‘Drew!’
She writhed wantonly against him, moaning faintly with pleasure as he moved against her, sliding between her thighs, his hands cradling her hips so that she arched instinctively against him, inciting his possession, relishing the fierce possession of his mouth buried against hers, the urgent thrust of his body against her, coiling her stomach muscles in nervous anticipation.
Some childlike impulse made her squeeze her eyes tightly closed, although she didn’t realise how painfully her fingernails were biting into Drew’s back, until he relinquished her mouth to murmur protestingly in her ear, ‘Relax!’
She tried to do as she said, letting herself slide down into the sensual fever racing through her blood, not making any attempt to combat her urgent need for his possession. She loved him, and instinct told her this might be the only time they would share such intimacy. Dimly she knew that she ought to be resisting; ought to be reminding herself that Drew didn’t love her, but with the rough pressure of his long legs against hers, her breasts crushed against the warmth of his chest, the fierce thud of his heartbeat drowning out her own and the feverish thrust of his body as desire overwhelmed him it was impossible to think of anything but the heady pleasure of here and now.
‘Drew. Drew…’ His name left her lips on a whispered litany, her head moving restlessly from side to side. His hands shaped her face, holding it captive as he plundered her mouth, taking all that she gave in sweet surrender and still demanding more until she was lightheaded with pleasure.
‘I want you, Kirsty,’ Drew muttered thickly against her mouth. ‘So much that I don’t even care any more that…’ He checked swiftly as a small gasp of pain escaped her, drawing away to stare down into her flushed face. ‘Kirsty?’
She turned away childishly, closing her eyes.
‘Kirsty, you aren’t… Clive didn’t make love to you, did he?’ he demanded softly, forcing her to look at him. ‘My God,’ he muttered under his breath. ‘God, what have I done?’ He spoke more to himself than to her, and Kirsty watched him with huge hurt eyes as he moved away from her, sitting on the edge of the bed with his back to her as he bent to retrieve his jeans.
‘Does it matter whether or not Clive has made love to me?’ she managed at last, feeling exposed and vulnerable, lying on the bed beside him. ‘Does it make any difference?’
‘All the difference in the world,’ Drew told her tersely without looking at her. ‘God, surely I don’t need to tell you that!’ He turned and she flinched from the look of bitter loathing in his eyes, scorched with the humiliation of knowing that he was rejecting her.
He had wanted her—he had told her so; but now, suddenly, he didn’t. Because he had discovered that she was after all still a virgin. What difference did that make? All the difference in the world, Kirsty acknowledged. Drew wouldn’t want the responsibility of taking her virginity—or the possible consequences. He loved Beverley Travers; she already knew that. All he had felt for Kirsty had been desire—and now that desire was gone.
She refused to look at him as he dressed, tensing as she felt him stand up and then bend over her.
‘Kirsty…’
‘Please go,’ she begged in a curt little voice. She couldn’t bear his pity. It was bad enough that she had been on the point of giving herself to him without love, without her having to endure his pity. ‘We’ve nothing left to say to one another, Drew.’
She hadn’t realised she had been holding her breath until she heard the sound of the front door closing behind him. He was gone. She lay on her bed for several seconds, simply staring at the door, and then the tears came, a mingling of reaction and pain.
She loved him, and she had given him the most precious gift she had to give. He had rejected that gift, and the knowledge brought a searing pain, so intense that it overrode everything else.
The moment Kirsty opened her eyes in the morning she remembered what had happened. She was trembling when she left the house to go to rehearsal. How on earth was she going to face Drew? By the time she reached the theatre she was a tense bundle of nerves. She parked her car without her normal care, forcing a smile to her lips as she walked on to the stage to join those who were already gathered there.
Rachel and David were deep in conversation, Pete, the lighting technician, was busily engaged working on some of the footlights. There was no sign of Cherry, and Kirsty drifted over to a group which included Meg and Chris. She had already seen Clive and was sure that he had seen her, although he had pretended not to.
‘It came as quite a shock to Simon, I can tell you,’ Meg was saying, ‘and poor Helen is terribly disappointed—but then of course he really had no choice.’
‘He’s gone, then?’
