by Nora Roberts
“I won’t have it,” he raged at her, eyes blazing while hers remained cool as a lake.
“Won’t have it?” Rae repeated, transmitting utter disdain with the tone, with the movement of an eyebrow. “What is it you won’t have?”
“I will not have you raying the pole.” Jack closed his eyes and made a gargling sound.
“Raying the pole?” Ariel repeated. “Having a little trouble with your tongue?”
She felt the tension snap as the scene was cut, but wasn’t certain if she was grateful or not. She wanted this one over.
“Playing the role,” Jack enunciated carefully. “I will not have you playing the role. I got it.” He held up both hands, mocking himself and his flubbed line.
“Fine, as long as you understand that I can and will ray the pole whenever I choose.”
He grinned at Ariel. “Smart mouth.”
She patted his cheek. “Aw, yours will wise up, Jack. Give yourself a chance.”
“Places. Take it from the entrance.”
For the third time that morning, Ariel swung through the French doors with her skirts billowing behind her.
They moved through the scene again, immersing themselves in the characters even with the starts and stops and changes of camera angles.
To end the scene, Rae was to laugh, take the glass of Scotch from Phil’s hand, sip, then toss the contents into his face.
Caught up in character, Ariel took the glass, tasted the warm weak tea, then with an icy smile, poured the contents over the elegant floral arrangement. Without missing a beat in the change of staging, Jack ripped the glass out of her hand and hurled it across the room.
“Cut!”
Snapping back, Ariel stared at her director. “Oh, God, Chuck, I don’t know where that came from. I’m sorry.” With a hand pressed to her brow, she looked down at the now drenched mixture of fragile hothouse blooms.
“No, no. Damn!” Laughing, he gave her a bear hug. “That was perfect. Better than perfect. I wish I’d thought of it myself.” He laughed again and squeezed Ariel until she thought her bones might crack. “She’d have done that. She would have done just that.” With his arm slung around Ariel’s shoulder, Chuck turned to Booth. “Booth?”
“Yes.” Without moving, Booth indicated a nod. “Leave it as it stands.” He pinned Ariel with cool green eyes. He should have written it that way, he realized. Throwing a drink in Phil’s face was too obvious for Rae. Even too human. “You seem to know her better than I do now.”
She let out an uneven breath, giving Chuck’s hand a squeeze before she walked toward Booth. “Is that a compliment?”
“An observation. They’re setting up for the close-ups,” he murmured, then brought his attention back to her. “I won’t give you carte blanche, Ariel, but I’m willing to feed you quite a bit of rope in your characterization. And obviously so is Chuck. You understand Rae.”
She could have been amused or annoyed. As always when she had a choice, Ariel chose amusement. “Booth, if I were playing a mushroom, I’d understand that mushroom. It’s my job.”
He smiled because she made it easy. “I believe you would.”
“Didn’t you catch the commercial where I played the ripe, juicy plum?”
“Must’ve been out of town.”
“It was a classic. Over and above my shower scene for Fresh Wave shampoo—though, of course, sensuality was the basis in both spots.”
“I want to come home with you tonight,” he said quietly. “I want to stay with you tonight.”
“Oh.” When would she get used to the simple ways he had of saying monumental things?
“And when we’re alone,” Booth murmured as he watched the pulse in her throat begin to flutter, “I want to take off your clothes, little by little, so that I can touch every inch of you. Then I want to watch your face while we make love.”
“Ariel, let’s get these close-ups!”
“What?” A bit dazed, she mumbled the word while she continued to stare at Booth. Already she could feel his hands on her, taste his breath as it mixed with her own.
“They can have your face—for now,” Booth told her, more aroused by her reaction to his words than he would have thought possible. “Tonight, it’s mine.”
“Ariel!”
Flung back to the present, she turned to go back to the set. With a look that was amused and puzzled, she glanced back over her shoulder. “You’re not predictable, Booth.”
“Is that a compliment?” he countered.
She grinned. “My very best one.”
Hour after hour, line after line, scene after scene, the morning progressed. Though the film was naturally shot out of sequence, Ariel could feel it beginning to jell. Because it was television, the pace was fast. Her pace. Because it was DeWitt and Marshell, the expectations were high. As were hers.
You sweltered under the lights; changed moods, costumes; were powdered, dusted and glossed. Again and again. You sat and waited during scene changes or equipment malfunctions. And somewhere between the tension and the tedium was your vocation.
Ariel understood all that, and she wanted all of that. She never lost the basic pleasure in performing, even after ten retakes of a scene where Rae rode an exercise bike while discussing a new script with her agent.
Muscles aching, she eased herself off the bike and dabbed at the sweat, which didn’t have to be simulated, on her face.
“Poor baby.” Stella grinned as a stagehand offered Ariel a towel. “Just remember, Ariel, we never work you this hard on Our Lives.”
