Kirsty grasped his forearms protestingly as he reached for the edge off her sweater.
'Drew no!' she protested huskily. 'You have no right to . . .'
'No right? Haven't you forgotten this?' he asked silkily, touching her ring. 'This gives me some pretty formidable rights these days, Kirsty, and this time l'm going to take them; even if it is rather late in the day. Perhaps I ought to thank Clive after all,' he added with cruel emphasis. 'Virgins don't exactly make exciting partners . . .'
Kirsty closed her eyes in mute protest at the cynism of both his words and his expression. He made it sound so clinical and cold; not how she had imagined things at all-especially not with her very first lover, and all at once she had the icy convection that Drew was going to be her first lover. She could read the determination in his hard mouth; the grip of his hands on her hipbones where her jumper ended.
'Fight all you want, Kirsty,' he breathed smokily as she tried to evade him. 'We both know what the eventual outcome will be, but if playing the unwilling victim is what turns you on, you go right ahead-just don't expect me to play along with you. But first . . .' His hands gripped her jumper, Kirsty stilling instinctively as she saw the banked-down rage in his eyes.
'Either you take this thing off, or I rip it off you piece by piece,' he said softly. 'And Kirsty,' he added as she stood like a wooden doll and he stripped the jumper from her, 'don't ever wear it in my presence again.'
'What's wrong with it?' Kirsty managed with a shaky flippancy. 'Don't you like the colour?'
'What I don't like is the way it makes me feel,' he told her enigmatically, 'but right now all I want to concentrate on is the way you make me feel. You're a very desirable female, Kirsty-but then of course you already know that, don't you?'
His hands rested on her rib cage, just below the soft thrust of her breasts, clearly marked with the beginnings of bruises where Clive had touched her. Drew splayed his own hand across her breast, obliterating the faint marks, and a tremulous, uncertain sensation spread upwards, dispelling the ice in her veins. Dear God, what was the matter with her? Kirsty wondered. After the way he had just spoken to her she should be loathing Drew, and yet her pulses leapt in undeniable response to hts touch.
'You want me, Kirsty,' he murmured against her ear. Don't bother denying it. It's been there between us all along.'
'Perhaps I do, ' Kirsty admitted, trying to conceal the shimmer of tears in her eyes, 'but that doesn't mean that I don't loathe myself for doing so.'
His response was to tighten his arms around her, his lips burning a fiery trail against her sensitive flesh, strong teeth nibbling at the tautly responsive cord in her throat, until she could feel her resistance slipping away like an ebb tide, leaving her stranded and vulnerable.
Of their own accord her fingers twined themselves in the night-darkness of Drew's hair, small sighing sounds of pleasure escaping her lips as his fingers moved over her collarbone and downwards, stroking over her skin, until it was dry and burning with fire to know his touch more intimately.
She wasn't even aware of his fingers deftly unfastening her bra; only the thrilling surge pleasure as the brief garment fell away and Drew's hands cupped her overheated flesh, caressing and soothing its burgeoning arousal.
Soft and pliant as a kitten, Kirtsy wound her arms round him, pressing her body close to the rigid masculinity of Drew's, gasping in sudden awareness of his arousal as his hands tightened on her hips, making no secret of the powerful thrust of male muscles.
Their quarrel, and all his insults, were forgotten, every sensitive nerve in Kirsty's body responding to Drew's skilled caresses. She wasn't aware of them moving to her bedroom, or of Drew carrying her to the bed, until he was lying full length on it beside her, his eyes feasting on the unexpected voluptuousness of her body. His hands encircling her waist, a deeply absorbed expression in his eyes as they moved slowly over her skin until she couldn't stop the softly pleading, 'Don't!' which escaped her lips.
'There's no reason to be shy now.'
For some reason he sounded more sad than angry, and Kirsty sensed that the bitterness which had driven him had given way to the same irresistible pull of pleasure she was experiencing. 'It's a very pleasurable sensation to have your body admired by your lover,' Drew told her in a deeply sensual voice. His thumb was probing the trembling curve of her mouth, and her bruises were forgotten as she tensed on a spiral of urgent excitement.
'Drew, I . . .'
'Go ahead he told her huskily, reading her mind. 'You don't have to ask permission. In fact . . .'
