As soon as the jet touched down in Antigua, Ariel and Jacob were dragged back into the whirlwind of filming. Time was more of an issue now with bad weather brewing.
* * *
Over the next week, Ariel held up well, hitting her marks and nailing her lines every time. She seemed more relaxed now that her mother had been released from the hospital and was resting comfortably at home. Ariel’s performance amazed him, particularly one afternoon. At English Harbor—the only such example of a Georgian shipyard in the world—Rod directed a scene between Ariel and a drunken sailor. The heavyset, brutish man accosted her in broad daylight and dragged her into an alley.
The scene called for Ariel to struggle and to finally be rescued by the naval officer who was her lover. As rehearsals rolled, Jacob watched carefully and with some consternation to see if Ariel’s performance would be compromised by what had happened in her past.
Witnessing the action unfold had him on a hair trigger, his instinctive need to protect Ariel at odds with the knowledge that this was make-believe.
Again and again, the ruffian grabbed Viola by the hair… .
“Come quietly, whoring wench. Or I’ll shut you up for good.” Even weaving on his feet, the man had vicious strength, and Ariel was a fragile wisp in his arms.
Jacob’s pulse was pounding out of control, his chest heaving from the effort of not grabbing the poor actor by the neck and ripping out his throat. Seeing Ariel so abused, even in costume, was agonizing.
Suddenly, her lover appeared, a gun in his hand. He shot at the man’s feet, catching a toe, perhaps. Ariel’s attacker howled. The other man clubbed him on the back of the head with the barrel of the pistol. Slowly, the bear of a sailor collapsed in a heap on the ground.
“Cut.” Rod was jubilant. “Fabulous, people. That’s a wrap. Go catch some rays before the sun goes down.”
Ariel crossed to where Jacob stood. Her hair clung to her face and neck in sweaty tendrils. Dirt streaked her cheek. “I’m beat,” she said, her face pale, her eyes shadowed. “Do you mind if we have dinner in our room?”
“Of course not.” The costume she was wearing bared most of her breasts. Men in audiences everywhere would love it. Jacob made the unpleasant discovery that his documented intellect was no match for sheer male possessiveness.
He put his arm around her waist as they climbed into the rear of the SUV. Harriet waited patiently in the front seat.
Ariel and Harriet normally chatted on the way back to the hotel. But not today. Ariel’s head rested on his shoulder, and he was forced to support her weight.
Harriet’s eyes met his in the rearview mirror, their gaze filled with concern. Everyone on the set knew about Ariel’s mother. Two things had happened since their return. An almost palpable empathy surrounded Ariel, and the cast and crew’s respect and admiration for this young woman was evident.
She worked harder than anyone. And though she enjoyed playing the diva/movie star for the benefit of tourists and fans, in her work environment, she was anything but.
At the hotel, he would have carried her inside, but Ariel insisted on walking under her own power. Her skin was the color of milk, and she weaved on her feet. Jacob knew she had underestimated the physical and emotional toll of their quick trip to L.A.
Inside, she grimaced. “While I’m in the shower, would you mind ordering us some dinner? My stomach can’t handle much. Maybe some soup?”
“Of course.” He ran his hands down her arms. “Do you want me to help you?”
A faint ghost of her usual mischievous grin lifted the corners of her lips. “Naughty, Doc.”
He kissed her cheek. “I was speaking strictly in my capacity as your physician. Can’t have you passing out in the shower.”
She rubbed her eyes like a little child. “I’ll be fine. All I need is clean clothes, a light meal, and some sleep.”
Despite her confidence, he opened the bathroom door a crack after he heard the water in the shower start up. Ariel was managing on little more than grit and adrenaline, and he was worried about her.
When she finally appeared, she was wearing a spaghetti-strap tank top and cotton sleep pants. Her skin was flushed from the warm water.
“Better?” he asked.
She nodded. “Almost human.”
But he noticed that she was shivering even though the room was plenty warm. “Let me dry your hair for you,” he insisted.
