ROOM...BUT NOT BORED

by Dawn Atkins

  To his chagrin, Jake felt himself heat. "It's not like that. I sort of caused her to lose a client, so I want to make up for it—and help you at the same time."

  Brice pretended to cough and wave away smoke. "It's gettin' thick in here," he said. "Not to mention the fact I'm ankle deep in something foul."

  "Come on, Brice. You could flounder around for years, spouting off about expanding, and never get off your ass and do it. She'll help you figure out what you want—cut to the chase."

  "Look, I'm always glad to help you, pal. If you want to take out a boat to impress a woman, fine … or buy equipment wholesale on my account, fine. But this is my life here." He indicated the rack of snorkels, posters of various fish, photos of boats and, beyond, the rows of oxygen tanks and wetsuits. "I'm fifty years old. I'm not screwin' with my life just to help you get into some sweet thing's thong."

  "It's not like that," he said. "Look, hire her, and if you don't think she's worth it … I'll pay her fee myself." Now that was a leap of faith on his part—one he wasn't so sure he should have taken. Not with the Penny fund hanging in the balance. But he had to do something to wipe out Ariel's despair. He'd thought she was a jittery overachiever. He'd had no idea she was so close to the edge.

  Brice still looked suspicious. He'd have to give him something more believable. "Okay. Here's the deal. She wants to kick me out of her house. If I get her a client, I can stay."

  "I knew it," Brice said with a self-satisfied chuckle. "You dog. You never change."

  A ripple of annoyance shot though him. Why couldn't he be doing something just to be kind? Didn't Brice know him better than that? They spent enough time together—sailing, diving, playing poker, hanging out. Of course they rarely talked about the deep stuff. Now and then Brice brought up his old girlfriend—and legendary heartbreak—from when he was Jake's age, but only when he was shit-faced. Still, Brice should know he was a decent guy.

  "At least let me bring her out on the boat so you can meet her. She needs to relax and she can get a feel for your business."

  "She needs to relax? I would have thought you'd have handled that by now."

  "I have to live with her."

  "Even more handy."

  "Too complicated."

  Silence.

  "She's not my type," Jake added lamely.

  Brice nodded slowly. "I get the picture."

  "No, you don't." Though it was true that every time she started chewing on that puffy little lip he felt it in the groin. He wanted to kiss the poor thing better, get a hand on that tight rump, put a hitch in her breathing, a startle in her innocent green eyes. And there she was every night, lying in bed just a thin drop cloth away…

  This rush of lust was due to the fact she was off-limits, he was sure. Like being in an Italian restaurant on a lowcarb diet—pure torture. "I want to give her scuba lessons—as an act of goodwill. You can take us for a dive and see what you think."

  "Scuba lessons, huh? Whatever you say…" A smug look filled Brice's stubbly face. Okay, let him think that all Jake wanted with Ariel was a buddy-breathing session, as long as it got him what he really wanted—Brice wriggling on Ariel's hook. "I'll take you on a dive," Brice said, "but we leave my business out of the conversation, okay?"

  Jake shrugged. Ariel would have to handle the man with kid gloves and what he'd seen of her sales technique told him she was more into clobbering clients over the head with a club and dragging them into her lair.

  The distraction of learning to dive would help. Dipping into that alternate universe would jolt her out of her worries and fill her with wonder. He couldn't wait for that wide-eyed look new divers always got. On Ariel, it would be almost as good as delivering an orgasm. Hmm. His penis stirred. Stand down, he told himself, repeating his father's old command.

  If Brice didn't work out for Ariel, he'd set her up with another of the business guys at the marina. It was the least he could do for a roommate.

  * * *

  Chapter 7

  «^»

  "When you're ready, Business Advantage will be there," Ariel said to her tenth not-interested-right-now cold call, two days after Jake had helped her lose Bob Small and his car-seat covers. She held her smile in place as she talked, but her heart was a boulder in her chest. She wouldn't convince anyone to hire her sounding like Eeyore. No more calls for today.

