when he came close to coming. When the accompanist played the first few notes of the opening number of his play, Niall remembered the clash of sound when Blake had gripped his piano’s keyboard as Niall sank to his knees.
At last, Blake sent the briefest of looks in Niall’s direction. In a flash, Niall could see that his casual demeanor and joking with the other men was a façade. The intensity in Blake’s eyes was enough to shake Niall to his core. But he had a rehearsal to run.
“Are we going to tackle Act Two today?” Paul asked, still standing by Niall’s side.
“Hmm? Oh. Yes.” Niall cleared his throat.
Paul narrowed his eyes slightly, then glanced to the stage. Niall’s face was already hot, but he felt as though it heated even more when a flash of understanding dawned in Paul’s expression. Paul grinned slightly, then stepped away from Niall. “All right, then,” he said, starting toward the stage.
A burst of frustration hit Niall. Paul clearly thought he knew something, but there was nothing to know. Nothing that had been stated, at least. It didn’t matter how desperately Niall wanted there to be something for Paul to smirk about, he couldn’t, with all honestly, say there was anything between him and Blake. Except for everything. Everything unspoken.
“Time is wasting,” Niall said, using every last one of his acting skills to pretend that nothing was wrong and that he was in full control of the situation as he took his script from his satchel and started toward the stage. “We need to make certain we’ve mastered the blocking for Act Two as well as the choreography for the finale.”
“If you can even call it choreography,” Morton said, elbowing Blake, who stood next to him.
Niall swallowed the rush of jealousy that accompanied the grin Blake sent Morton in return. He had a job to do. It didn’t matter that that job involved playing opposite the man he’d fellated the evening before, a man he wasn’t sure returned his feelings, a man he might just have humiliated himself for. His responsibility was to his cast.
“Let’s start by running through the Act Two opening number.” He nodded to the accompanist, who launched into the cheery number.
Slowly but surely, Niall’s back unclenched, allowing him to make actual progress in directing his cast through the second act. It was a relief how fast Morton and the other chorus members had picked up their songs. He didn’t even mind Morton inventing choreography of his own to accompany them. The more of them that were dedicated to the show the better, as far as Niall was concerned. And who knew? Perhaps Morton had a secret desire to choreograph, though Niall would have been shocked beyond belief if it turned out that Morton was an invert.
Rehearsing the scenes between songs turned out to be the most challenging part of the rehearsal, particularly the scenes Niall and Blake played with each other. As they came closer and closer to the scene that had unraveled with an entirely different ending the evening before, Niall’s palms grew sweaty and his heart refused to settle.
“Reinhold, I was wrong to censure you for stealing a bride for me.” Blake crossed the stage to clap Ian on the shoulder, a move that took him farther away from Niall instead of closer, as they’d rehearsed several days before. Ian reacted too strongly, but rather than stopping to tell him to stop being a ham, Niall let Blake continue, panic growing in his gut. “You will be showered with riches and honors for your part in this.”
“And you will have my eternal gratitude.” Niall’s voice cracked on his line. He cleared his throat, moving closer to Ian as well and using him as a shield between him and Blake.
“Aren’t the two of you meant to be saying this whole part over there?” Ian asked with a frown, scanning through the penciled notes in his script.
“It felt more natural to cross to Reinhold for this line,” Blake told Niall.
Their eyes met and held for the first time since the rehearsal had started. It was as though lightning cracked over the stage. Niall couldn’t breathe. The intensity of feeling in Blake’s eyes bored into his soul, but whether that emotion was fear or anger or passion, Niall couldn’t tell.
“It’s just that I have written right here that you do that part over there,” Ian said, pointing with the pencil in his right hand to the other side of the stage.
“If