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Her arms curled around his neck as his mouth moved over hers.
“We have to talk,” he said hoarsely. He was no longer able to pretend he could resist her. It was painfully apparent that he would succumb to Ariel’s sexual invitation … and soon.
But first there were things she needed to know.
She reached beneath his shirt and ran her palm over his chest. Ariel touching him made a mockery of all his resolutions and high ideals. He wanted her. He needed her. Whether he called it gratification or disaster, the result would be the same. Ariel … beneath him, calling his name as he made love to her.
When her fingernail scraped lightly over his nipple, he jerked.
Ariel laughed, the sexy, knowing laugh of a woman who acknowledged her power. “I can’t wait to hear what you have to say.” She kissed him again, and her tongue mated with his. “But then again, sometimes actions speak louder than words.”
Dear Reader,
One of the great things about being an author is getting to make up stories in your head. If I hadn’t turned out to be a writer, I think I would have loved working in the movie industry. Like books, the cinema screen invites us to stop, put aside our busy lives and immerse ourselves in other times and places.
My actress heroine, Ariel, is privileged in many ways. But she is facing great trials ahead. Though she is plucky and independent, even a capable woman can use the support and comfort of a man who is strong, honorable and protective.
Jacob deals in reality. And falling in love with Ariel comes under the category of fantasy. But beneath a tropical moon, this intense, compassionate Wolff discovers that sometimes a man loses all control when the woman he wants is Impossible to Resist.
Don’t forget to visit www.WolffMountain.com for bonus content about all things Wolff.
See you on the mountain!
Janice Maynard
About the Author
JANICE MAYNARD came to writing early in life. When her short story The Princess and the Robbers won a red ribbon in her third-grade school arts fair, Janice was hooked. She holds a BA from Emory and Henry College and an MA from East Tennessee State University. In 2002 Janice left a fifteen-year career as an elementary teacher to pursue writing full-time. Her first love is creating sexy, character-driven, contemporary romance. She has written for Kensington and NAL, and now is so very happy to also be part of the Mills & Boon family—a lifelong dream, by the way!
Janice and her husband live in beautiful east Tennessee in the shadow of the Great Smoky Mountains. She loves to travel and enjoys using those experiences as settings for books.
Hearing from readers is one of the best perks of the job! Visit her website at www.janicemaynard.com or e-mail her at JESM13@aol.com. And of course, don’t forget Facebook (www.facebook.com/JaniceMaynardReaderPage). Find her on Twitter at www.twitter.com/JaniceMaynard and visit all the men of Wolff Mountain at www.wolffmountain.com.
Impossible
to Resist
Janice Maynard
MILLS & BOON
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One
Jacob Wolff had seen more than his share of naked women. He knew the female body inside and out. After all, he was a doctor.
But when Ariel Dane set foot in his office, fully clothed, he reacted like a man, not a physician.
Jacob retreated behind his pewter-colored metal desk and motioned for her to sit. “Make yourself comfortable, Ms. Dane.”
She might as well have been deaf for all the notice she afforded his pleasantries. With quick, nervous steps, she approached the broad picture window and stared out at the forest, her hands clasped behind her back.
Jacob took the opportunity to study her. She was thin, too thin. But that was no doubt the influence of Hollywood. Ariel Dane was a star. And seeing her in the flesh for the first time, he understood why. She was exquisite. Ethereal.
Her pale blond hair often flowed across the pillow of a leading man. Today it was confined in a simple ponytail. The severe style lent emphasis to her finely-drawn features, and drew attention to the delicate curve of the nape of her neck.
Jacob shifted restlessly, leaning back in his chair. The silence didn’t bother him. She would speak when she was ready. What disturbed him was the way his sex stirred and his breathing quickened. He had not been with a woman in years. But that meant nothing. He’d learned to subdue his sexuality at will. Rarely did he allow his body to best him. Now, in the presence of a woman whose image had no doubt fueled a million male fantasies, he found that he was human after all.
Her silence outlasted his curiosity. “How did you know to contact me, Ms. Dane?”
She half turned, finally deigning to answer, her expression pensive. “You know Jeremy Vargas, don’t you? The actor?”
“Slightly. My new sister-in-law, Olivia, is a close friend of his.”
She nodded, returning her gaze to the lush jungle of hardwood trees, rhododendron and laurel. “He saw me at a party recently and told me I looked like sh—”
She stopped short. He saw her shoulders tense.
Turning to face him, she winced. “Sorry. Let’s just say that Jeremy was not particularly flattering in his assessment of my current attractiveness. He told me I should come to see you. Insisted on giving me your contact information.”
“There are doctors in Hollywood.”
She lifted her chin, her expression hunted. “Jeremy says that because of what your family has endured from the press over the years, you’re unfailingly discreet. Was he wrong? I’m well aware that a copy of my medical records would fetch a handy sum from the paparazzi. I have nowhere else to turn. No one else I can trust completely.”
“I don’t need your money, Ms. Dane. And my family and I have no great fondness for the gutter press. So yes, your secrets are safe with me.”
