Fast And Loose

‘I do. I’m not that unaware,’ she protested.

‘Relieved to hear it. Anyway, Cal felt it’d be impossible to find another movie star of anywhere near equivalent fame at such short notice,’ he continued, ‘and as I’m still remembered as an actor he approached me. He reckons that my appeal, such as it is, will draw in sufficient punters to keep the production viable.’ He frowned. ‘Personally, I feel it’s a high-risk situation.’

Darcy looked him dead in the eyes. ‘Me too.’ Mr Warburg might play the flattery game but she preferred to tell the truth—and if Keir was offended, tough! ‘And let us not forget,’ she continued, ‘that as it’s a long time since you acted——’

‘Five years.’

‘—you might also be rusty.’ Darcy shone a see-through smile. ‘Very.’

‘While Jed Horwood may not be the worst actor in the world, he comes close,’ Keir said, unruffled by her barb. ‘So no matter how out of practice I am I’ll still be a darn sight better. However,’ he went on, ‘if I’d refused to do the part the play would’ve been pulled.’

‘You expect me to be abjectly grateful?’ she demanded.

‘And sink down before me on your knees to perform an act of worship? That won’t be necessary.’ He slid his hands into his trouser pockets—an action which pulled the denim tight across his thighs and made her searingly aware of his masculinity, and conscious of a sexual innuendo. ‘Unless, of course, you’re eager to express your appreciation in such a way?’

‘I’m not.’

A dark blond brow arched. ‘You might like it.’

‘Wish on,’ Darcy retorted, and he laughed.

Being directed by Keir had been hard enough to swallow, but now she was expected to act with him! Nervousness quivered in the pit of her stomach. The play’s basic storyline revolved around the two main characters splitting up, meeting again and going through the trauma of making up. This included clinches, kisses, and reached its climax in a scene of highly charged passion when his character overpowered hers. On a bed.

Darcy’s nervousness spiralled into blind panic. Her errant hormones meant that there had to be a million pitfalls in the physical intimacy which was demanded. Could she cope? No. Yes. No. She must; she had no choice.

A breath was taken. ‘And to persuade you Mr Warburg designed an even handsomer financial package?’ Darcy asked.

‘He did. He made me an offer which I couldn’t refuse.’

Her smile was frosty. ‘While I’m doing the role for a pittance.’

‘You are,’ Keir acknowledged, ‘but you’re also doing the role because it fulfils a dream.’

‘Dream? What dream?’ she demanded.

‘The dream Rupert had. Although he would’ve dearly loved to work on Broadway he never managed to get there, so he pinned all his hopes on you, his cherished only child. And if he’s looking down from heaven when we open there I have no doubt he’ll be bursting with parental pride.’

Darcy shot him a suspicious look. Was Keir being snide or mocking? Neither. His remarks had been the straight-forward truth as he saw it.

She took another mouthful of coffee. But what was her truth? Although she could well remember her father telling her how thrilled he would be if, one day, she were to appear on Broadway, she had not been consciously aware of aiming to fulfil his expectations.

And yet, while her role was undoubtedly a prime one, in addition to the low salary there were other aspects which had troubled her—like the high sexual content and a demand for partial nudity. These concerns had been brushed aside, but would she have brushed them aside if the production was to have been staged in London? Her winged brows lowered. She suspected not. She suspected that they could have proved a stumbling block.

Darcy sighed. She had never analysed what had motivated her to rush headlong to do the play, but now her father’s hopes seemed to have been the major influence—although an unconscious one. So how should she answer Keir? Should she admit to the truth and attempt to defend what seemed to be flawed reasoning, or should she lie through her teeth?

Looking across at him, she saw that no answer was required for just as she had been engrossed in her thoughts, so was he.

‘I’m not sure whether or not I made the right decision,’ Keir muttered, rubbing contemplative fingers back and forth along the hard edge of his jaw.

‘Why’s that?’

‘Because I’d decided never to act again.’

Darcy lanced him with a look. ‘And that’s because you prefer to order other people around,’ she said, recalling the remark he had made at the Brierly, but turning it into a denunciation. ‘Because you enjoy being in charge and cracking the whip.’

‘You make me sound like a control freak,’ he protested.

‘You’re not?’ she challenged.

Keir shook his head. ‘I set high standards for myself and for those I work with, so I admit that the whip does get cracked on occasion—but only when it’s necessary. Although I used to get a buzz out of acting a role and getting it right,’ he went on, ‘I find being a director far more satisfying. And it does have one significant plus,’ he added, as if talking to himself.

The plus would be money, Darcy thought acidly. For actors, the super-lavish pay-days came from making films, not from working on the stage as Keir had done in the main, though he had appeared in one or two lowbudget films. Yet, given full-house audiences, his current percentage deal could be lucrative. And top-notch film directors could command million-dollar fees.

‘But the lure of a big fat cheque overcame your better judgement?’ she enquired.

A muscle clenched in his jaw. Keir clearly resented her charge and for a moment seemed about to justify himself—how? she wondered—but then he shrugged. ‘I guess. In addition to rescuing you from Jed Horwood’s acting, my taking over also saves you from another fate worse than death,’ he said, as if feeling a requirement to redeem himself in some kind of way. ‘Having to hang out with the guy.’

‘How hang out?’ Darcy questioned.

‘Going drinking with him and his cronies until the wee small hours, or being expected to put in lengthy attendances in his dressing-room while he regales you with monologues on what a marvellous human being he is, or maybe even sleeping with him.’

‘Sleeping with him?’ she repeated. ‘My behaviour may have been…less than circumspect once upon a time——’

‘Nice turn of phrase,’ Keir inserted.

‘—but you can’t believe I’m that easy?’ Darcy protested indignantly. ‘Surely you don’t consider me to be a tramp like some of Jed Horwood’s past partners? Or a nymphomaniac?’ she asked, and gave a terse, inward laugh. If only he knew the reality.

‘I don’t,’ Keir replied equably. ‘However, you must’ve heard how the guy takes it for granted that he’ll bed each of his leading ladies, if not every other actress in the cast?’

‘I have, but he wouldn’t have bedded me.’ A picture of the star’s self-satisfied swagger and oily smile swam before her. ‘Jed Horwood would not have laid one finger on me,’ Darcy declared forcefully.

‘Not like I did,’ Keir murmured, and his blue eyes tangled with hers, ‘when you were a virgin.’

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_d3a08314-6171-5f18-afe9-9c2bc81cd1ec)

A TIDE of hot colour swept up her face. Seven years melted away and, once again, Darcy was back in Keir’s bedroom at the Brierly Hotel, sitting on his knee in her low-cut dress and shamelessly flirting. As she had slid her fingers inside his shirt and touched the curls of coarse hair on his chest he had stroked her breasts.

At the memory she felt her nipples pinch and tighten. She was aware of that blissful ache. Abruptly Darcy remembered the silky top that she was wearing and how it clung like a second skin to her body. Ye gods, Keir wouldn’t notice her flagrant nipples, would he?