A shiver of pleasure touched her skin as Drew removed first his sweater and then the checked shirt he was wearing underneath. In the dim glow from the lamp in the other room Kirsty could see the warm gold of his flesh, still tanned from time spent abroad. Dark hairs matted his chest, arrowing downwards, drawing her eyes wonderingly over his body to widen and gaze, confused, at the buckle of his belt. .
'If you keep looking at me like that, Kirsty, you'll have to do more than just look,' Drew growled against her throat, 'and soon,' he concluded suggestively.
'Drew . . .'
'Don't talk, Kirsty, just feel, like this,' he told her urgently, possessing her mouth hotly, and depriving her of breath. Her hands moved instinctively over his skin, thrilling to the sensation of silk-sheathed muscle and sinew, contracting beneath her delicate exploration. Her lips, released from the intoxicating dominance of Drew's, made shy forays against his skin, tasting the male-scented flesh, revelling in the heady experience of feeling Drew's passionately urgent response, shyness and doubt swept aside in the avalanche of feeling that swept her as she felt Drew's skin beneath her lips. She wanted to go on and on touching and tasting, exploring the intoxicatingly alien maleness. Her fingers curled impotently into the waistband of his jeans, in sudden shock.
'What's the matter?' Drew's lips trailed seductively over the curves of her breasts, his hands gripping her hips as he held her firmly against him. 'For God's sake, Kirsty,' he muttered hoarsely 'what are you trying to do to me-drive me out of my mind? Help me get these damned jeans off. I want to feel you against me,' he added huskily. 'All of you.'
The sight of his naked body made her catch her breath in awe. Muscles rippled silkily beneath his skin as he moved, tall and powerfully built, his body that of a perfectly formed athlete.
'You're looking at me as if I'm the first naked man you've ever see,' Drew taunted softly, 'and it's doing dangerous things to my self-control. I wanted to hurt you tonight, Kirsty,' he told her, 'but somehow all the anger's gone, and all I want to do right now is to make love to you until there simply isn't room for anything else but that. You're beautiful, Kirsty, every single bit of you.' He bent his head and a shaft of exquisite pleasure shot through her as his tongue touched provocatively against the aroused centre of her nipple, stroking and caressing until she was on fire with a heated need to know a more satisfying possession, gratified only when Drew's mouth eventually closed possessively over the aroused peak, pleasure almost too great to be borne boiling up aside her like a whirlpool.
Drew's ardent possession of her breasts swept away the last of her reserve, and Kirsty stopped fighting her growing desire to yield to her need to touch and caress him as intimately as he was touching her. The light kisses she pressed against the burning heat of his skin evoked a response that overwhelmed her, Drew choosing to show her how far along the paths of sensuality she still had to go, by tracing kisses over the gentle swell of her stomach, devastating her with the intimacy of his touch.
'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, althou
gh 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 humlliation 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 he 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 the 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 everythmg 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, Peter, 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 bad no choice.'
‘He's gone, then?'
'Of 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 niggled 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 them 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 l'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 eject 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 come 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 few out there together two days ago. She rang me from New York last night-she was over the moon . . .' lt was after that that Kirsty stopped wearing Drew's ring, relinquishes 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 watt before she could tactfully allow it to be known that their engagements 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 massing him, and how pleased they were about their engagement! and Kirsty had no wish to upset her by announcing it was over.
The days spread into weeks. Gradually the play started to come together. Costumes arrived and were fitted; scenery was made ready, and an indefinable but noticeable tension began to grip the cast, adding a sharp, zestful edge to rehearsals.
Only Kirsty seemed unable to share the growing excitement. She was conscious of a certain lack of something in her own performance that bothered her and made her feel that she was letting Simon down. If he was aware of it, he didn't say son but Rachel's constantly expressed doubts about the changing of Hero's traditional role nibbled away at her self-confidence, and Kirsty felt sure that it was no accident that the other woman often contrived to be in the vicinity when they were rehearsing. Twice she had dropped props; on one occasion she had broken into a coughing spasm and on another she had dislodged a piece of scenery just as they were building up to the crux of the wedding scene.
Had they been acting in front of an audience, Kitsty had no doubt that she could have accused Rachel of deliberately trying to distract their attention, but it was impossible to suggest that the older and infinitely more experienced actress was trying to throw her off balances and anyway, Kirsty didn't feel that she wanted to descend to Rachel's petty level.
A Sudden Engagement by Penny Jordan Page 11