That Ariel didn’t protest was a sign of how rotten she was feeling. They sat together, him in a chair, Ariel perched on the matching ottoman. With a wide-toothed comb, he removed each and every tangle in her damp, sun-kissed hair. The strands were like golden silk in his hands.
As he aimed the stream of hot air up and down the back of her head, Ariel tilted her face toward the ceiling with a blissful smile. “I goofed,” she said softly. “I think your skills as a hairstylist far outweigh your value as a doctor.”
“I’m strictly an amateur,” he chuckled. He winnowed his fingers through the lush mass again and again until it was smooth and dry. Setting the dryer aside, he kissed the skin behind her ear. He was hard. No surprise there. But for now he was content to look after her. That alone gave him pleasure, though he hated seeing his irrepressible princess so delicate and fragile.
“All done,” he croaked, his hands trembling with a hard-hitting lust. In a way, his reaction to her was a disease, an affliction of the heart and loins for which there was no immediate cure.
Ariel leaned back into him, her cheek turned to his chest. “Thank you.” Two simple words, but they reminded him suddenly of the promise he had made to her mother. God willing, Mrs. Dane would hang on for many more months. But imagining Ariel all alone in the future with no one to care for her made his chest hurt.
When the doorbell rang, Jacob answered and ushered in the hotel employee who delivered their meal. Ariel disappeared momentarily, coming back in a moment wrapped up in the thin cashmere shawl she carried with her on flights to combat chilly cabin temperatures.
After a sweet smile and an autograph for the mesmerized kid who worked for the hotel, Ariel sat down when he exited and began to eat one-handed. After three bites she pushed the bowl away. “I’m sorry, Jacob,” she said. “I can’t stomach food right now. Maybe later. I’m going to stretch out on the sofa. The TV won’t bother me. I’m just so tired.”
She collapsed on the cushions and curled into a ball, her whole body shivering. Jacob started to get a bad feeling. Watching her the entire time, he wolfed down his meal and set the tray of covered dishes outside their door for pickup.
When he went over and crouched beside her, she was dead asleep. The shivering had worsened. Jacob fetched a blanket from their bed and covered her. “Ariel,” he said quietly. “Can you hear me?”
Her eyelashes fluttered and lifted. “Is it the malaria?”
“Yes.” She had been taking the medication he prescribed the entire time, but now came the worst. Ever since he saw the results of the blood smears he had collected back on Wolff Mountain, he had feared this day would come. “How do you feel?”
Her teeth chattered. Her small body quaked with tremors. “I’m so cold,” she moaned.
He gathered her up, blankets and all, and carried her into the bedroom. Kicking off his shoes, he climbed into bed with her and pulled the covers over both of them. Even the strength and heat of his body was not enough to comfort her.
“Why does it k-k-keep c-c-coming back?” Her lips were blue.
“You have dormant parasites in your liver. They’ll kick up now and again for a while.” He’d established the particular strain, and she should be in the clear after a total of twelve months or so, but there was still the specter of kidney damage.
He imagined her like this in some God-forsaken jungle, her mother frightened and ill herself. It broke his heart and terrified him. Ariel could so easily have died, and he would never have known her.
She roused, her expression strained. “You’ll have to t-t-tell Rod I can�
��t work tomorrow.”
“The truth?”
“Tell him…virus. No one w-will bother us.” Her eyes closed, tears leaking from beneath her lashes. “Three more d-d-days,” she whispered. “That’s all we n-n-needed.”
He held her more tightly, trying to ward off the waves of shudders that threatened to tear her asunder. “Don’t worry about it. They’ll do what they can to work around you. You’ll get better quickly, I hope. The shooting will be done when it’s done.”
She lapsed into a semiconscious state after that. He left her only long enough to exchange a hurried conversation with Brinkman, who seemed genuinely more worried about Ariel than about his movie.
“Take care of our girl,” the older man said gruffly.
“I will.”
“Don’t let her rush the recovery. I’ve got some scenery shots we can fill the schedule with. No one will mind a breather. It’s been hot as hell. Tell Ariel not to worry.”
