by Nora Roberts
a note pad and scrawled on it. “Here’s the address.”
Taking it, Ariel scanned the words with a small sound of approval. “Mmm, you’ve got a great view of the park.” She looked up and grinned in the way that always made him think she’d just enjoyed a little private joke. “I’m a sucker for views.”
“I’ve gathered that already.”
Booth walked over to set down his mug and stood close enough so that his legs brushed hers. She didn’t back away but watched him with clear, curious eyes. There was something deadly in that face, she thought. Something any woman would recognize and a wary one would retreat from. Fascinated, she counted the beat of her own rapid pulse.
“I’ll let you get back to work.”
With the slightest move on his part, the contact was broken. Ariel stayed exactly where she was. “I’m glad you stopped by,” she said, though she was no longer sure it was precisely the truth.
With a nod, he was gone. Ariel sat on the edge of her cluttered dressing table and wondered if for the first time in her life she’d bitten off more than she could chew.
***
Because the sun was setting and it was a huge red ball, Ariel paid off the cab two blocks from Booth’s apartment building. She wanted some time to think about a phone call she’d received about Scott, her brother’s child.
Poor little guy, she thought. So vulnerable, so grown-up. She wondered how much longer it would be before the courts decided his fate. Because she wanted him with her so badly, Ariel refused to believe anything else would happen. Her brother’s son, so suddenly orphaned, so miserably unhappy with his maternal grandparents.
They didn’t want him, she reflected. Not really. There was such a world of difference between love and duty. Once everything was arranged, she’d be able to give him the kind of easy, unfettered childhood she’d had—with the financial advantages she hadn’t known.
She wouldn’t think of the complications now. To think of them would make her start doubting the outcome, and she couldn’t bear it. She and her lawyers were taking all the possible steps.
Because she wanted no publicity to touch her nephew, Ariel had kept the entire matter to herself—something she rarely did. Perhaps because she had no one to speak to about it, she worried. Every day she told herself Scott would be with her permanently before the end of summer. As long as she kept telling herself, she was able to believe it. Now it was evening, and there was no more she could do.
It was only a little past seven o’clock when she pushed the button of the elevator for Booth’s floor in the sleek building on Park Avenue. She’d already set aside that one flash of nerves she felt about him and had decided to enjoy the evening. The idea that he’d been able to make her nervous at all was intriguing enough.
She liked men, the basic personality differences between them and women. Of her closest friends, many were men, in and out of the business. The key word remained friends—she was very cautious about lovers. She ran on emotion, and knowing it, had always been careful of physical relationships.
She was a romantic, unashamedly. Ariel had never doubted that there was one great love waiting for everyone. She had no intention of settling for less—with hearts and flowers and sky-rockets included. When she found the right man, she’d know. Whether it was tomorrow or twenty years from tomorrow didn’t matter, as long as she found him. In the meantime, she filled her life with work, her friends and her causes. Ariel Kirkwood simply didn’t believe in boredom.
She approved of the quiet, carpeted hallway as she strolled down to Booth’s apartment. It was wainscoted and elegant. But as she lifted her hand to press the button on his door, she felt that odd flutter of nerves again.
Inside, Booth was standing by the high wide window that looked out over Central Park. He was thinking of her, had been thinking of her for most of the day. And he didn’t care for it.
Twice, he’d nearly called to cancel the dinner, telling himself he had work to do. Telling himself he didn’t have the time or the inclination to spend an evening with an actress he hardly knew. But he hadn’t canceled because he could still see the way her eyes warmed, the way her whole face moved when she smiled.
A professional trick. Liz had had a bagful of them, and unless his perception was very, very wrong, this woman was as skilled an actress as Liz Hunter. That’s what he told himself, and yet . . . And yet he hadn’t canceled.
When the buzzer rang, Booth looked over his shoulder at the closed door. It was simply an evening, he decided. A few hours out of the day in which he could study the woman being considered for a major part in an important film. He had little doubt that she would make a pitch for the part before the night was over. With a shrug, Booth walked to the door. That was the business, and she was entitled.
Then, when he opened the door, she smiled at him. He realized he wanted her with an intensity he hadn’t felt in years. “Hi. You look nice,” she said.
The struggle with desire only made him more remote, made his voice more scrupulously polite. “Come in.”
Ariel walked through the door then studied the room with open curiosity. Neat. Her first impression was one of meticulous order. Style. Who could fault a gleaming mix of Chippendale and Hepplewhite? The colors were muted, easy on the eyes. The furniture was arranged in such a way as to give a sense of balance. She could smell neither dust nor polish. It was as though the room was perpetually clean and rarely lived in. Somehow, she didn’t think it really suited that harsh, nineteenth-century face. No, there was too much formality here for a man who looked like Booth, for a man who moved like him.
Though she felt no sense of welcome, she could appreciate the rather stationary beauty and respect the organized taste.
“A very fastidious man,” she murmured, then walked over to study his view of the city.
She wore a dress with yards of skirt and whirls of color. Booth wondered if that was why he suddenly felt life jump into the room. He preferred the quiet, the settled, even the isolated. Yet somehow, for the first time, he felt the appeal of having warmth in his home.