“Rae would have to be a fitness fanatic,” she muttered, stretching her shoulders. “Body conscious. I’m conscious now.” With a little moan, Ariel bent to ease a cramp in her leg. “Conscious of every muscle in my body that hasn’t been used in five years.”
“It’s a wrap.” Chuck gave her a companionable slap on the flank as he passed. “Go soak in a hot tub.”
Ariel barely suppressed a less kind suggestion. She slung the towel over her shoulder, gripped both damp ends and stuck out her tongue.
“You never did have any respect for directors,” Stella commented. “Come on, kid, I’ll keep you company while you change. Then I’ve got a hot date.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah. My new dentist. I went in for a checkup and ended up having a discussion on dental hygiene over linguine.”
“Good God.” Not bothering to hide a grin, Ariel pushed open her dressing room door. “He works fast.”
“Uh-uh, I do.” With a laugh that held both pleasure and nerves, Stella walked into the room. “Oh, Ariel, he’s so sweet—so serious about his work. And . . .” Stella broke off and dropped onto Ariel’s cluttered sofa. “I remember something you said a few weeks ago about love—it being a definite emotion or something.” She lifted her hands as if to wave away the exact phrase and grip the essence. “Anyway, I haven’t come down to earth since I sat in that tilt-back chair and looked up into those baby-blue eyes of his.”
“That’s nice.” For the moment Ariel forgot her sore muscles and the line of sweat dripping down her back. “That’s really nice, Stella.”
Stella searched for another lemon drop and found her supply depleted. Knowing Ariel, she walked to the dressing table, pulled open a drawer and succumbed to the stash of candy-coated chocolate. “I heard somewhere that people in love can spot other people in love.” She slanted her friend a look as Ariel stripped out of her leotard. “To test a theory, my guess is that you’ve fallen for Booth DeWitt.”
“Right the first time.” Ariel pulled on the baggy sweatpants and shirt she’d worn to the studio.
With a frown, Stella crunched candy between her teeth. “You always liked the tough roles.”
“I seem to lean toward them.”
“How does he feel about you?”
“I don’t know.” Gratefully, Ariel wiped off the last of her makeup. With a flourish, she dumped one more part of Rae into the waste can. “I don’t think he does, either
.”
“Ariel . . .” Reluctance to give advice warred with affection and loyalty. “Do you know what you’re doing?”
“No,” she answered immediately, both brows lifting. “Why would I want to?”
Stella laughed as she headed for the door. “Stupid question. By the way”—she stopped with her hand on the knob—“I just thought I’d mention that you were brilliant today. I’ve worked with you week after week for five years, and today you blew me away. When this thing hits the screen, you’re going to take off so fast even you won’t be able to keep up.”
Astonished, pleased and, perhaps for the first time, a bit frightened, Ariel sat on the edge of her dressing table. “Thanks—I think.”
“Don’t mention it.” Slipping into the character of Vikki, Stella blew Ariel a cool kiss. “See you in a couple of weeks, big sister.”
For several moments after the door shut, Ariel sat in silence. Did she, when push came to shove, want to take off and take off fast? She remembered that P. B. Marshell had said something similiar to her after her second reading for the part, but Ariel had seen that more as an overall view of the project itself. She knew Stella, and understood that the praise from her had been directed personally and individually. For the first time the ripple effect of the role of Rae struck her fully. However much a cliché it sounded, it could make her a star.
Wearing her baggy sweats, one hip leaning on her jumbled dressing table, Ariel explored the idea.
Money—she shrugged that away. Her upbringing had taught her to view money for what it was, a means to an end. In any case, her financial status for the past three years had been more than adequate for both her needs and her taste.
Fame. She grinned at that. No, she couldn’t claim she was immune to fame. It still brought her a thrill to sign her name in an autograph book or talk to a fan. That was something she hoped would never change. But fame had degrees, and with each rise in height, the payment for it became greater. The more fans, the less privacy. That was something she’d have to think about carefully.
Artistic freedom. It was that, Ariel admitted on a deep breath, that was the clincher. To be able to choose a part rather than be chosen. Glory and a big bank account were nothing in comparison. If Rae could bring her that . . .
With a shake of her head, she rose. Daydreaming about the future couldn’t change anything. For now, her career, and her life, would simply have to go a day at a time. Still, she was a woman who liked to expect everything. Ariel would much rather be disappointed than pessimistic. She was grinning when she opened the door and nearly collided with Booth.
“You look happy,” he commented as he took her arms to balance her.
“I am happy.” Ariel kissed him hard and firm on the mouth. “It’s been a good day.”
The kiss, casual as it was, shot straight through him. “You should be exhausted.”
“No, you should be exhausted after running the New York Marathon. How do you feel about a giant hamburger and a glutton’s portion of fries?”
He’d had a quiet restaurant in mind—something French and dimly lit. After a glance at her sweat pants and glowing face, Booth shook his head. “Sounds perfect. It’s your turn to buy.”
