No Secrets in Spandex

by Toni Jones

  “I love you,” Jacob whispered. Ariel froze. She wasn’t sure if she’d heard correctly. Was he awake? Asleep? Ariel lie breathing against him for what felt like hours before she drifted off again into dreams.

  She woke again with light streaming around her. Jacob had rolled onto his side. He regarded her with a devilishly sexy smile, trailing his knuckles between her breasts, heading down to her navel … and lower … Ariel caught his hand.

  “I think we need to talk,” she said.

  His grin widened. “First we need to build more trust,” he said.

  In the sober light of day, Ariel felt more detached from her grand pronouncements of the night before. The night before … when she’d basically told Jacob Hunter she had unshakeable, eternal faith in him based on nothing but a feeling. Sheesh. She was getting too mystic for her own good. Well, maybe a slight amendment was in order.

  • • •

  “Talking is essential to trust,” said Ariel definitively. “Honest conversation? Ring any bells?”

  Jacob shook his head. Ariel could be such a know it all. Stubborn. Infuriating. He loved to tease her and watch her bristle. He loved the moment when, invariably, her defenses broke down and he saw her realize the absurdity of her position. Of his position. Of everything.

  She was a woman who took her job seriously. That much was obvious to anyone. But he’d learned over the past few days that she didn’t take herself seriously. Or at least, not so seriously that she couldn’t laugh at herself. He loved her sense of humor, her ability to spar with him. He found it very, very sexy.

  “Building trust is physical,” said Jacob with a straight face. Ariel raised an eyebrow. “That’s what you were getting at last night. I mean, that’s what you were getting to. The physical aspect of trust.”

  “Physical,” she echoed.

  “Physical,” said Jacob. “When people want to build trust they go to a ropes course. They practice falling into each other’s arms. Trust is basic. It’s about bodies … interacting … in the most … basic … way … ”

  • • •

  With every word, he moved his hands over her skin. He pulled the sheet down from her legs and exposed more of her bare flesh. A finger brushed her clitoris.

  “Basic?” Ariel asked. She arched up to meet his kiss and dragged him across her. His full weight pressed her into the mattress. “If we’re going to build trust physically,” she said, “I want you to know I’m tired of the basics.” She could feel him smiling against her shoulder. She couldn’t help but cry out as his fingers moved between her legs.

  “Are we moving on to Advanced Trust?” asked Jacob. “Are you sure you’re ready for that?” His finger slid inside her. She moaned, tried to writhe beneath him, but his weight pinned her.

  “You have to be willing to be completely vulnerable,” he whispered. She was breathing against his neck, hands twisting in his hair, as his fingers stroked her. “You have to be willing to let go. Absolutely. No inhibitions. No fear.” With one hand, he caught her beneath the knees. He turned her over and pulled her hips toward him. Ariel gasped. She was on her knees, her legs spread, her back arched. She felt so exposed. But she was excited by the new position. It felt daring, shameless.

  With a slow stroke, he drove himself into her.

  “Jacob,” she moaned as his length filled her, the angle allowing him to press deeper than she’d ever imagined possible. The waves of pleasure were already crashing through her, starting from the center of her being and washing in electric ripples to the very tips of her fingers and toes. “Oh, god, wait, oh, please” she was crying out, half mortified that the pleasure had taken her so soon.

  “Let go, darling,” he whispered. “Let go.” A hand reached around her waist to caress her from the front as he moved into and out of her warm, moist cleft from behind. She began to buck and sob.

  And then she absolutely let go.

  By the time Ariel opened her eyes again, the light slanting through the window was making a rectangle in the far corner of the room. She had no idea what time it was. She couldn’t believe how many times Jacob had made love to her in the past twelve hours. She tried to count on her fingers.

  “Don’t tally yet,” came Jacob’s deep voice. “I think I have a little more left in me.”

  Ariel chuckled sheepishly. He was alert, awake, propped up on an elbow, giving her a smoldering look. Even before having coffee, his wits were quick. He’d seen her counting and had immediately inferred what she was doing.

