Impossible to Resist

by Janice Maynard

  The hotel had cordoned off this stretch of beach with a neon-orange plastic barrier and a sign that read Cast Only. She saw Jacob glance at the placard as they passed it, but he didn’t comment. Did he really see her as a spoiled diva? She had tried her best not to fall into that stereotype. But for Ariel Dane, the current arrangement was the only way for her to have a modicum of privacy. Otherwise, she would be thronged by tourists and gawkers.

  Thankfully, the hotel was small enough that movie personnel filled it to capacity. But that didn’t preclude someone walking up along the beach or even invading the grounds without permission. She had learned to be very protective of her safety and her personal space.

  She couldn’t decide whether to be amused or miffed when she heard Jacob’s gentle snore. Cracking open one eyelid, she studied him without fear of discovery. Even in his professional garb, there was no disguising the fact that he had a tough, masculine body. But stripped down to nothing more than a pair of black swim trunks, he was breathtaking.

  An arrow of black hair bisected his chest. His skin was naturally darker than hers, and muscles corded his arms and sculpted his torso. Her hands fisted at her hips, fighting the urge to stroke from his shoulders to his waist.

  She would undoubtedly stop there. The fabric of his shorts was thin, outlining the shape of his resting sex. The fact that he wanted her, even reluctantly, was amazing and unfathomable. Jacob possessed a keen intellect that far outstripped her own modest mental abilities. But then again, men could overlook a variety of sins when they wanted to get laid.

  Despite the sizzling attraction that simmered between them at a slow burn, Jacob was no boy to be bent to Ariel’s will. His confidence and resolve were things she envied. She feared that one day the public would realize that Ariel Dane was only ordinary. And her career would be over. What would she fall back on? She had no degrees, no skills. Just a knack for imitation and a gift for memorizing dialogue.

  Brooding, she rolled to her side and put a hand on the blanket close to his hip. He was so still and relaxed she had to search for evidence that he was breathing. He must not be too enamored with her if he could be this close and yet forget she was around.

  She was amazed, even now, that he had agreed to her proposition. Though she knew enough of her own appeal to realize he wanted her, that wasn’t reason enough for his cooperation, given that he had made it very clear they weren’t going to indulge in any bedroom gymnastics.

  The only motivation he could possibly have was his instinctive, impossible-to-subdue urge to be healer and protector. She hoped she didn’t have a relapse. She didn’t want him to see her as a sick, helpless woman. Instead, she craved his admiration, his regard.

  Such a simple thing. And perhaps naïve. Why on earth would Jacob Wolff think she was anything special? Her looks were nothing she could take credit for. And her acting was child’s play compared to Jacob’s profession.

  Nevertheless, in some small corner of her heart, she wanted him to be proud of her.

  Fat chance. After he watched the filming of the first sex scene, he might be turned on. He possibly could be offended. But he wasn’t likely to be too happy about it. Men were territorial. And Ariel was pretty sure the Wolff had decided she was his to protect.

  Nine

  Jacob heaved a sigh of relief when Ariel stood up and walked down to the water’s edge. He knew enough about relaxation techniques to simulate sleep, but he had been hyper-aware of Ariel’s intense regard. It took everything he had not to get an erection.

  From beneath eyelashes at half-mast, he watched her pace back and forth, her long legs flashing white against the dark blue water behind her. Though her swimsuit was modest, the body in it was anything but. She had the grace of a prima ballerina, and even on the thin side of perfect, she was femininity personified.

  He wanted her. Jacob never lied, even to himself. And though he was pretty damn good at denying himself the pleasures of the flesh, a man had his limits.

  Emotional involvement was out of the picture. If he decided to break his long run of celibacy with the delectable Ariel, it would be purely physical. She wouldn’t think that strange. Their lives had no points of intersection. He was an introvert, a man of science, a loner who liked the company of his own thoughts.

  Ariel was light and laughter and chaos in the best possible way. She tempted him to abandon his rigid control and drown himself in her softness, her open heart. Jacob hadn’t fully worked out the ethics in his own mind. Without equivocation, he could convince himself that Ariel wasn’t really his patient. No money had changed hands. They were not initiating anything that would extend beyond this one moment in time. He was helping out a friend.