  She still had leads from a friend from business school she'd run into at a networking luncheon. She would try those tomorrow when she was feeling more cheerful.

  She picked up the piece of paper with the number of the temp agency. She should call and put her name in. It had been three weeks since she arrived and the stress was getting to her. She was even hopeful that Jake's beach buddy lead would come to something, though the likelihood was low.

  She'd left another message for Trudy in the London office, but she'd been unavailable by phone. She needed advice from her mentor, an intervention or at least a pep talk.

  Her mother was coming out to see the cottage on Saturday. Though she was looking forward to the visit, Ariel kind of regretted the invitation, knowing her mother would pick up her distress and worry about her.

  She went to the kitchen to make tea. The place looked like a war zone. Jake had ripped up the linoleum and the new tile she'd chosen hadn't come in yet. She'd complained about the chipped and rusty sink, so Jake had torn it out and hadn't connected with his buddy to get the new one, a leftover from a construction site.

  She couldn't grouse since it was free, but now she had to make tea in the bathroom sink. She tamped down her annoyance. She could never quite get mad at Jake because he was working on the house like she wanted … just not the way she wanted.

  Right now, he was off teaching a lesson, surfing some waves or helping a kid with a tree house. If only he'd move. Working on it, was all he'd ever say.

  Of course, she could force him to move out. Demand it. Give him a deadline, then pack his stuff and set it on the porch, but she couldn't bring herself to do that. Even if he moved out, he'd still be here every day working.

  She opened the refrigerator to find the cold chicken curry he'd put on a plate for her lunch, complete with peeled, sliced kiwi. If she kicked him out, he wouldn't fix her this great food.

  In a way, it was a relief he wasn't here, even to restore her devastated kitchen, because of the ticking tension between them. The feeling built every day, flaring when she brushed against him in the hall or accidentally twined fingers accepting a mug of morning coffee from him, or slid into the coconut-scented steam of the bath as he moseyed out, a towel precariously balanced on his hips, a whistle on his lips. Sometimes, she feared she'd faint from the lust pouring through her blood in thick pulses.

  Every night she lay on the other side of that drop cloth listening for his breathing, hoping to hear the rustle of fabric as he burst through the barrier like Zorro to kiss her into surrender. Her ridiculous lust for him, on top of all the noise he made and the phone messages he flubbed and his constant interruptions and the mess he left in every room, was plenty of reason to want him out of her house.

  But she didn't quite want that.

  She wondered if he was as tempted by her as she was by him. Since the midnight swim, when she'd said no, he seemed to have given up the idea of sex with her, though she did catch a look now and then. Of course, he had plenty of other places to relieve those urges. Heather or Bambi or some other beach bunny. After the fuss she'd made about the bikini-clad artist, Jake had stopped bringing his playmates to the cottage, at least.

  Ariel sighed, picked up the card with the temp agency number and started dialing.

  She was interrupted by Lucky, who burst in the door Jake had left unlatched again. He trotted over to her and dropped a wet piece of driftwood on her lap. The stick stank of seaweed and streaked her skirt with sand and green slime. Great.

  "Lucky … no," she protested weakly. "Wait for Jake."

  But Lucky looked as desperate to play as she was to work.

>   She glanced at her computer screen with the frustrating list of failed leads, the temp agency number, then at Lucky's big brown eyes and the way his body quivered, anticipating every twitch of her muscles, every nuance of intention on her face.

  What the hell? She could give up her dream just as easily in fifteen minutes as right now. "Just a few tosses," she said, standing. Lucky yelped ecstatically and galloped for the door. Turning to be sure she was coming, he conked his head on the doorjamb. The poor dog couldn't believe his good fortune.

  At the bottom of the porch steps, Ariel slid off her shoes and ran gingerly on tiptoe to the edge of the water where Lucky waited, prancing in place. The sun was pleasant, the air bright, the breeze light. Just being out here made her feel somehow less burdened. Maybe Jake was right about taking time for herself. Maybe having fun did make work go better. Hmm. She'd give herself one more day before she called that blasted temp agency.

