As she walked down the hill, Ariel’s hair and body were backlit by the sun. Light shone through the nimbus of her hair and threw her voluptuous curves into silhouette. Jacob had rarely seen a woman with such a perfect body — perfect for his tastes, at least. He tended to associate with female athletes. Some were almost sexless, their bodies honed to the point of total androgyny. Some more casual athletes like Liz, maintained a feminine body type. But Jacob had rarely encountered Ariel’s particular blend of lushness and strength, someone who was as womanly as she was toned. She had the most perfect posture he’d ever seen. She carried herself like a queen. Her motions were incredibly graceful. She had the kind of agility that Jacob knew required massive core strength. Her limbs were long and supple. But her hips, her bottom, round as a peach, her large, high breasts … Words failed.
The models he’d met in the course of his photo shoots, supposedly the most beautiful women in the world, some of whom seemed determined to make him into a bedmate, looked like badly drawn stick figures in comparison.
Jacob tightened his jaw. He couldn’t afford to treat this woman as anything but a threat. Couldn’t afford to respond to her the way his body was already responding …
• • •
As Ariel walked closer, she wondered what she could have done to Jacob to make him glare at her like that. Was he upset that she’d shown up at his training? Or that she’d disrupted his massage the day before? Stifling the stirrings of self-doubt that his forbidding look inspired, she squared her shoulders and planted herself in front of him, trying to ignore her visceral reaction to his presence, the heat he gave off like a furnace, the jersey open over his broad chest and tightly muscled stomach, the smell of his healthy, salty sweat … Unbidden, her eyes fell to his groin and she gasped. The spandex of his shorts hid nothing … nothing.
Jacob Hunter was fantastically well-endowed.
Rendered speechless, Ariel was relieved to see that Jacob looked equally distracted. He was staring intently at … her wrist? Her bracelet?
Her father had given her the gold charm bracelet for her sixteenth birthday, with three charms attached. A tiny book. A ballet shoe. A heart. For balance, he said, and for love. She knew he didn’t mean the kind of balance she practiced at the barre. From then on he’d given her another charm for each passing birthday — five more while he was alive. He’d given her eight charms in all, and she’d bought a few more for herself, as a way of remembering him. She played with the bracelet when she was thinking, rubbing the charms between the thumb and middle finger of her opposite hand. The older charms had been smoothed by her touch over the years until their contours faded, the embossed details becoming less distinct, the metal more burnished, mellowed.
Ariel and Jacob’s eyes met. To Ariel’s surprise, they both flushed.
• • •
It was her. Jacob felt a wordless confusion. Ariel Hayes. The woman who’d been haunting him. The woman with whom he’d shared those moments of raw, naked honesty on the hotel rooftop. She’d felt his body’s hunger, his need for connection, for intimacy. And he’d felt hers. The blood rushed to his groin as he remembered the feel of her slippery, silky skin, the way her curvaceous body had melted against him, the luscious wetness he’d felt when he slipped his fingers into her lace panties and touched the petal-soft folds of her sex. Holding her eyes — knowing his cycling shorts did nothing to hide his sudden arousal — he smiled in spite of himself.
• • •
Ariel was surprised by the sudden sweetness of that smile. And she had no idea what had caused it. To call this man “mercurial” would be an understatement. She could only hope that his good mood lasted for the time it would take her to establish a rapport — or at least to ask him a few key questions.
“Jacob,” she said, and was surprised to hear the caressing tone in her own voice. She’d always made it a point of honor not to use the kind of feminine wiles that some female journalists deployed in their pursuit of a story. But, truth be told, she’d never felt this way about a subject. The hint of seduction in her voice and in her body language didn’t feel like a strategy, wasn’t something she’d planned. It came all too naturally.
“You know I’d like to interview you,” she continued, “but the fact is, readers want to see you as a complete individual, not just a racer. I loved watching you train just now. But I need to see you off the bike, as well. So I can give your public a sense of the man behind the sport. They already know Jacob Hunter, the athlete. They’re hungry for more.”