  Though the explanation sat uneasily in his mind, even more difficult to process was the conundrum of her age. In Jacob’s estimation, people had taken advantage of Ariel. Men had taken advantage of her. No way in hell would he allow her to think that his aid came with a price tag.

  She was young, too young. Standing on the cusp of adulthood. Having street smarts was one thing, but was she really mature enough to know her own mind when it came to a sexual relationship that had no future?

  Troubled and at a loss for concrete answers, he sat up on his elbows, squinting against the glare of sunlight on the ocean. Ariel was standing now with her back to him, arms wrapped around her waist. She was still for the moment. Pensive perhaps. Or merely enjoying the beautiful view.

  Lunging to his feet, he loped down to where she stood. Though their charade indicated he should put an arm around her waist, he did not. He stood by her side—close, but making no physical contact. “Do we dress for dinner?” he asked, trying to draw her attention from whatever painful thoughts had claimed her.

  She half turned her head, her expression hidden by large sunglasses. “I will,” she said. “The crew may be sloppy, but this initial soiree with the cast will be all about first impressions.”

  “Will there be dancing?”

  Now she faced him fully, astonishment on her face. “Is that your way of saying you hope so?”

  He shrugged. “I like to dance. Is that so strange? There you go with those preconceptions again.”

  Ariel laughed softly. “I’ll give you this, Doc. You’re never boring.”

  “I could say the same for you.”

  “I’m starving. Let’s go in and grab something from the mini fridge.”

  “You told Harriet that we were going to ‘rest.’ What do you think she imagines we’re doing?”

  “Lord knows. She’s a darling, but I’m afraid that if I look at her wrong, she’ll have a coronary. Am I that scary?”

  “You’re Ariel Dane. And yes,” he said, holding up a hand when she tried to protest. “You’re pretty intimidating. But maybe when poor Harriet figures out that you don’t bite, she’ll calm down.”

  “I hope so.” They walked back toward their towels. Ariel bent to pick hers up and shake it out.

  Did she do it on purpose? To drive men insane? He dragged his gaze from her barely-clad bottom and grabbed up his own gear. “I call first shower.”

  Ariel chased him up the path. “No fair,” she cried. “You can use the outdoor stall. No one’s going to be peeking in on you.”

  “I think I’ve just been insulted.”

  They draped their sandy towels on the lanai before going inside. Ariel made a beeline for the bedroom. Still laughing, he rummaged in his case for clean boxers and his shave kit. The shower enclosure tucked away behind a wall of tropical foliage produced a torrent that was hot and hard, just the way he liked it. As the salt and sand winnowed from his skin, he raked his hands through his soapy hair, turning his face upward into the pelting spray. Imagining Ariel here with him, her naked skin wet and slick with bubbles, had predictable results. In moments, his boner was an iron spike, aching and full.

  It was going to be a long evening. And when they returned to their villa, that damn huge bed was going to turn into a torture rack. Eyes closed, he imagined tak
ing her, sliding between those supple thighs and plunging deep, feeling the fist-tight squeeze of her slick passage.

  Ariel laughed at him, teasing, taunting. “Is that the best you can do, Doc? I’ve been waiting for you. Show me how much you want me.”

  His sex was on fire, burning with the drive toward release. He put his hands beneath her ass and lifted her, dragging her down onto his aching flesh with a force that made both of them gasp. “This much,” he croaked, forcing the words from between numb lips.

  His face pressed into the valley between her breasts. Lips with their own agenda found a pert nipple and suckled, making Ariel groan. “So beautiful,” he crooned. “So incredibly beautiful.”

  Ariel tightened her legs round his waist, rubbing her body against him in such a way that with every thrust he stimulated her intimately. She kissed him lazily, catching his tongue between her teeth and tugging gently. “Come now,” she gasped. “I’m so close.”

  He paused, breathless, holding back to prolong his release. “I’ll want you again,” he swore. “As soon as we’re done.”