“Thank you.” A tiny, hiccupped sob escaped her throat. “You don’t know what that means to me.” She wrapped her arms around her waist. The pale-pink silk shirtdress she wore halted just above her knees and displayed a pair of slim, spectacular legs. The thin fabric outlined pert, though small, breasts. If she wore a bra, it was flimsy, because he could see the outline of her nipples.
His throat dried, and he cursed inwardly. Get a grip, Jacob.
“I have to tell you, Ms. Dane, that I don’t have much experience with eating disorders. But I could refer you to a private facility.”
Shock flashed across her face. “I must look worse than I thought.”
Her voice didn’t match her fragile appearance. It was low and husky and made a man think about sex. Which was, perhaps, part of the reason her career had skyrocketed. After a string of well-paid childhood gigs, she’d landed her first “adult” starring role at seventeen.
“You are incredibly lovely,” he said, his tone deliberately devoid of emotion. “But clearly, you are ill. It’s my job to notice things like that.”
She cocked her head, staring at him with an intensity that made him sweat beneath his crisp white dress shirt. Humor seasoned her words. “I love milkshakes, greasy fries and pizza. My metabolism runs at full tilt. And I hate to throw up. I don’t have an eating disorder.” A tiny, but recognizable, grin lifted the corners of her unadorned mouth. “Show me a plate of junk food, and I’ll prove it to you.”
Relief flooded his stomach. Anorexia and bulimia were damned serious. And not really his area of expertise.
But then another, even less palatable thought occurred to him. Was she addicted to recreational drugs? Her reputation was no secret, even for a man who lived in self-imposed exile. Party girl. Serial dater. Shallow princess.
He wasn’t an idiot. He knew that the media loved to exaggerate both the good and the bad. So he would give her the benefit of the doubt. “Speaking of food,” he said. “Would you like something? I can provide light fare here, or a quick call up the hill will net us something fancy.”
“I’m fine.” Now she prowled, picking up a book here, a photo there. She stopped, holding a framed image that was one of his favorites. “Who’s this?”
“My brothers and I. When we were teenagers. Dad let us do a rafting trip on the Colorado. As far as I know, it was our only true vacation.”
“Why?” she asked, frowning. “Is he super frugal?”
“It wasn’t a question of money. Our mother and our aunt were kidnapped and killed when we were young. My father lived in fear that his children would be targets.”
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, huge periwinkle eyes filled with distress. “I’ve heard bits and pieces about your family’s struggles, of course, but meeting you makes it seem more real.”
He shrugged. “It was a long time ago. Most people know the story. How old are you?”
“Twenty-two.”
Good lord. She hadn’t even been born when the Wolffs suffered their very public tragedy.
Her eyes narrowed. “I sent you all that info in my email. Every bit of your incredibly thorough seven-page form.”
“My fault entirely. I wasn’t expecting you so soon.” The message had only come through on his computer the evening before. “I’ll read it over later.” He was rarely inclined to get personal with a patient. But for some reason, he wanted to reassure her. “We have more in common than you might think, Ms. Dane. My family has been the target of the paparazzi for years, ever since my mother and aunt were murdered. The perpetrators were never caught, so occasionally the story surfaces again.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, her tone formal. “And I know I should have waited for you to contact me about an appointment. But I don’t have much time.”
His stomach pitched in irrational fear. “You already have a diagnosis?”
She nodded, pacing the length of the room. As she moved, he scanned her body for evidence of a terminal illness. Though she could stand to gain twenty pounds, her color was good, and he could see no immediate sign that cancer had ravaged her body.
Thinking about it made his gut clench with terror. He fought back the memories and inhaled a sharp breath. “Are you dealing with addiction or something worse?” The words came out bluntly and sounded more judgmental than he had intended.
She froze, halfway between his desk and the door. Approaching him slowly, she sank into the chair he had offered and frowned. “My God, you don’t pull any punches, do you?”
With only inches separating them, he was close enough to detect hints of lavender and gray in her clear irises. In a black-and-white film, she could have been a younger Ingrid Bergman. Her beauty was timeless, classic. Unfortunately, most movie directors chose to turn her into a sexed-up nymphet for their summer blockbusters.
Jacob kept his pose casual, though his emotions were anything but at the moment. “I can’t help you if I don’t know the truth.”
Her hands were graceful, long fingers bare, the nails French-manicured. She wore no jewelry there, not even a watch. The only adornment she had allowed herself was a modest pair of diamond stud earrings that caught the light when she moved her head.
Her gaze skittered away as if disconcerted by his visual examination. She sighed, her hands resting on the arms of the chair. “I’ve been told that you see only high-profile patients whose utmost need is privacy.”
“Yes.”
“So you understand why I need your help.”
“I understand the need for discretion. I’ve yet to hear your actual reason for coming to me.”
Without waiting for an answer, she rose to her feet and paced again. “Why did you become a doctor?” she asked, her back toward him.
Jacob swallowed, fighting the urge to draw her back to the chair so he could inhale her scent. “When my mother was killed, I remember crying and asking my father why the doctors didn’t do something. At the time, I didn’t really understand that she had died instantly of a gunshot wound. Dad told me no one could have saved her.”