Jacob’s eyes flashed challengingly. “The real Jacob Hunter, huh?” He smiled. “Are you sure they can handle it?”
“I guess we’ll find out.” Ariel smiled back, unable to resist his playful good humor.
Jacob reached out and clasped Ariel’s wrist with his calloused hand. Ariel gasped. The contact — skin to skin — was like an electric shock. He pulled her gently toward him. “Come with me,” he said softly.
Ariel wondered what she’d gotten herself into. And she wondered if she cared. “My rental car’s in the parking lot,” she said, trying not to let him see how his casual touch had startled her. “Where do you want to go? I can follow you.”
“Leave the car. We’ll throw my bike in the back and pick it up later. Ride with me on the motorcycle. We’ll go change at the hotel.” His gaze raked her up and down; Ariel suddenly felt naked, exposed.
“I need to shower. You need to look less citified. I’m going to take you out and show you the local color. You need to put on something … more casual.” He smiled. Ariel glanced down at her sleeveless white silk blouse, her narrow black pants, her Prada flats, bought on clearance. In New York, and most other cities on the Eastern seaboard, you had to look serious to be taken seriously. Serious meant designer. Ariel had combed the sale racks and the consignment stores to build her professional wardrobe on a shoestring. But apparently things worked differently in the West.
Jacob dropped her wrist to shoulder his bike. Ariel missed the tingling sensation he’d transmitted to her through her fingers. She followed him obediently to the parking lot, where he removed the front wheel of his bike and laid the frame across her back seat. She wondered if he worried that it would be stolen. She was sure it was fantastically expensive.
Apparently not. He walked away from it without a backward glance, leaving Ariel to lock the car.
“Um, Jacob,” she asked, “how did you get both the bicycle and the motorcycle here at the same time?”
Jacob smiled. “I drove the motorcycle. Ben met me with the bike. It gets worked over most nights. We can get him to pick it up later, too. Leave your car keys at the front desk for him.”
Ariel smiled a lopsided grin, one that felt more genuine than any of the other smiles she’d produced during the course of this assignment. The others had all been designed to produce a response. “So he’s good for something, after all?” she asked archly.
Jacob glanced back, surprised by her obvious sarcasm, then barked a laugh when he saw the expression on her face. “Actually,” he said, “he’s basically worthless. An errand boy who likes to think of himself as a mover and shaker. Since no one on the up-and-up takes him seriously, he’s drawn to the dark side. If you need something sketchy, underhanded, or illegal, he’s your man. Assuming he doesn’t mess it up.”
Ariel’s smile dropped as suddenly as it had come. Was there a significance to Jacob’s words he hadn’t intended? Could Ben be responsible for supplying Jacob with drugs? She remembered the package he’d carried to Jacob’s suite the day before. Mail? Or contraband pharmaceuticals?
She tried to pull herself together and marshal the whirl of thoughts and questions in her mind into something like a plan. Then she stopped short. There was another factor here she hadn’t considered.
Ariel had never ridden a motorcycle before.
“Don’t I need a helmet?”
she asked nervously.
“You can wear mine. I’ll wear this one.” Strapping his bike helmet under his chin, he climbed on the motorcycle and grinned at her, posing.
Ariel burst out laughing. He looked ridiculous in his cycling kit and bike helmet, straddling the big motorcycle and smiling up at her roguishly. Maybe Jacob Hunter didn’t take himself so seriously after all.
“Come on,” he said, his voice suddenly husky, and he caught her wrist again and pulled her body against him. Ariel had no choice but to swing her leg over the bike and settle herself tightly against Jacob’s warm, hard back.
Electric. She caught her breath. The feeling was electric.
Her breasts were crushed against him. She wrapped her arms around his waist. He felt like he was made of something more than flesh — like smooth wood, or polished metal. He started the motorcycle and the vibration traveled through her, humming between their bodies. She sighed involuntarily.