  “You’ll have to catch me first.” She bit his neck, sending sparks of pain into every nerve ending. The extra stimulation sent him over the edge.

  Jacob turned his face into the crook of his arm, muffling a choked moan as he found release. Dropping to his knees, he felt the rough scrape of concrete against his skin. He was weak and dizzy. And as his fantasy self had predicted, he wanted her again.

  The water cascaded over his bent shoulders. When it began to run cold, he dragged himself upright and turned off the taps. He was terrified suddenly to go back inside. What if he pounced on her? What if he saw her smile at him and found himself shoving her back on the bed and taking her like a wild man?

  He had chosen celibacy by default, burying himself in his work to forget his first doomed love. Two massive tragedies in his life had stunted his ability to connect with women. Denying himself sex was preferable to loving and being destroyed a third time.

  For a long time now, he had been the architect of his future, steering the course of his work and his personal life to fit rigid parameters. Suddenly, Ariel had redirected all of it. His body felt like a wounded animal with no place to hide.

  Gathering himself by sheer force of will, he dried off and donned his underwear. In hindsight, he should have brought a pair of pants outside with him. But he had assumed that he’d be finished with his shower long before Ariel was.

  She was waiting for him when he walked inside. Sitting in an overstuffed armchair, legs swung up over the side, she eyed him assessingly. “Guess you’re not too concerned with saving water.”

  He felt his cheeks redden. “What are you? The shower police?”

  Ignoring the fact that she was dressed and he was half naked, he went to his suitcase and extracted a pair of dark dress slacks. He stepped into them calmly, feeling her gaze like a caress. His hair was still dripping water. He tossed his shirt on the bed and grabbed the damp towel, rubbing it over his head.

  Ariel studied his every move. “It will make you go blind.”

  “What in the hell are you talking about?”

  “Manual stimulation.”

  The heat in his face increased. There was no way she could know for sure. Her naughty teasing was nothing but a shot in the dark. “Are you ready? Sorry to keep you waiting.”

  She cocked her head, swinging one foot clad in a lime-green stiletto. “How many times are you going to have to do that before you can sleep with me?”

  He buttoned up the shirt and sat on the end of the bed to slide his feet into socks and shoes. “You have a vivid imagination, Ariel. And a dirty mind. I took a shower. End of story.” Apparently he could lie after all, especially when backed into a corner.

  To his enormous relief, she gave up tormenting him. “I’m about to faint from hunger,” she said, standing and straightening the fabric of her mauve taffeta skirt. The jersey tank she wore melded the two colors of her outfit in a blinding Rorschach pattern. “Let’s go meet the others.”

  They meandered down the path lit with tiny ankle-high lanterns that did little to dispel the romantic, scented dark. He dared not touch her now. It would be difficult enough when he was called upon to play his part in public.

  The restaurant sat on the opposite end of the property, built up on pilings that extended out over the water. Already, pulse-pounding music spilled out into the night. Strings of white lights outlined the palm-thatched, open-air building.

  Far out over the water, the crescent moon painted a narrow path of light across an indigo sea. Jacob would have far preferred a moonlit walk on the beach to an evening with strangers. But Ariel had a job to do, and she and Jacob were about to perform Act One without a script or a rehearsal.

  She never hesitated at the door. Wading into the melee, she dragged Jacob in her wake. It was an odd experience for him. He was accustomed to being the point man in his endeavors. But for Ariel, he would try to be compliant.

  Harriet was ensconced in an out-of-the-way corner. She gave him a shy wave from across the room and returned her attention to her paperwork. In a chair near the center of the restaurant, the director held court. Rod Brinkman was balding, fiftyish, and possessed a Santa-type face and physique that was at odds with his clout in the industry. He had achieved success in the movie business by working from the ground up. Not only was he smart, but he had the contacts to make things happen.

  TIME magazine had only last year named him one of the ten most influential directors in Hollywood. Ariel made a beeline for the man, giving Jacob only moments to get in character.

  She paused, waiting for the cluster of people surrounding Rod to melt away. Curtsying with a gamine grin, she said, “Reporting for duty, sir.”