  “I believe you,” she said, blushing. Then she gave him a coy glance. “That’s why I love endurance athletes,” she joked. She sat up, climbed out of bed. She held the sheet loosely around her breasts, suddenly shy in the morning light. Of course, that meant that Jacob was left completely uncovered. He didn’t care a bit. He crossed his arms behind his head and looked up at her. He was the one with the breathtaking body. But as he looked at her admiration glowed in his eyes.

  • • •

  “I’m hungry,” Ariel pronounced. “I want breakfast.” She squirmed into a light silk chemise and stood for a moment in the patch of sun. Jacob felt the blood rush to his penis as he stared at her, the silk clinging to her curves, her hair spilling like sunrise over her creamy shoulders. He thought about dragging the bedspread around his hips, but it was too late. His arousal was on display. Ariel’s gaze dropped to his impressively swollen girth and her mouth dropped open.

  “What?” he said innocently. “I am an endurance athlete.”

  “We need food to fuel all this endurance,” said Ariel, taking the room service menu from her desk and crawling back onto the bed. She flopped on her stomach, the menu in front of her.

  “Pancakes?” she asked. Jacob stroked the small of her back.

  “Tell me, Ariel Hayes,” he said. “What did you mean when you said, ‘I love endurance athletes?’”

  Ariel glanced at him. His tone was casual. The joking light still danced in his eyes. Ariel licked her lips. “I was extrapolating,” she said. “Bacon? Or sausage?”

  “How many endurance athletes have you loved?” Jacob persisted. He sat up.

  Ariel’s gaze traveled immediately to his chest, his stomach. “Hash browns?” she said slowly, brow furrowed.

  Jacob didn’t want to drop his line of questioning. It had suddenly occurred to him that maybe Ariel Hayes, journalist with Cycling Today, had slept with her interviewees before.

  Was he jealous? It would be crazy to be jealous of things Ariel might have done before she’d even met him. Still, he couldn’t shake the thought of her in bed with other … endurance athletes. He had to know.

  “Am I the first person you’ve profiled so … personally?” he asked.

  Ariel let the menu drop. “I know I haven’t given you much of a reason to believe in my professionalism,” she said, “but I assure you this behavior … ” She indicated the disordered hotel room … the clothing flung here and there … “Is highly irregular.”

  “Who else have you profiled?” Jacob asked. “Come on. Tell me.”

  He was keeping his tone light, joking, but then Ariel hesitated, and he knew his assumption was correct. “You have gotten personal with other cyclists,” he breathed. “Is this a pattern for you?”

  “Jacob,” Ariel snapped. “You’re being ridiculous. Of course I haven’t slept with other cyclists. I don’t sleep with the people I write articles about. It’s unethical. It’s more than unethical — it’s messy and it’s stupid and it leads to situations like this.” She got up and stalked to the window.

  “Why won’t you tell me about your other articles?” he asked. “If your relationships with those other guys were so professional?” He hated the whining quality in his voice. He was behaving poorly, and he knew it. Acting like a jealous adolescent. Part of him wanted to stop. He wanted to drop the whole t
hing and order a stack of blueberry pancakes. What could be better than lying in bed with Ariel, eating blueberry pancakes?

  “Who did you write your last article about?” he heard himself saying. “Do I know him?”

  “Jacob,” Ariel said in a strange tone of voice. She was looking out the window.

  “Let’s see,” said Jacob. With a lithe motion, he rose from the bed and pulled on a pair of boxer briefs. He sat down at the desk where her laptop was open, the screen dark, sleeping. Jacob tapped the space bar.

  “We’ll do this the old-fashioned way,” he said.

  “What are you talking about?” asked Ariel. She took a step toward him. The expression on her face triggered alarm bells in Jacob’s mind. He brought up her web browser.

  “I’m going to Google you, Ariel Hayes,” he said.

  “Google me?” said Ariel dully.