  She tossed the stick as hard as she could, watching it make a satisfying arc across the pale blue sky. Lucky lunged, hind legs churning like a greyhound after the rabbit. Such passion. She laughed. This was fun. And good for her. Good for Lucky, too, who trotted back with the stick and proudly dropped it at her feet. She threw it again in the other direction.

  He brought it back.

  She threw it again. He brought it back. She did it again. And again.

  "Just once more," she'd said for the tenth time—she should get back to work—when Lucky gave a sharp bark and kept running past the stick. Toward Jake, she saw, who was heading her way, grinning. Such a great grin—big and intimate and just for her. Her heart warmed. Here she was playing catch with a dog on the beach while a handsome man came toward her, looking at her like she was all he wanted to see. Life is good.

  When Jake got close, he gave her a thumbs-up.

  "What?" she said, letting the stick dangle in her hand, while Lucky nudged at her thigh.

  "I've just about got you a client," Jake said.

  "You're kidding," she said, flinging the stick far over her head, her heart flying with it, light with hope.

  "He's not in the bag yet. He owns a water sports equipment shop and a couple of charter boats. He kind of wants to expand."

  "Kind of wants to? Like Bob Small?" She couldn't bear another false lead.

  "Not like Bob. He's not big on change and he's a cheapskate, but if you don't come on like gangbusters, you can talk him into what I know he wants."

  "You think so?"

  "As long as you take it slow."

  "Tell me about his business," she said. "Tell me everything."

  Jake laid out the basics and she listened closely, her mind racing with possibilities, absently tossing the stick for Lucky whenever he nudged her with it. When Jake finished, she wanted to thank him. Her heart was so full the words were hard. "Thanks, Jake. This means more than I can say."

  "It's the least I could do after the car-seat fiasco." The setting sun had turned Jake into a bronze god, his hair burnished, his skin glowing.

  The waves lapped gently at Ariel's feet, sucking the sand under her toes, as if to pull the ground out from under her altogether. She wanted to show how she felt. It didn't feel right to hug him, but she moved forward, her arms slightly outstretched…

  And Jake made the decision for her, pulling her into a hug that felt so good. This was okay, right? Just a friendly hug?

  Except this was no loose, cheery roommate hug. This was a breast-crushing, erection-pressing, body-to-body embrace. And Ariel wanted to just melt into it, breathe in Jake's coconut and musk, let him kiss her, let something happen, fall into it, let go… Her fingers dug into his back.

  "It'll work out fine," he said into her hair. He was reading her mind.

  She nodded into his neck. If it felt this good, maybe it would be fine…

  "We'll go for a dive on his boat next week," Jake said, "so we'll start scuba lessons tomorrow."

  "Scuba lessons?" Ariel's drifting lids flipped open and she pushed out of Jake's arms.

  "Brice will warm up to you if you're interested in diving."

  "You expect me to learn to dive? No way am I going underwater and breathing out of a bottle. It's bad enough thinking about all those creatures when you're at the surface, but actually seeing them face-to-face…"

  "You'll love it, Ariel. It's not as scary as it sounds and I'll be with you every step of the way."

  "Uh-uh. I can't." She crossed her arms and backed up, bumping into Lucky and barely catching her balance.

  "If you want Brice as a client, this is the best way. We'll start slow. Take it step by step."

  She did need a client. Badly. And this was the only prospect in sight. She chewed her lip "I'll think about it."

  * * *

  That night Jake couldn't sleep. He'd stayed out late, hanging at his favorite bar, nursing a slow brew, but he couldn't stop thinking about holding Ariel in his arms that afternoon. He'd even thought about bringing a woman home just to distract himself, but all he could think of was Ariel.

  She'd felt so good—firm flesh, her curves melting into his body as though she was made to be in his arms. When she'd let go like that, he'd felt he'd really won something. Her trust, her lust, he didn't care which. It was like winning first place in some impossible competition.

  He tossed and turned, shoved off the sheet, so the air would cool his chafed and burning skin. In the silence he could hear the ocean, its soft shushing usually his lullaby—not that he ever struggled for sleep.