“I was right about this,” Ariel said and put her hands into the deep pockets of her skirt. “It’s lovely. Where do you work?”
“I have an office set up in another room.”
“I’d probably have put my desk right here.” Laughing, she turned to him so that the mix of colors in her dress seemed to vibrate. “Then again, I wouldn’t get much work done.” His eyes were very dark and very steady, his face so expressionless he might have been thinking of anything or nothing. “Do you stare at everyone that way?”
“I suppose I do. Would you like a drink?”
“Yes, some dry vermouth if you have it.” She wandered over to a cherrywood breakfront and studied his collection of Waterford. No one chose something so lovely, or so capable of catching light and fire if they lacked warmth. Where was his? she wondered. Buried so deep that he’d forgotten it, or simply dormant from lack of use?
Booth paused beside her and offered a glass. “You like crystal?”
“I like beautiful things.”
What woman didn’t? he thought brittlely. A Russian lynx, a pear-shaped diamond. Yes, women liked beautiful things, particularly when someone else was providing them. He’d already done more than his share of that.
“I watched your show today,” Booth began, deciding to give her the opening for her pitch and see what she did with it. “You come across very well as the competent psychiatrist.”
“I like Amanda.” Ariel sipped her vermouth. “She’s a very stable woman with little hints of vulnerability and passion. I like seeing how subtle I can make them without hiding them completely. What did you think of the show?”
“A mass of complication and intrigue. I was surprised that the bulk of the plots didn’t concern fatal diseases and bed hopping.”
“You’re out of step.” She smiled over the rim. “Of course, every soap has some of those elements, but we’ve done a lot of expanding. Murder,
politics, social issues, even science fiction. We do quite a bit of location shooting now in the race for ratings.” She drank again. This time it was an opal, milky blue, that gleamed on her hand. “Last year we shot in Greece and Venice. I’ve never eaten so much in my life. Griff and Amanda had a lovers’ rendezvous in Venice that was sabotaged. You must’ve noticed Stella—she plays my sister Vikki.”
“The barracuda.” Booth nodded. “I recognized the type.”
“Oh, Vikki’s that all right. Plotting, scheming, being generally nasty. Stella has a marvelous time with her. Vikki’s had a dozen affairs, broken up three marriages, and destroyed a senator’s career. Just last month she pawned our mother’s emerald brooch to pay off gambling debts.” With a sigh, Ariel drank again. “She has all the fun.”
Booth’s grin flashed, lingering in his eyes as they met Ariel’s. “Are you talking about Stella or Vikki?”
“Both, I suppose. I wondered if I’d be able to do that.”
“What?”
“Make you smile. You don’t very often, you know.”
“No?”
“No.” She felt the tug again, sharp and very physical. Indulging herself, she let her gaze lower briefly to his mouth and enjoyed the sensation it brought to her own. “I guess you’re too busy picking up parts of people and filing them away.”
Finishing off his drink, he set the glass aside. “Is that what I do?”
“Always. It’s natural, I suppose, in your line of work, but I decided I was going to pull one out of you before the evening was over.” He was still watching her, and though the smile was only a hint now, it was still lurking. It suited him, she thought, that trace of amusement—a cautious, even reluctant amusement. And again, she felt the tug of attraction. With her brows slightly drawn together, she stepped closer. It wasn’t something she could or would walk away from.
“Aren’t you curious?” she asked quietly, then went on when he didn’t answer. “The thing is, I’m not certain I can go through the evening wondering what it would be like.”
She put one hand on his shoulder and leaned forward just until their lips touched. There was no pressure, no demand on either side, and yet she felt that slightest of contacts through her whole system. There was a twinge deep inside her, a soft rushing sound in her ears. The mouth against hers was warmer than she’d expected and its taste more potent. Their bodies weren’t touching, and the kiss remained a mere meeting of lips. Ariel felt herself open and was mildly surprised. Then she felt her knees tremble and was stunned.
Slowly, she backed up, unaware that her eyes were wide with shock. Desire had ripped through him at the taste of her mouth, but Booth knew how to conceal his emotions. He wanted her—in the part of Rae and in his bed. To his thinking it wouldn’t be long before she offered him one to ensure the other. He’d been much younger when Liz had lured him into bed for a part. He was older now and knew the game. And somehow, he felt Ariel would be more honest in her playing.
“Well . . .” Ariel let out a long breath while her mind raced. She wished she had five minutes alone to think this through. Somehow she’d always expected she’d fall in love in the blink of an eye, but she wasn’t idealistic enough to believe it would be handed back to her. She needed to work out her next move. “And now that the pressure’s off”—she set her glass aside—“why don’t we go eat?”
Before she could step away, Booth took her arm. If they were going to play out the scene, he wanted to do it then and there. “What do you want?”
There was none of the quiet warmth in his voice that she’d felt in the kiss. Ariel looked into his eyes and saw nothing but a reflection of herself. An unwise man to love, she thought. And, of course, she should have expected that was what would happen to her when the time came. “To go to dinner,” she told him.
