Dual Image

by Nora Roberts

  street asking for a donation is really collecting for a foundling home.”

  “He might be,” Ariel mumbled. “Besides, what does that have to do with—”

  “Everything!” Stella cut her off with something close to a roar. “I care about you. I worry about you every time I think about you walking blithely down the street without a thought to the crazies in the world.”

  “Come on, Stella, if I thought about it too much I’d never go out at all.”

  “Well think about this: Liz Hunter’s a powerful, vindictive woman who’d like to ruin you. You watch your back, Ariel.”

  Who’d know that better than I? Ariel thought with a quick shudder. I’ve been playing her character for weeks. “If I promise, will you stop worrying?”

  “No.” Slightly mollified, Stella sighed. “Promise anyway.”

  “You got it. Are you calm now?”

  Stella made a quiet sound in her throat. “I don’t understand why you’re not angry.”

  “Why should I be when you’re doing it for me—and so well?”

  Stella heaved a long breath. “Good night, Ariel.”

  “Night, Stella . . . Thanks.”

  Ariel replaced the receiver and swung gently to and fro in the hammock. As she stared up at the ceiling, she marveled over how fortunate she was. Friendship was a precious thing. To have someone ready to leap to your defense, claws bared, was a comforting sensation. She had friends like that, and a job that paid her well for doing what she would gleefully have done for nothing. She had the unquestioning love of a little boy, and God willing, would have him to care for within a few weeks. She had so much.

  As Ariel lay back, struggling to count her blessings, she thought of Booth. And ached for him.

  ***

  Two days later, Ariel received a surprise visit. It was her first free day since resuming her role of Amanda. She was spending it doing something she rarely started, and more rarely finished. Housecleaning.

  In tattered shorts and a halter, she sat on her windowsill two stories up, and leaning out, washed the outside of her windows. The volume on her radio was turned up so that the sinuous violins of Scheherazade all but shook the panes. Occasionally someone from the neighborhood would shout up at her. Ariel would stop working—something that took no effort at all—and shout back down.

  The important thing was to keep busy, to keep occupied. If she gave herself more than a brief moment of spare time, time to think, she might go mad. The next day marked the beginning of the custody hearing. And a full two weeks since she’d last seen Booth. Ariel polished window glass until it shone.

  She felt something like an itch between the shoulder blades, like a fingertip on the back of the neck. Twisting her head, she looked down and saw Booth on the sidewalk below. Relief came in waves. Even if she’d tried, even if she’d thought to try, she couldn’t have stopped the smile that illuminated her whole face.

  “Hi.”

  Looking up at her, he felt a need so great it buckled his knees. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Washing the windows.”

  “You could break your neck.”

  “No, I’m anchored.” One of the kittens brushed against her ankles so that she jolted and braced herself with her knees. “Are you coming up?”

  “Yeah.” Without another word, he disappeared from view.

  As he climbed the stairs Booth reminded himself of his promise. He wasn’t going to touch her—not once. He would say what he’d come to say, do what he’d come to do, then leave. He wouldn’t touch her and start that endless cycle of longings and desires and dreams all over again. Over the past two weeks he’d purged himself of her.

  As he reached the landing he nearly believed it. Then she opened the door.

  She still held a damp rag in one hand. She wore no makeup; the flush of color in her cheeks came from pleasure and exertion. Her hair was scooped back and tied with a bit of yarn. The scent of ammonia was strong.

  His fingers itched for just one touch, just one. Booth curled them into his palms and stuck them in his pockets.

  “It’s good to see you.” Ariel leaned against the door and studied him. People didn’t change in two weeks, she reminded herself as she compared every angle and plane in his face with the memory she’d been carrying with her. He looked the same, a bit browner perhaps from the sun, but the same. Love washed over her.

  “You’ve been sailing.”

  “Yes, quite a bit.”

  “It’s good for you. I can see it.” She stepped back, knowing from the tense way he was standing that he wouldn’t accept her hand if she offered. “Come in.”

  He stepped into chaos. When Ariel cleaned, it was from the bottom up and nothing was safe. Drawers had been turned out, tables cleared off. Furniture and windows gleamed. There wasn’t a clear place to stand, much less sit.

  “Sorry,” she said as she followed his survey. “I’m a bit behind in my spring cleaning.” The pressure in her chest was increasing with every second they stood beside each other, and miles apart. “Want a drink?”

  “No, nothing. I’ll make this quick because you’re busy.” He’d make it quick because it hurt, physically, painfully, not to touch what he still wanted . . . and to still want what he’d convinced himself he couldn’t have. “I’m assuming you saw the MacAllister show the other night.”

  “That’s old news,” Ariel countered. She sat on the hammock, legs dangling free, fingers locked tightly.

  With his hands still in his pockets, Booth rocked back on his heels. “How’d you feel about it?”

  With a shrug, Ariel crossed her ankles. “She took a couple stabs at the film, but—”

  “She took a couple of stabs at you,” he corrected. His voice had tightened, his eyes narrowed.