* * *
It was a long night, and a sleepless one for Jacob. It took every bit of his patience and ingenuity to get fluids and medication down her throat. She fought him at times. The experience brought back unpleasant memories of Diane’s long illness.
Around 1:00 a.m. they entered phase two. Ariel clutched her head, moaning at the ferocity of the headache that Jacob knew was tormenting her. She spiked an alarming fever. He alternated cold towels with a hastily manufactured ice pack, stripping her to her underwear and sponging her body from head to toe.
That he could do nothing to truly ease her suffering made him angry as hell. Malaria was a bitch, forcing Jacob to witness in impotent silence the misery and pain of a woman who deserved neither.
It was after five, just before dawn, when the fever broke. Ariel began to sweat profusely. She moaned every time he lifted her head to hold a cup of water to her lips. In one rare moment of lucidity, she clutched his wrist. “Don’t leave me.”
The piteous request pierced his heart. Is that what she thought of him? Or did she mean something more? Her eyes were as blue as ever, but their brilliance was muted, dull and cloudy.
“I’m right here,” he said, soothing her with a low voice and a gentle hand.
But for how long? The gut-wrenching truth hit him like a two-by-four to the stomach. If he lingered in Antigua, he would be in danger of breaking every one of the hard and fast rules that had rigidly governed his life for half a decade.
He couldn’t afford to care about Ariel Dane. The risk was too great. Allowing himself to love her was out of the question. He had already lost two women in his life who had been everything to him. To toss himself out there a third time was unthinkable.
He had done what she asked. Her job was secure. He should return to Wolff Mountain immediately. But as much as it hurt, he’d sworn to protect her. So he would stay until the end of the shoot. But not a day longer.
Twenty-One
Ariel opened her eyes slowly, wrapped in a lassitude that was as encompassing as the ocean. Her body ached in every joint, her bones feeling as if they had been beaten repeatedly.
Gingerly, she turned her head. After a moment, she recognized her surroundings. The hotel bedroom was comforting in its familiarity. But she had no idea of time. Her brain was fuzzy.
The clock near the bed said 7:00 p.m. Maybe she had simply napped after the day’s shooting. But she had hazy memories of Jacob being here with her in this bed.
She called his name in a slight panic. “Jacob?”
He appeared in the doorway immediately, his feet bare, his longer-than-usual hair tousled. “What is it? Are you okay?”
“What happened?” She tried to swallow, and winced. The inside of her mouth was like the Sahara.
“You had a bout of malaria,” he said, his voice calm as he came to sit beside her on the bed. “But the worst is over. Can you eat anything, do you think? I have some warm chicken broth in the other room.”
“Is that clock right?”
“Yes. You checked out for a little more than twenty-four hours.”
Holy cow. Her stomach still pitched and rolled, but she sensed that Jacob wanted her to eat, so she nodded. “Soup sounds good.” Something was different about him, but it took her befuddled brain several moments to figure it out.
Then it hit her. Jacob was acting like a doctor. Her doctor. A job she had begged him to undertake. Though his manner was kind, he had erected a wall, an impersonal demeanor that separated the two of them.
When she tried to stand, her legs wouldn’t support her. Jacob caught her with an arm around her waist and eased her back onto the bed. “I’ll bring the food. Baby steps, Ariel.”
He sat in a chair beside the bed and watched with a hooded gaze as she forced herself to swallow spoonful after spoonful. Fortunately, after an initial moment of uncertainty, her stomach decided to accept the warm, flavorful broth.
“I talked to Rod,” he said abruptly. “Told him you’re over the worst of your ‘virus,’ but will probably be too wiped out to work tomorrow. They’ve got you on the shooting schedule for the day after.”
She nodded. “Okay.” Cocking her head to study him, she wrinkled her nose. “You look terrible.”
He shrugged. “Nothing a little sleep won’t cure.”
“I feel weak as a kitten, and you’re exhausted from taking care of me. Why don’t we call it a day and go to bed early?”
She saw him hesitate. Her heart contracted.