“Ready?” Jacob asked. She realized her fingers were kneading his jersey anxiously.
“Ready,” she said. They pulled out. Ariel half-expected some daredevil burst of speed. Instead, Jacob drove slowly. Cautiously. Mindful of her nervousness.
“Too fast?” Jacob turned his face to shout above the engine. Ariel gripped him even tighter. The unexpected consideration caused her heart to flutter. Suddenly, she felt invulnerable. She looked down at the pavement moving beneath them. She thought she felt a hint of what Jacob must feel cycling, pushing himself harder and harder against the wind. Or what she’d felt, dancing.
Like dreams she had as a little girl. Dreams of flying. She almost cried out at the sheer joy of it.
“Faster!” she cried and leaned with him effortlessly as they roared around the last curve of the park road. Together they sped through the streets of Vail.
Back at the hotel, Ariel still felt like she was in a dream. She changed into jeans and a green t-shirt. She glanced at herself critically in the mirror. “How’s this for casual?” she said to herself. She pulled her unruly hair into a loose ponytail and went to meet Jacob in the lobby. When she saw him waiting for her in cowboy boots, worn out jeans, and a thin, soft-looking t-shirt, she stopped in her tracks. His hair was still wet from the shower and a slow smile spread across his face as she came toward him.
• • •
“You dress down nice,” he said. It was true. In faded jeans and a simple tee, Ariel had a natural glow. She looked less prissy, less like an uptight New York reporter with a Blackberry addiction. She looked ready for a casual conversation over a cold beer. Which, frankly, he preferred to an inquest in a brightly lit hotel restaurant.
Yes, this would be better. The two of them, relaxed, hanging out in a laid back environment. He could tell her just enough to keep her satisfied, without betraying anything important. Casual conversation. That was the key. Except for one problem. He hated to admit it, but he already wanted more than casual conversation. He wanted her in his bed. He wanted to talk to her seriously without worrying about what she’d write down. He wanted to lie with her under the stars and feel, again, that moment of connection. A sexual excitement linked to something deeper.
He hadn’t felt this way for a very, very long time. Maybe never.
But Ariel Hayes wasn’t a mystery woman — a rooftop mermaid — appearing out of nowhere and vanishing just as quickly. She was a reporter. He had to remember that. Anything he said to her would be fair game. He had to be on guard. He had to remember not to say anything about what was really on his mind.
Damn, she was beautiful.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said gruffly. He wished he could forget about Jacob the cyclist and Ariel the reporter. He wanted to relate to her man to woman.
Well, at least he could pretend for a little while. Just for tonight. Luckily, he knew the right place.
• • •
After a thrilling ride outside the limits of Vail Village, Jacob turned into a large parking lot filled with pickup trucks and motorcycles. Ariel hopped off the bike.
“Sweet Rose-Marie,” said Jacob and whistled. Ariel looked around. The blond from the other day? Was she Rose-Marie? But then she took in the low, sprawling building with a huge buzzing sign: a grizzly bear lit-up in neon and “Rose-Marie’s” spelled out in blinking red letters. Jacob dealt Ariel another heart-stopping grin.
“She taught me to two-step,” he explained.
“You two-step?”
Jacob pulled her to him and whirled her around in the parking lot. Ariel saw the lights spin overhead.
“That’s not the two-step!” she protested breathlessly.
“So I don’t two-step,” admitted Jacob. “I square-danced though. In gym class. Third grade. Tabor Elementary.”
“I’ll be sure to mention your square-dancing days in my article,” Ariel said.
“Square-dancing always made me dizzy.” Jacob laughed, releasing her. “It wasn’t really my thing.”
“Dizzy, huh?” It was hard to imagine Jacob off-balance.
“How about you?” he asked, lifting her hand above her head and twirling her around. Ariel completed the turn, then stepped away from him and shrugged.