  Gauging his mood, Ariel decided to play it light. She smiled. “I’m not bleeding.”

  Booth frowned at her a moment, then judged she was a great deal less concerned than he. That was something he had to change. “She hasn’t stopped there, Ariel.” He walked closer, the better to study her face, the better to perhaps catch the drift of her scent. “She had quite a little session with the producer of your show, then with a few network executives.”

  “With my producer?” Puzzled, she tilted her head and tried to reason it out. “Why?”

  “She wants them to fire you—or, ah, to let your contract lapse.”

  Stunned, she said nothing. But her face went pale. The rag slipped silently from her hand to the floor.

  “She’d agree to do a series of guest spots for the show, if you were no longer on it. Your producer politely turned her down. So she went upstairs.”

  Ariel swallowed the panic. All she could think, all that drummed in her mind was, not now, not during the hearing. She needed the stability of that contract for Scott. “And?”

  He hadn’t expected this white-lipped, wide-eyed reaction. A woman with her temperament should have been angry, angry enough to rage, throw things, explode. He could even have understood amusement, a burst of laughter, a shake of the head and a shrug. She was confident enough for that. He’d thought she was. What he saw in her eyes was basic fear.

  “Ariel, just how important do you think you are to the show?”

  She found she had to swallow before she could form the first word. “Amanda’s a popular character. I get the lion’s share of mail, a lot of it addressed to Amanda rather than me. In my last contract, my scale was upgraded with the minimum amount of negotiation.” She swallowed again and gripped her hands together. That was all very logical, all very practical. She wanted to scream. “Anyone can be replaced. On a soap, that’s the number-one rule. Are they going to let me go?”

  “No.” Frowning at her, he stepped closer. “I’m surprised you’d think they would. You’re already their biggest reason for the ratings lead. And with the film due in the fall, the show’s bound to cash in on it. In a strictly practical way of thinking, you—day after day—are worth a great deal more to
the network than Liz in a one-shot deal.” When Ariel let out a long breath he had to fight the urge to take her into his arms. “Does the show mean that much to you?”

  “Yes, it means that much to me.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s my show,” she said simply. “My character.” As the panic faded, the anger seeped in. “If I leave it, it’ll be because it’s what I want, or because I’m not good enough anymore.” Giving in to rage she plucked up a little yellow vase from the table beside her and flung it and the baby’s breath it held at the wall. Glass shattered, flowers spilled. “I’ve given five years of my life to that show.” As her breathing calmed again, she stared at the shards of vase and broken blooms. “It’s important to me,” she continued, looking back up at Booth. “At the moment, for a lot of reasons, it’s essential.” Ariel gripped the side of the hammock and struggled to relax. “How did you hear about this?”

  “From Pat. There’s been quite a meeting of the minds as concerns you. We decided you should hear about this latest move privately.”

  “I appreciate it.” The anger was fading. Relief made her light-headed. “Well, I’m sorry she feels so pressured that she’d try to do me out of a job, but I imagine she’ll back off now.”

  “You’re smarter than that.”

  “There’s nothing she can do to me, not really. And every time she tries, she only makes it worse for herself.” Slowly, deliberately, she relaxed her hands. “Every interview she gives is free publicity for the film.”

  “If there’s any way she can hurt you, she will. I should’ve thought of that before I cast you as Rae.”

  Smiling, Ariel lifted her hands to his arms. “Are you worried about me? I’d like you to be . . . just a little.”

  He should have backed off right then. But he needed, badly needed to absorb that contact. Just her hands on his arms. If he were careful, very careful, it might be enough. “Whatever trouble she causes you I’m responsible for.”

  “That’s a remarkably ridiculous statement—arrogant, egotistical.” She grinned. “And exactly like you. I’ve missed you, Booth. I’ve missed everything about you.”

  She was drawing him closer, but more, she was drawing him in. Even as her hand reached for his face, he was lowering his mouth to hers. And the first taste was enough to make him forget every promise he’d made during this absence.

  Ariel moaned as her lips met his. It seemed she’d been waiting for years to feel that melting thrill again. More. The greed flashed through her. She pulled him down so that the hammock swayed under their combined weight.

  There was no gentleness in either of them now. Impatience simmered. Without words they told each other to hurry—hurry and touch me; it’s been too long. And as clothes were tugged away and flesh met flesh, they both took hungrily from the other.

  The movement of the hammock was like the sea, and he felt the freedom. There was freedom simply in being near her again. And from freedom sprang the madness. He couldn’t stop his hands from racing over her. He couldn’t prevent his mouth from trying to devour every inch. He was starving for her and no longer cared that he had vowed to abstain. Her skin flowed warm and soft under his hands. Her mouth was hot and silky. The generosity he could never quite measure simply poured from her.

  She’d stopped thinking the moment he’d kissed her again. Ariel didn’t need the intellect now, only the senses. She could taste the salt on his skin as they clung together in the moist heat of the afternoon; the dark male flavor along his throat enticed her back, again and again. There was a fury of desire in him, more than she’d ever known in him before. It made her skin tremble to be wanted with such savagery.