He shrugged, his face wiped clean of all expression. “I’m going to sleep on the sofa tonight so I won’t disturb you.”
“It’s a king-size bed.” No. I don’t love her. Ariel had hoped she had more time. Had prayed that Jacob would want her enough physically to stay.
He stood up—a dark, godlike creature, far above the petty foibles of mortals. A man with no soul, no weaknesses. “Rest, Ariel. I’ll be in the other room if you need me.”
It was as if they had never made love, as if they were the people who met for the first time in his office on Wolff Mountain. He was brooding, remote, totally devoid of any tender emotion.
Her protective response was to retreat behind a wall of indifference.
The next day, Jacob made himself scarce during the daylight hours. She didn’t know where he went, and she didn’t ask.
Taking a shower taxed her limited stamina, but she felt a hundred times better afterward. Several naps, an assortment of magazines and her iPad helped pass the time. Though it was not an appealing prospect, she knew she would be well enough to do what was required of her tomorrow as Jacob had promised.
For the next few days they shared the now-claustrophobic villa like strangers, much of the time sleeping in separate rooms. Shooting wrapped at last. The cast party was to take place on Friday night before everyone flew out on Saturday.
Friday afternoon Ariel walked down to the edge of the ocean and gazed out at the horizon. Despite her illness and the demands of a tight shooting schedule, this time with Jacob in Antigua had been idyllic. She wanted to hold on to the memories tightly, so they would never fade.
As if she had conjured him with her thoughts, he appeared, walking toward her, dressed in dark slacks and a crisply ironed shirt. Ariel frowned. The party was not due to start for several hours.
“You’re ready early.”
He focused his gaze on the horizon, his mouth set in a grim line. “I have to go home, Ariel. I’m driving myself to the airport. Harriet will pick up the car later.”
“You’re leaving?” Her brain had gotten hung up on his first words. “I don’t understand. What’s the rush?”
“No rush.” His profile gave nothing away. “I’ve been gone a long time. I need to get back to work.”
“But I…” Her pride stopped her. Her smile was bleak. “I thought you’d at least stay until the end.”
He turned to face her, jerking her into his arms for one hard, punishing kiss. “This is the end,” he muttered. “Goodbye, princess.”
Twenty-Two
; Jacob found no solace in his lab. And no absolution in the familiar sights and smells of the forest that surrounded his home and clinic. Everywhere he turned, something reminded him of Ariel.
He hadn’t expected her to be so present when they were a couple of thousand miles apart. When Diane died, his life had ceased for months. He’d been an automaton. In many ways, this was far worse. He was alive. Every painful memory of his time with Ariel was played out on a giant movie screen in his head. The way she laughed. Her impish sense of humor. The manner in which her youthful naiveté mixed with wry pragmatism.
And her beauty. God, her unadorned, fresh-out-of-bed, luminous beauty. At night when he tossed and turned, his sex hard and aching, he felt as if he could reach out and touch her hair, stroke her cheek.
Leaving her had been an exercise in futility. She was lodged in his head, in his heart, in his gut. His brothers knew something was wrong, but in the way of men, they didn’t press, at least not at first. Gareth enlisted him to chop wood. Kieran took him fishing. Though he enjoyed the change of pace, nothing helped.
On a rainy afternoon, two months after he’d left Ariel standing on the beach, he found himself gazing down at his mother’s headstone. It and the one for his aunt occupied a place of honor in a small garden on the flank of the mountain.
He remembered Laura Wolff dimly. Mostly an image of laughter, of hugs.
Suddenly, out of the mist, Gareth and Kieran appeared.
Jacob frowned. “I get the feeling that you two are on suicide watch. Don’t worry. I have no plans to blow my brains out…even if I have screwed my life royally.”
Gareth shrugged. “I hope that’s a joke. We know you too well to think that. You’re strong, Jacob. You’ve had to be to survive what life has thrown at you.”
“But this time it’s entirely my fault.”
Kieran kicked at a stone, his face sober. “I’ll be the first to tell you it’s never too late.”
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