“I’ve given you the opportunity to mention the part; you haven’t. Why?”
“That’s business. This isn’t.”
He gave a quick laugh. “In this business, it’s all business,” he countered. “You want to play Rae.”
“I wouldn’t have read for it if I didn’t want it. And once I finish the next reading I’ll have it.” It frustrated her that she couldn’t read him. “Booth, why don’t you tell me what you’re getting at? It’d be easier for both of us.”
He inclined his head, and with his hand on her arm drew her an inch closer. “Just how much are you willing to do for it?”
His meaning was like a slap in the face. Outrage didn’t come, but a piercing hurt that made her face pale and her eyes darken. “I’m willing to give the very best performance I’m capable of.” Jerking out of his hold, she started for the door.
“Ariel . . .” He hadn’t expected to call her back, but the look in her eyes had made him feel foul. When she didn’t pause, he was going across the room before he could stop himself. “Ariel.” Taking her arm again, he turned her around.
The hurt radiating from her was so sharp and real he couldn’t convince himself not to believe it. The strength of the need to draw her against him was almost painful. “I’ll apologize for that.”
She stared at him, wishing it was in her to tell him to go to hell. “I’ll accept it,” she said instead, “since I’m sure you don’t make a habit of apologizing for anything. She took a few pieces out of you, didn’t she?”
His hand dropped away from her arm. “I don’t discuss my private life.”
“Maybe that’s part of the problem. Is it women in general, or just actresses you detest?”
His eyes narrowed so that she could only see a glint of the anger. It wasn’t necessary to see what you could feel. “Don’t push me.”
“I doubt anyone could.” Though she felt the anger was a promising sign, Ariel didn’t feel capable of dealing with it, or her own feelings at the moment. “It’s a pity,” she continued as she turned for the door again. “When whatever’s frozen inside you thaws, I think you’ll be a remarkable man. In the meantime, I’ll stay out of your way.” She opened the door, then turned back. “About the part, Booth, please deal with my agent.” Quietly, she closed the door behind her.
Chapter Four
“No, Scott, if you eat any more cotton candy your teeth are going to fall right out. And then”—Ariel hauled her nephew up for one fierce hug—“you’d be stuck with stuff like mashed bananas and strained spinach.”
“Popcorn,” he demanded, grinning at her.
“Bottomless pit.” She nuzzled his neck and let the love flow over her.
Sunday was precious, not only because of the sunshine and balmy spring temperatures; not only because there were hours and hours of leisure time left to her, but because she had the afternoon to spend with the most important person in her life.
He even smells like his father, Ariel thought and wondered if it were possible to inherit a scent. Still holding him, with his sturdy legs wrapped around her waist, she studied his face.
Essentially, it was like looking in a mirror. There’d only been ten months between Ariel and her brother, Jeremy, and they’d often been taken for twins. Scott had pale curling hair, clear blue eyes and a face that promised to be lean and rather elegant once it had matured from childhood. At the moment, it was sticky with pink spun sugar. Ariel kissed him firmly and tasted the sweetness.
“Yum-yum,” she murmured, kissing him again when he giggled.
“What about your teeth?”
Arching a brow, she shifted his weight to a more comfortable position. “It doesn’t count when it’s secondhand.”
He gave her a crooked smile that promised to be a heartbreaker in another decade. “How come?”
“It’s scientific,” Ariel claimed. “Probably the sugar evaporates after being exposed to air and skin.”
“You’re making that up,” he told her with great approval.
Struggling with a smile, she tossed her long smooth braid behind her back. “Who me?”
“You’re the best at making up.”
“That’s m
y job,” she answered primly. “Let’s go look at the bears.”
“They better have big ones,” Scott stated as he wriggled down. “Great big ones.”
“I hear they’re enormous,” she told him. “Maybe even big enough to climb right out of the cages.”
“Yeah?” His eyes lit up at the idea. Ariel could almost see him writing out the scenario in his mind. The escape; the panic and screams of the crowd and his ultimate heroism in driving the giant, drooling bears back behind the bars. Then, of course, his humbleness in accepting the gratitude of the zookeepers. “Let’s go!”
Ariel allowed herself to be dragged along at Scott’s dashing pace, winding through the stream of people who’d come to spend their day at the Bronx Zoo. This she could give him, she thought. The fun, the preciousness of childhood. It was such a short time, so concentrated. So many years were passed as an adult—with obligations, responsibilities, worries, timetables. She wanted to give him the freedom, to show him what boundaries you could leap over and the ones you had to respect. Most of all, she wanted to give him love.
She loved and wanted him, not only for the memories he brought back of her brother, but for himself—his uniqueness and odd stability. Though she was a woman who ran her life on a staggered routine that wasn’t a routine at all, who enjoyed coming and going on the impulse of the moment, she’d always needed stability—someone to care for, to nurture, to give her back some portion of the emotion she spent. There was nothing like a child, with its innocence and lack of restrictions, to give and take of love. Even now, while he raced and laughed and pointed, caught up in the day and the animals, Scott was feeding her.
If Ariel had believed Scott was happy living with his grandparents, she could have accepted it. But she knew that they