Ariel tucked her arm through his. “You got it. Do you like banana milk shakes?”
His expression stated his opinion clearly. “I don’t believe I’ve ever had one.”
“You’re going to love it,” Ariel promised.
It wasn’t as bad as he’d imagined—and the hamburger had been hefty and satisfying. Dusk was settling over the city when they returned to Ariel’s apartment. The moment she opened the door, the kittens dashed for her feet.
“Good grief, you’d think they hadn’t been fed in a week.” Bending, she scooped up both of them and nuzzled. “Did you miss me, you little pigs, or just your evening meal?”
Before Booth realized what she was up to, Ariel had thrust both kittens into his arms. “Hang on to them for me, will you?” she said easily. “I have to feed Butch, too.” She sauntered toward the kitchen, with the three-legged Butch waddling behind. Booth was left with two mewing kittens and no choice but to follow. One—Keats or Shelley—climbed onto his shoulder as he went after Ariel.
“I’m surprised you don’t have a litter of puppies, as well.” He lifted a brow as the kitten sniffed at his ear.
Ariel laughed as the kitten batted playfully at Booth’s hair. “I would if the landlord wasn’t so strict. But I’m working on him. Meanwhile”—she set out three generous bowls of food—“it’s chow time.”
Chuckling, she took the kitten from Booth’s shoulder while the other leaped to the floor. Within seconds all three cats were thoroughly involved. “See?” She brushed a few traces of cat hair from his shirt. “They’re no trouble at all, hardly any expense and wonderful companions, especially for someone who works most often at home.”
Booth gave her a steady look, cupped her face in his hands, then grinned despite himself. “No.”
“No what?”
“No, I don’t want a cat.”
“Well, you can’t have one of mine,” she said amiably. “Besides, you look more like the dog type.”
“Oh, really?” He slipped his arms around her waist.
“Mmm. A nice cocker spaniel that would sleep by your fire at night.”
“I don’t have a fireplace.”
“You should have. But until you take care of that, the puppy could curl right up on a little braided rug by the window.”
He caught her bottom lip between his teeth and nipped lightly. “No.”
“No one should live alone, Booth. It’s depressing.”
He could feel her response in the quickening of her heartbeat, the quiet shudder of breath. “I’m used to living alone. I like it that way.”
She liked the feel of his roughened cheek against hers. “You must’ve had a pet when you were a child,” Ariel murmured.
Booth remembered the golden Labrador with the lolling tongue that he’d adored—and that he hadn’t thought of in years. Oh, no, he thought as he felt himself begin to weaken. She wasn’t going to get to him on this. “As a child, I had the time and the temperament for a pet.” Slowly, he slipped his hands under her sweatshirt and up her back. “Now I prefer other ways of spending my free time.”
But she’d laid the groundwork, Ariel thought with a small smile. Advance and retreat was the secret of a successful campaign. “I have to shower,” she told him, drawing back far enough to smile again. “I’m still sticky from that last scene.”
“I enjoyed watching it. You’ve fascinating thigh muscles, Ariel.”
Amused, she lifted both brows. “I have aching thigh muscles. And I’ll tell you something, if I were to ride a bike for the three or four miles I did today, it wouldn’t be anchored to the floor.”
“No.” He gathered her hair in his hand to draw her head back. “You wouldn’t be content to stay in the same place.” He touched his mouth teasingly to hers, retreating when she would have deepened the touch to a kiss. “I’ll wash your back.”
Thrills raced up her spine as if he already were. “Hmm, what a nice idea. I suppose I should warn you,” she continued as they walked out of the kitchen, “I like the water in my shower hot—very hot.”
When they stepped into the bathroom, he slipped his hands under the baggy sweatshirt. She was slim and warm beneath. “Don’t you think I can take it?”
“I figure you’re pretty tough.” Eyes laughing up at him, Ariel began to unbutton his shirt. “For a screenwriter.”
In one surprising move, Booth whipped the sweatshirt over her head and bit down on her shoulder. “I’d say you’re pretty soft.” He ran his hands down her rib cage, then banded her waist. “For an actress.”
“Touché,” Ariel murmured breathlessly as he tugged loose the drawstring of her pants.
“I like to feel you,” he said, stroking his hands over her as she continued to undress him. “Though there isn’t much of you
. An elegant little body. Long boned, hipless.” His hands journeyed down her back, and farther. “Very smooth.”
By the time they were both naked, Ariel was shivering. But not from cold. Drawing away, she turned the taps. Water rushed from the showerhead, striking porcelain and steaming toward the ceiling. Stepping in, Ariel closed her eyes to let her body soak up the heat and the sensuality.
That was one of the things that continued to fascinate him about her—her capacity for experiencing. Nothing was ever ordinary to her, Booth decided as he stepped behind her and drew the curtain closed. She wouldn’t know the meaning of boredom. Everything she did or thought was unique, and being unique, exciting.