  Jacob’s eyes glinted. “Yes, Google you,” he said in an exaggeratedly didactic voice. “In our grandparents’ time, suitors depended on the web to gather information about their sweethearts. Of course, the web wasn’t based on computers connected through fiber-optic cables. It was usually a little more local. You had to rely on town gossips. But it was every bit as effective. Don’t have any illusions about progress.”

  He typed “Ariel Hayes” and pressed search.

  “Jacob,” Ariel began. But it was too late. The hits were back.

  “X-Ray,” said Jacob. He clicked on the first result and looked at the screen uncomprehendingly. “What is this?” he asked, scrolling down. One thing was clear. It wasn’t Cycling Today.

  “There’s something I have to tell you,” Ariel said, voice catching.

  Jacob pushed back his chair and faced her with fury in his eyes.

  “I don’t write for Cycling Today,” she said.

  “The Internet is way ahead of your confession,” he said, his voice dripping scorn. “Tell me about X-Ray.”

  “It’s a small New York-based magazine,” she said. “Mostly political. Unflinching exposés. Social and political issues.”

  “So assuming you sleep with all of your subjects, you’ve slept with more senators than cyclists,” said Jacob. His voice was hard.

  “I don’t sleep with my subjects.” Ariel’s voice cracked. “I’ve never done anything like this before. I didn’t want to come here. I didn’t want to write this article.” She raked her hands desperately through her hair. Her agitation caused her eyes to shine. A becoming flush stained her cheeks. Her breasts rose and fell temptingly in the silk chemise. Jacob commanded himself to remain unmoved. To steel himself against any sympathy. She had lied to him. She wasn’t writing a celebrity profile for a cycling magazine. She was writing a different kind of article, for a different kind of magazine.

  “Exactly what article are you writing, Ariel?” asked Jacob.

  • • •

  Ariel reached toward him but he ignored her proffered hand. Instead, he picked his shirt off the carpet and pulled it over his head.

  “I’m supposed to write an article exposing you for using performance-enhancing drugs,” Ariel whispered. “But I’m not going to do it. I’ve been wanting to tell you, but I haven’t known how.”

  Jacob was pulling on his jeans. She wanted to throw her arms around him but she knew he wouldn’t let her. He was seething and she couldn’t blame him. She’d lied to him. But he hadn’t been entirely honest with her, either.

  “Tell me why you had meth in your hotel room,” said Ariel. “I’m sure there’s an explanation. I trust you. Just tell me, please.

  Jacob finished dressing. He strode to Ariel, standing so that their bodies were only an inch apart. The air between them felt superheated.

  “I am not going to tell you anything,” Jacob whispered. “You have your story now. You have what you came for. I wouldn’t dream of taking that away from you. I know how important your career is to you. I know you don’t care what lives you destroy to get what you want. So please,” he stepped back, bowing slightly. An ironic bow that cut her to ribbons. “Please,” he said, “do what you will with the fruits of your labor. Write your article. The truth must come out, right? It seems like you came to Colorado with your mind made up about what that is.”

  Ariel started to speak but he’d already turned away from her. The door slammed behind him. Ariel collapsed on the bed in a storm of weeping she knew wouldn’t end for a long, long time.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Brian Jenks gunned his truck’s engine, accelerating as he pulled off the street to park in front of the gated rehab center. He liked to see dust rising in his rearview mirror. He jumped down to the pavement, slammed the heavy door. He tucked his faded Nuggets t-shirt into his jeans, threw his baseball cap through the open driver’s side window, and ran a hand through his hair. Tidying up. No good looking like a derelict in a rehab center, for Christ’s sake. He put on his humble little twelve-step smile.

  Yes, I’ve found my higher power, thank you very much, you sanctimonious bastards.

  He was buzzed through the gate and walked up the short path to the porch. No matter how hard he tried to disguise it for the benefit of these nurses — busybody teetotalers and Jesus freaks — he couldn’t deny that he was in a thundering rage. Meeting with the journalist with the sexy voice was his opportunity to tell his side of the story. To tell the world what he thought of Jacob Hunter. To rub some dirt in that handsome, arrogant face. He had a pack of wild tales saved up for the occasion. All a little less than accurate. But that was what the media was all about, right? Serving up a pack of lies on a platter. Causing trouble, ruining lives. Jacob Hunter’s life was the one Brian would most like to ruin right now. Pretty-boy Jake had come close to ruining his.