‘Oh yes,’ Meg agreed. ‘First thing this morning. Poor you,’ she sympathised with Kirsty. ‘Have you any idea when he’ll be back?’
Kirsty tried not to look too baffled, heaving a quick sigh of relief as Simon suddenly walked in, greeting them with a rather preoccupied smile.
‘I expect most of you know by now that Drew has had to return to London—some problem with a script he’s been working on, but let’s hope he should be back before too long. Today,’ he continued briskly, ‘I want to concentrate on Claudio and Hero’s roles, so if Kirsty and Rafe could both come over here.’
Drew gone! Kirsty could barely take it in. Surely he had not left because of last night? But no, Simon had said something about a script. She tried to comfort herself with the knowledge that Drew would never react so emotionally to what had happened, but the niggling suspicion that he had left rather than work with her could not be completely obliterated.
As the morning wore on and she became more engrossed in her role, she was able to push Drew to the back of her mind.
They broke for lunch, Kirsty accepting Rafe’s suggestion that they eat together at the local pub. They spent most of the time discussing their parts and by the time they returned to the theatre, to watch Simon taking Rachel and David through their roles as Beatrice and Benedick, she was feeling a lot calmer.
That calm was shattered when Simon announced that they had worked hard enough for one day, and Rachel came over towards her.
‘So Drew’s back in London,’ she murmured, eyeing Kirsty speculatively. ‘My poor darling—but then, of course, it was on the cards right from the word go that your engagement couldn’t last. Drew’s a worldly, sophisticated man, who allowed his desire to outweigh common sense; something I’m sure he’s regretting now. After all,’ she pointed out with sweet malice, ‘if he had really wanted to, there’s nothing to stop him working on the script down here.’
The days took on a routine pattern; Simon was an excellent director, who knew how to get the best out of his actors. Rachel made an excellent Beatrice, Kirsty acknowledged, watching her one afternoon as she and David rehearsed the opening scenes of the play. On stage she underwent a transformation that enabled her to become Beatrice, and Kirsty envied her it. Rachel was singleminded about her profession in a way that she could never be, she acknowledged. Her husband had extensive business interests and neither of them seemed to mind the separation. Perhaps she was not cut out to be an actress after all, she reflected, as Simon took her on one side to explain exactly what he wanted from her as Hero.
‘Traditionally Hero readily forgives Claudio for renouncing her, but both Drew and I want to see her behave with a little more spirit. That speech when Claudio rejects her during the wedding ceremony, for instance, we want you to inject more sarcasm than pathos into it. You are being rejected by the man you love; initially you are confused and defensive, but then…’ He spoke several of Hero’s lines to indicate what he meant, and several other members of the cast drifted over to listen as Rafe and Kirsty went through the scene again.
‘You’re getting the hang of it,’ Simon approved, glancing at his watch. ‘I just want to run through your final scene,’ he told the two men playing Don Pedro and Don John, and as Kirsty turned away Rachel came up to her.
‘Very good,’ she praised. ‘But then of course you’ll be quite familiar with rejection, won’t you? Have you heard from Drew since he went to New York?’
Kirsty tried to conceal her shock, and knew she had failed when Rachel murmured with exaggerated and entirely fictitious concern, ‘Oh, my dear, didn’t you know? He and Beverley flew out there together two days ago. She rang me from New York last night—she was over the moon…’
It was after that that Kirsty stopped wearing Drew’s ring, relinquishing her last, faint hope that a miracle might occur and that he might suddenly come to care for her. Cherry commented on its absence, and Kirsty explained it away by saying that the ring was a little large and she was afraid of losing it.
Helen came to watch them rehearse one afternoon, and Kirsty was shocked to see how pale and tired she looked. That Simon was concerned about her too was obvious, and Kirsty felt an irrational shaft of resentment against Drew. Couldn’t he even spare a couple of weeks from Beverley’s side to relieve his friend of the burden of directing the play? But then lovers were inclined to be selfish, she admitted, and she wondered how long she would have to wait before she could tactfully allow it to be known that their ‘engagement’ was over. She didn’t want to say anything while Helen was looking so ill; Helen had already asked her several times if she had heard from Drew, mentioning that she knew how much she must be missing him, and how pleased they were about their engagement, and Kirsty had no wish to upset her by announcing it was over.