  Jacob watched the older man. Ariel claimed to be intimidated by her new boss, but from where Jacob was sitting, Rod Brinkman, despite his reputation for being a hard-ass, was enchanted with his leading lady. He jumped up and gave her a quick peck on each cheek before pulling a chair out beside his and urging her to sit.

  Ariel stalled, pulling Jacob into the conversation. “Rod, I’d like you to meet Jacob Wolff. He’ll be staying here with me.” She put her hands on Jacob’s shoulders and gave him an enthusiastic kiss.

  Jacob’s stomach hitched, but he managed an indulgent grin. “I couldn’t keep away,” he said, tucking Ariel into a chair and pulling his seat close so that their hips and thighs were in contact. He stretched his arm across the back of her chair, running his fingers along the nape of her neck. “A woman like Ariel makes a man want to drop whatever he’s doing and come along for the ride. Hope you don’t mind, sir.”

  Brinkman’s eyes narrowed. “Jacob Wolff. As in the Wolffs?”

  Jacob shrugged. “Guilty as charged.”

  Rod didn’t miss a beat. “How would you like to invest in a few dozen movie projects?”

  “My plate’s full at the moment,” Jacob said, laughing. “But I’ll keep it in mind.”

  Ariel waved a hand between the two men. “Helloooo. Do we have to talk business right off the bat?”

  Rod beckoned to the waitress and held up his glass, asking for another whiskey sour. “No business tonight,” he said. “Plenty of time for that tomorrow. So tell me, Jacob Wolff, how did you meet Ms. Dane? I’ve never seen you in Hollywood at any of our dozens of A-list functions.”

  Jacob ordered a seltzer water with lime and leaned back in his seat. “Ariel and I were introduced by mutual friends. It was pretty much love at first sight on my part.”

  Ariel’s eyes narrowed. Overkill, she mouthed.

  He nuzzled her neck. “I’m so proud of her. Word on the street is that your movie is garnering Oscar buzz.”

  Rod drained his drink and slammed the glass on the table. “It’s true,” he said, the words only the slightest bit slurred. “It’s a lot of pressure, you know. Sometimes I wish I were a plumber.”

  People at the surrounding tables laughed along with Ariel and Jacob.
Brinkman’s reach was legendary, and everyone wanted to stay on his good side for future projects.

  After polishing off a bowl of seafood chowder, Ariel tapped Rod’s arm. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to mingle.” She stood up and kissed the top of Jacob’s head. “Stay here, honey. Talk to Mr. Brinkman. I’ll be back.”

  For the next hour and a half, Jacob watched her work the room. Her reputation as a party girl was well-deserved. Everywhere she stopped to chat, uproarious laughter soon erupted. She didn’t distinguish between cast and crew. Ariel was just Ariel.

  Rod shook his head. “She’s an effin’ miracle. None of that prima donna bullshit. I can’t understand why nobody before me has given her the chance to spread her wings. The kid’s awesome.”

  “I happen to think so.”

  Someone else stopped by to claim Rod’s attention, giving Jacob the opportunity to study Ariel in her element. Table by table, she canvassed the crowd, introducing herself to the people she didn’t know and hugging those she did. Not once did he see her drink anything other than water. And though weed was passed freely around the room, Ariel declined anything she was offered with a smile and a joke.

  Men flirted with her, openly hoping for a chance to snag her attention. Women gossiped with her, their eyes wistful as she glowed. Without Ariel’s presence, the social gathering would have been just another party. With her, it was an occasion.

  At nine o’clock on the dot, she returned to their table. Perching on Jacob’s lap with unself-conscious affection, she wrapped one arm around his neck and leaned forward to grab a handful of cocktail peanuts. “Time for bed, Mr. Wolff. I hear the new director’s a bear when anyone’s late for a shoot.”

  Rod, bleary-eyed, nodded. “Indeed.” He got to his feet and yawned. “Half these pups won’t go to bed at all, but I need my beauty sleep.” He grinned wryly at Jacob. “I’m an old S.O.B.”