  He’d had a good thing going with Karen. She was smoking hot, with her long blond hair and sexy body. Sexy until she lost so much weight. When Karen started to look strung out, Brian began to look for kicks elsewhere. But there were other reasons to keep her around.

  She kept the house clean, right up until the end. When she was high, she’d spend all night washing, scrubbing, mopping. Brian liked a tidy house. Just didn’t like doing the work himself.

  She didn’t talk back, either. Not, that is, after he’d shown her what the consequences of backtalk could be.

  Best of all, she listened to him. Like no one ever had before. Brian could tell her anything and she’d sit quietly, listening with an expression of concern and tenderness in her big hazel eyes. Concern for him. Love. He could talk about the things he couldn’t with anyone else. Who was she going to tell, anyway? He’d let her know early on he didn’t like her seeing friends without him around. Didn’t like her going to see her family. He knew the Hunters hated him. He knew they’d fill up her head with their snobbish notions, their proud nonsense about education and careers. All the education a woman needed, Brian thought gloatingly, he was more than qualified to provide. And he knew exactly in what form it was most effectively delivered.

  Jake took Karen away from him. Shut her up in a cage. Poisoned her mind. Made her look at Brian with suspicion, with mistrust. But Brian wasn’t going to let Jake win. He was going to keep Karen. The presents he delivered to her in the hospital ensured she’d stay by his side. Connected. Tied. Just the way he wanted.

  He had another one for her today, tucked in a secret pocket sewn into the lining of his bomber jacket. Useful for run-ins with the police, or for situations like this one. The nurses — or jailers, as he liked to call them — thought they were clever. They made him turn out his pockets every time he came. But they never caught on to him.

  He jerked his head, cracking his neck, and bounced a few times on his toes. Cool and collected. Ready for action. He stepped into the house, ready for Bettina’s inspection.

  The dark-haired nurse came out of her office as he entered. Brian expected the usual pleasant gr
eeting. When it suited his purposes, Brian knew he could be one charming SOB. He’d made sure to butter up Bettina at every opportunity. Women were so simple. Tell them they had pretty eyes, a nice dress on, bring them flowers once in a while — they thought you were a goddamn prince.

  Bettina didn’t look so friendly today, even after Brian delivered the devilish, crooked grin that usually had her swooning. Even after he’d drawled her name, slow and husky, and asked her how she was doing. Without smiling, to Brian’s complete shock, she told him sternly, “You can’t see Karen today, Mr. Jenks.”

  Brian stepped back, surprised. Recovering, he asked: “Can I see her tomorrow, then?”

  Bettina shook her head. “She’s requested that you not be allowed to visit, Mr. Jenks. She and her brother both. For the rest of her stay here. I’m sorry, but I’ll have to ask you to leave … and please, respect their wishes. Don’t come back.”

  Brian took a moment to process what Bettina had told him. As it sunk in, he came forward, locking her eyes with his own. He hissed at her, “Now look, woman. Karen’s my girlfriend. You can’t make me believe she don’t want to see me. She loves me. This is some sick scheme you and that bastard brother of hers cooked up between you. I’m not falling for it. If she don’t want me around, she’s gonna have to tell me that herself. I got a right to see her.”

  Holding her ground, Bettina told him, “Actually, Mr. Jenks, you have no rights in this situation. Only immediate family members are guaranteed visitation privileges. Even those can be suspended at the request of the patient. It doesn’t matter whether or not you believe me, but Karen told me herself that she didn’t want to see you anymore. That you were bad for her recovery. Her brother was there, yes, but she made the decision.”

  The security guard came down the hallway then, and seeing Brian’s aggressive stance, picked up his pace and jogged the rest of the way down the hall. Bettina stepped back. “This gentleman will escort you outside. Goodbye, Mr. Jenks.”