“I don’t get dizzy,” she said. She brushed a stray strand of hair from her face and felt the heat of his gaze as his eyes followed the curve of her arm back to where her soft green t-shirt clung to her full breasts.
She stepped forward into fourth position, then whipped her body around in a double pirouette.
“See?” she said, relishing the astonished look on his face.
“Walk a straight line after that,” Jacob dared her, and Ariel began walking smartly to the bar’s entrance.
Oh God, he’s looking at my ass, she thought.
As they walked into Rose-Marie’s he put his arm around her shoulder.
“Did you do ballet?” he asked.
“Only in gym class,” she replied.
“Ha,” he said. They sat at a booth. Couples two-stepped in an open space by the bar. Over in the back, past the pool tables, a crowd surrounded a mechanical bull, now in the process of tossing a heavy-set young man into the air. Ariel winced as he hit the ground.
“You’re not much for straight answers, are you?” observed Jacob. Ariel stared at him across the table.
“I’m a reporter,” she said. “I prefer to ask the questions.”
“That’s one thing we have in common, then,” said Jacob, leaning forward. He brushed his fingers across her wrist. He lightly touched one of the charms on her bracelet. “This is beautiful,” he said seriously. “I’d ask who gave it to you, but … ”
“But I’m the one who’s interviewing you,” Ariel finished. Her pulse was leaping. His fingers still rested lightly on her wrist.
“We have more in common than you think,” she said suddenly. She didn’t know she was going to say the words until she heard them coming out her mouth.
“Oh yeah?” Jacob was looking at her even more intently. His brown eyes bored into hers. If he weren’t so distractingly good looking she’d be able to think before she spoke. At least she wasn’t stuttering.
“I starting studying ballet when I was three years old,” Ariel said. “I went to New York City to dance at Julliard. The plan was to join a company. Travel the world.”
“What happened?” asked Jacob. Ariel closed her eyes briefly. The memory still caused her pain.
“I broke a bone in my foot,” she said. “I couldn’t dance for months. When you’re at the top of your field, working your body as hard as you can, a few months … ”
“Can mean everything,” said Jacob, with a strange light in his eyes.
“It’s amazing how long it takes to get to where you want to be. How long it takes to make your body work the way you want it to work … and then how quickly it can
all go away.”
“It doesn’t look like you’ve let your body go,” Jacob said appreciatively and she flushed.
“I’ll never dance professionally,” she said. “I had to give up that dream. But it’s impossible to go from working out forty hours a week to regular school and a desk job without including a good gym routine. I couldn’t let myself lose all that strength and endurance. I was too good.”
“So you’re in great shape?” he teased. “In addition to being super modest?”
“I was a ballet dancer my whole life,” she snapped, and he grinned at her fiery tone. “You can’t imagine how grueling ballet really is. The ballerinas look airy and beautiful but it’s all sweat and bloodied toes behind stage.”
“Pretty tough,” he said and she detected a note of condescension.
“Ballet dancers are the toughest athletes on earth,” she fired at him.
Jacob threw up his hands. “When Baryshnikov wins the Tour de France, then you can talk to me about it,” he said.
“That’s ridiculous,” Ariel sputtered, heat blooming on her cheeks, until she saw, once again, the twinkle in Jacob’s eyes. When would she learn that his arrogance was mostly a show? Was part of his reputation for cockiness due to people being too intimidated, too unperceptive, to see that he was kidding around?
“I think we need some beers to settle this debate,” said Jacob, sliding out of his seat. “I’ll be right back.”
Ariel watched him move over to the bar. So far all she’d done was talk about herself! He was too skilled at deflecting conversation away from anything revealing about his own life. He was still an enigma.
“Hi Red,” came a deep voice. A man stood at her table, leering down at her. “Mind if I join you?” Ariel smiled briefly.
“No thanks,” she said. “My friend will be right back.”
“Your friend?” the man asked. He was none too steady on his feet. Ariel pointed at Jacob, who was striding toward them with two bottles of beer.
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