  But with the trembling came a mirroring desire in herself. The top of the hammock scraped against her back as his body pressed against hers. For one isolated moment, she thought she could feel the individual strands, then that sensation faded into another.

  His hands were in her hair, holding her head back so that he could plunder her mouth. She heard his breath shudder, and saw, as her lashes fluttered up, that he was watching her. Always watching.

  His eyes stayed open and on hers when he plunged into her. He wanted to see her, needed to know that her need for him was as great as his for her. And he could see it—in the trembling mouth. His name came from there in a breathy whisper. In the stunned pleasure in her eyes. He could bring her that. He could bring her that, Booth thought as he buried his face in her hair. He wanted to bring her everything.

  “Ariel . . .” In the last sane corner of his mind he knew they were both near the edge. He took her face in his hands and crushed his mouth to hers so that they crested, swallowing each other’s cry of pleasure.

  The movement of the hammock eased, soothing now, like a cradle. They were wrapped together, facing, with her head in the curve of his shoulder. Their bodies were damp from the heat in the air, and from the heat within. A length of her hair fell over her and onto his chest.

  “I thought of you,” Booth murmured. His eyes were closed. His heartbeat was slowing, but the arms around her didn’t loosen. “I could never stop thinking about you.”

  Ariel’s eyes were open, and she smiled. She’d needed no other words but those. “Sleep with me awhile.” Turning her head she kissed his shoulder before settling again. “Just for a little while.”

  For days and nights she’d thought only of tomorrows. The time had come again to think only of now. Long after he slept, she lay awake, feeling the hammock move gently.

  Chapter Eleven

  Ariel sat on a small wooden bench outside the courtroom. It was a busy hallway with people coming and going, but no one paid much attention to a solitary woman in a cream-colored suit who stared straight ahead.

  The first day of the hearing was over, and she felt a curious mixture of relief and tension. It had begun; there was no going back. A door opened down the hall, and a flood of people poured out. She’d never felt more alone in her life.

  Bigby had outlined it for her. There’d been no surprises. Despite the legal jargon, the first day had dealt basically with establishing the groundwork. Still, to Ariel’s mind the preliminary questions had been terribly cut-and-dried. But the wheels had begun to turn, and now that they had, maybe the pace would pick up.

  Just let it be over with quickly, she thought and closed her eyes briefly. Just let it be done. The tension came from the thought of tomorrow. The relief came from the absolute certainty that she was doing the right thing.

  Bigby came out of the courtroom with his slim briefcase in his hand. With his other, he reached out to her. “Let me buy you a drink.”

  Ariel smiled, linking her hand with his as she rose. “Deal. But make it coffee.”

  “You did well in there today.”

  “I didn’t do much of anything.”

  He started to speak, then changed his mind. Maybe it was best not to point out how much she’d done by simply being herself. Her freshness, the concern in her eyes, the tone of her voice—all of that had been a vital contrast to the stiff backs and stone faces of the Andersons. A judge in a custody suit, a good one, was influenced by more than facts and figures.

  “Just keep doing it,” he advised, then gave her hand a squeeze as they walked down the hall. Neither of them noticed the dark-suited man in horn-rims who followed. “Tell me how the rest of your life’s going,” he requested. In his unobtrusive way, Bigby guided her through the doors as he guided her thoughts. “It isn’t every day I represent a rising celebrity.”

  She laughed even as the first wave of heat rose off the sidewalk and struck her. New York in midsummer was hot and humid and sweaty. “Is that what I am?”

  “Your picture was in Tube—and your name was brought up on the MacAllister show.” He grinned as she arched a brow. “I’m impressed.”

  “Read Tube, do you, Charlie?” He was trying to keep her calm, she realized. And he was doing it expertly. She slid a companionable arm through his. “I have to admit, the publicity isn’t going
to hurt the soap, the film or me.”

  “In that order?”

  Ariel smiled and shrugged. “Depends on my mood.” No, she wasn’t without ambition. The Tube spread had given her a great deal of self-satisfaction. “It’s been a long time between shampoo commercials, and I won’t be sorry if I don’t have to stand, lathered up, for three hours again anytime soon.”

  They entered a coffee shop where the temperature dropped by twenty-five degrees. Ariel gave a quick shiver and a sigh of relief. “So professionally, everything’s rolling along?” Charlie asked.

  “No complaints.” Ariel slipped into the little vinyl booth and pushed off her shoes. “They’re casting for Chapter Two next week. I haven’t done live theater in so long.”

  Bigby clucked his tongue as he picked up a menu. The man in the dark suit took the booth behind them, settling with his back to Ariel’s. “You don’t sit still, do you?”

  “Not any longer than I can help it. I have good feelings about the custody suit, maybe because I’m on a professional roll. It’s all going to work out, Charlie. I’m going to have Scott with me,