.”
He didn’t usually share his designs until they were further along, but man, he didn’t want Gray to leave. He leaned over the table he’d been sketching at. Gray rested his perfect forearm on the table and looked over Ru’s shoulder. Warmth from his body slammed into Ru like a day in Jamaica, and Mr. Downtown turned into a heat-seeking missile.
Ru sucked in a breath. “Uh, what if we dress Hamlet like a sort of ultrafashionable gangbanger? Baggy pants and a combination of wifebeaters and baggy T-shirts. But we’ll do them in fantasy colors and cover your arms and chest in tattoos.” Ru’s fingers flew across the pages as the ideas took shape, bold lines slashing the white paper. “We’ll even tie your head in a bandana.” He looked up and almost choked. Gray’s face was poised only inches from his, and he was smiling, the huge, flashing-teeth, dimples-as-deep-as-craters smile that had made this man a billionaire. All I’d have to do is stand on tiptoe and I could kiss him. Of course, I wouldn’t get to do costumes for Hamlet anymore, but it might be worth it. He smiled slowly at the incongruity of the perfect face surrounded by the ratty gray wig.
Gray spoke softly. “You really get into this, don’t you?”
Ru swallowed. “Uh, yes, sorry.”
“No need to be sorry. I love the idea, and I love your passion.”
“You—you do?”
“Yes.” He just kept staring at Ru. “Do you know your eyes are almost the color of a cat’s?”
“And yours are like the sky before a storm.”
Stand still, time. Don’t let him move, ever. So close that warm breath from Gray’s perfect lips fluttered over Ru’s cheek.
The door to the theater opened, and Tilda, the girl playing Ophelia, burst in. “They told me you want to see me next. Can we make it quick?”
Gray turned instantly away, grabbed his jacket, and headed straight out the back door. “Thanks. See ya.”