  Except tonight. He listened for Ariel. Did her breathing sound unsteady or was that just wishful thinking? He heard a sleepy moan. Then another—this one utterly hungry. She was having a sex dream.

  His penis tightened, eager for action. Down boy.

  Ariel murmured a word. Was it his name? He'd swear it was, and she'd said it with a needy edge that meant, Help me, touch me, make it all better.

  No problemo. He was out of the bed in an instant. Two soundless strides and he was at the canvas cloth, listening hard, holding his breath. He heard the rustle of sheets, then nothing. Had she gone deeper into sleep or was she just waiting for him, hoping he'd push through the barrier and touch her where she ached. He longed to do that, to kiss her, soothe her while she bucked against his hand, moaning with pleasure.

  Then he would push into her … slowly … still touching her, fighting his own orgasm long enough to enjoy her tight body, firm breasts, buttery skin. He pressed his hand flat against the canvas cloth. Should he go for it?

  * * *

  Ariel woke to find herself clutching a pillow between her knees, her hips sliding forward, rubbing herself against the fabric. Another sex dream. And now she tingled with arousal. If only she'd stayed asleep long enough to climax. Except it never worked that way. She always got close and then woke up or drifted into mild frustration, then deeper sleep.

  She sighed. That hug on the beach had felt so good. She kept reliving it, wanting more. She'd been lonelier than she'd realized. If only she could have a time-out from her life to explore Jake's arms and hands and mouth. She'd felt the hunger in him, too.

  Why couldn't they do it? Relieve the tension, get it over with? She was prickly and achy, desperate to rub herself on something, like a cat in heat. Hell, it was just biology. She pushed herself out of bed and padded to the cloth curtain between her and the object of her lust. All she had to do was pull the cloth aside. She held her breath and listened. He was probably asleep. She could whip off her nightgown and slide between the sheets. They wouldn't even speak. It would be like a dream, not even real.

  Then she heard an intake of breath—just inches away! Jake was standing on the other side of the cloth, wanting what she wanted. Oh, no. She backed up, electrified by the risk. She wasn't ready. Or maybe she was too ready. Bad idea. She had to keep her focus, concentrate on her work.

  Back in bed, she stared at the canvas, willing Jake to sweep it away, yank it down, set it on fire, anything.

  Nothing.

&
nbsp; Ariel rolled away from the curtain. First thing tomorrow, she would ask Jake to replace the drop cloth with a solid wall.

  * * *

  Ariel decided that what she needed to keep her focus—while fighting her fear of diving and her lust for Jake—was a good goal visualization session. So she headed to a building in Thousand Oaks with offices for lease right where she wanted to end up. The leasing agent happily walked her through the available suites, leaving her alone in one of the nicer ones while he took a phone call. She sat in a metal chair and pictured herself working here. She envisioned a client stopping by to praise her for saving his company, another offering to double her retainer, a third vowing to promote her at his business club meeting.

  This could happen. It would happen. As long as she stayed focused. She'd do whatever it took to get here—even learn to scuba dive. Her stomach clutched. In the end, she'd agreed to let Jake teach her to dive.

  Step by step, Jake had said. Step by step to a watery grave. She was either extremely brave or completely insane, and she wouldn't know which until she was a hundred feet under thousands of pounds of ocean, trusting her life to some puny mouthpiece and a tank of air on her back. And Jake.

  She shuddered, full of fear. Maybe another visualization, since she was already in Thousand Oaks. She headed for the housing development where she hoped one day to live with the man who would meet her husband criteria.

  She parked beside an especially perfect house, stared at the picture window in the red-brick front and conjured up her future Mr. Wonderful and their golden retriever. Well, my darling, he would say, you've worked so hard to achieve your goals. I'm so proud of you. Then he would lean down from his six feet, his dark eyes gleaming with desire for her … except, wait … his eyes had gone smoky-blue and he was only slightly taller than she. God, it was Jake looking at her with mischief. Tag, you're it, he said and shot her with a squirt gun before he ran off with … not her elegant golden retriever, but that goofy furball Lucky.