Impossible to Resist. Janice Maynard

have more important things to do. The unspoken subtext made her skin flame with color a second time. “I’m ill,” she said quietly, knowing beyond a doubt that she had wasted a trip. Jacob Wolff was not the kind of man to be manipulated by feminine wiles.

      He went still, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Is this a joke? I feel like we’re in a play and you forgot to give me my lines.”

      She picked at a spot of lint on her skirt. “You’re rather intimidating, you know. Aren’t doctors supposed to have good bedside manners?”

      Again, a flash of that sexy smile. Its rarity made it even more compelling. “We’re not in bed, Ariel. Keep talking,” he insisted. “You’re on a roll.”

      “It’s true,” she whispered, her throat tight. The way he said the word bed made her all shivery inside. “I’m sick. That’s why I need you to be my boyfriend.”

      Perhaps he realized how close she was to breaking down, because his voice gentled. “Start at the beginning. I won’t judge and I won’t interrupt. I promise. I want to help you, Ariel. You can trust me.”

      The room seemed far too silent suddenly. And annoyingly stuffy. Ariel wanted to throw open the windows and let in fresh air along with the sounds of the forest. But the room wasn’t hers to command. So she resisted. Barely.

      She lifted her shoulders in a careless shrug. If he wanted to begin with Act One, who was she to complain? “I took my mother to the Amazon a few months ago. She’s been diagnosed with advanced breast cancer, and I wanted us to go on one last trip while she was still able to manage it.”

      Jacob’s gaze was watchful. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

      Ariel waved a careless hand, feeling anew the pinch of grief. “She’s made her peace with dying.”

      “And what about you?”

      Her throat closed up painfully, making it impossible to speak for several long seconds. “I’m getting there. It’s been just the two of us for most of my life, so you’ll understand when I say that I can’t imagine my world without her.”

      “I’ve read somewhere that she was responsible for putting you in commercials when you were little. Is that true?”

      “Yes. Most people assume it was for the money … since my father walked out on us.”

      “But you disagree?”

      “The money helped. I know that. But I think it was her way of giving me options. She had very few financial resources. But one of her cousins was a talent scout, and she asked him to help her get me started in the industry.”

      “Did you ever resent her for that?”

      Ariel laughed, caught off guard by his assumption. “Oh, God no. I was a ham from the very beginning. I loved the limelight, the applause, the crowds. Acting gave me validation.”

      “But you never went to college, right? You’ve worked straight through?”

      Was that criticism she heard in his voice? Or was she being way too sensitive? “I’ve done two movies a year since I turned fourteen, sometimes three. So no, my education ended rather abruptly with a high school diploma. Besides, I wasn’t that good a student anyway, so it was no great loss. And I make plenty of money as it is. Getting a degree would have been a waste of time.”

      “Are you trying to convince me or yourself?” he asked quietly.

      Stunned at his perspicacity, she bit her lip. “Now you’re wandering off topic,” she said pointedly, ignoring his question.

      He held up his hands. “Duly noted. Please continue.”

      “My mother loves to travel. So when I became successful, I started working on her bucket list during breaks in my schedule. We’ve been to Paris and Rome and Johannesburg and—well, lots of places.”

      “Was the trip to the Amazon a success? Did her strength hold out?”

      “My mother was a rock. I’m the one who got sick.”

      His gaze sharpened. “What happened?”

      “We’d been there almost five weeks. It was time to go home. I came down with malaria.”

      “You didn’t take medication before you left?”

      “I did, but apparently the particular strain I contracted was resistant. I honestly don’t remember much of those three or four days. It was terrible. My mother was so scared. We had hired a guide through a travel service, and he was great. But we were in the middle of the jungle and I was too sick to move. Makimba found a tribal medicine man who treated me.”

      “Good Lord.” Jacob sat up, expression aghast. “You could have died.”

      “Believe me, I know. But whatever combination of herbal remedies and witch doctor mumbo jumbo he used finally worked. I was weak as a kitten when it was over, but I turned the corner.”

      “What happened then?”

      She shrugged. “We came home. I was slated to do voiceovers for a character in an animated film. Fortunately, that was studio work in L.A., so I could be in my own bed every night. And the schedule was not as arduous as if I had been in the midst of shooting a regular movie.”

      “You need blood tests,” he said urgently. “To identify the exact parasite and to determine what schedule of medication is appropriate. Have you had any of that?”

      She winced. “No.”

      “Why in the hell not? Jesus Christ, Ariel. This isn’t something to fool around with.” He was almost shouting.

      “That’s why I’m here,” she said evenly, projecting as much dignity as she could muster in the face of his disapproval. “I had another flare-up three weeks ago. Not as bad as the first, but still pretty awful. I can’t go to a regular doctor and risk any of this information getting out.”

      “Why? It’s not as if you need rehab. You’re ill. What’s the big deal?” His genuine puzzlement was evident.

      “In ten days I will start shooting a movie that could change my career forever. Everyone who has read the script agrees that it’s the kind of picture that will generate Oscar buzz. I beat out five other A-list actresses to get the part. If word leaks out that I might become incapacitated in the midst of filming, they could take it away from me.”

      “And your career is more important than your health?” Now he blasted her with both criticism and sarcasm. Silvery gray eyes glittered, spearing her with his disgust.

      “Back off,” she said heatedly. She leaned toward him, furious with his imperious dismissal of her motives. “You don’t know the slightest thing about my life or my circumstances. It’s a good thing you don’t see patients often, ‘cause I gotta tell you, Doc. You’re an arrogant pig.”

      They hovered there like that for half a minute, their faces almost touching, fury arcing between them like a renegade lightning bolt. She could see the rapid heartbeat in his tanned neck, could smell his expensive aftershave.

      Amazingly, he was the first one to back down. “I’m sorry,” he said stiffly. “I promised I would listen without judgment and without interrupting, and I managed neither. Please go on.”

      Ariel, primed for battle, was unwillingly disarmed. How rare was it to find a man who knew how to apologize? And yet somehow, he still managed to project an air of absolute superiority that set her teeth on edge. Forced to accept his regret at face value, she settled back into her seat.

      “I love what I do,” she said. “And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t care about the possibilities. I’ve played so many blonde bimbo parts, I wonder sometimes if the character is taking over. But beyond the professional perks of this new role, I have to be honest. The money this movie will make is no small consideration. My mother has no health insurance.