Ariel faced him, eyes shadowed with concern. “But you didn’t buy that?”
Jacob shrugged. “I was a little kid. I decided then and there that I would become a doctor so other families wouldn’t have to deal with the heartache that was tearing us apart.”
“Sweet.”
“But misguided.”
“Surely you realize that your healing skills are valuable.”
“Doctors are not gods, despite what some of my colleagues might believe. We run the numbers, make our best guesses, and pray.”
“Why do you do it, then, if you’re so dubious of your worth?”
“I know what it’s like to have no private life, to have the whole world speculating, sometimes even lying, about those I love. So when I can help people who can’t go anywhere else for medical care, I provide a service. When I’m not seeing patients, my passion is leukemia research. I have the time and the money to make a difference there.”
“Why leukemia specifically?”
“When I was six or seven, my best friend, other than my cousins and siblings, was the son of a man who was in charge of the stables and all our animals. The boy’s name was Eddie. He was diagnosed with leukemia, and despite the fact that my father and uncle brought in the very best doctors and paid for every available treatment, Eddie died at the age of eight. I already knew, even then, that I wanted to be a doctor. Later in life, the memory of losing Eddie fine-tuned my medical training.”
“That’s very admirable.”
He shrugged. “I love my work. But it’s not glamorous.” He stopped and grinned. “At least not until today.”
Ariel ignored his compliment. “And what about the poor and not so famous?”
“If you’re talking about medical care in general, I can assure you that the Wolff family invests heavily in Doctors Without Borders. My brother Kieran and I have built several clinics on our own both here and abroad. You needn’t feel guilty that accessing my services makes you some kind of prima donna.”
The tiny grin reappeared. “Too late for that. I’m a spoiled, promiscuous bitch, didn’t you know?”
Beneath the flip words he heard pain. “Does it bother you? The constant scrutiny?”
Small white teeth worried her lower lip. “It shouldn’t by now. God knows I’ve had years to get used to it.”
“But it stings.”
Her gaze locked with his; her long-lashed eyes filled with tears. “Understatement, Doc.”
She visibly shook off her distress, wiping her eyes with the back of one hand.
He offered her a box of tissues. “Sit down, Miss Dane. Please.”
“Call me Ariel.” She sank into the chair once again, kicked off her flat silver sandals, and tucked her feet beneath her.
Jacob tried not to notice the way her skirt rode up her toned, shapely thighs. “It’s a pretty name. And not very common.”
She leaned forward, one elbow on the desk, head resting on her hand. “The Little Mermaid was my mom’s favorite movie when I was born.”
“But you’re blonde. The real Ariel was a redhead.” Even as he said it, he scoffed at himself. Hair color in Hollywood changed with the tide and the seasons.
“Didn’t matter. And yes,” she said, seeming to read his thoughts. “I am a natural blonde, not that anyone cares. I’ve never dyed my hair for a part. Though I have worn wigs.”
“Why draw the line there? I thought most actresses would do anything for a plum role.”
“I always heard that blondes have more fun. I guess I’m still waiting to see if that’s true.”
He heard the self-derisive note in her voice. The wry cynicism made her appear far older than her years.
“Don’t you enjoy what you do?”
“There’s no such thing as a perfect job, Dr. Wolff. I’m surprised you don’t know that.”
“You’ve got me there.” He inched back in his chair, her closeness making him re-evaluate his Hippocratic Oath. Becoming this woman’s medical provider was not a realistic option. Not when he was already wondering if those soft pink lips tasted as good as they looked. “Are you ready to tell me why you’ve come to Wolff Mountain?” he asked, growing impatient and itchy to be done with this awkward though tantalizing interview.
“Tell me about this place,” she demanded, clearly stalling. “I caught a glimpse of the main house through the trees. It looks like a castle.”
“We call it that on occasion,” he admitted. “But growing up, it was just home.”
“Pretty amazing home. Acres and acres of wilderness. Tucked away in the Blue Ridge Mountains. Private drive a million miles long. Not bad at all.”
“It was a prison growing up.” He stopped short, nearly biting his tongue with the force of his about-face. Patients were patients. Not confidantes. “I think we need to get back to you, Ms. Dane.” She shot him a warning glance, and he backpedaled. “Ariel. And you might as well call me Jacob.”
“What if I prefer Dr. Wolff?”
He scowled, confused and aroused and frustrated with himself. “I thought that movie industry professionals preferred informality.”
“I’d rather maintain a bit of distance with a man who might see me naked.”
Naked? He gulped. “I think you’ve made a trip for nothing, Ariel. I can’t help you.”
She sat up, eyes narrowing. “I haven’t told you what’s wrong with me yet.”
“Are you going to?” He sounded gruff, even to his own ears.
“Why are you angry?”
“I’m not angry,” he corrected with pedantic exactitude. “I’m busy. I was in the midst of a project when you arrived.”
“Most men make time for me.”
He didn’t doubt it for an instant. “I thought you wanted a doctor, not a man.”
“Maybe I want both.”
His jaw ached as he ground his teeth. “I think we’re talking at cross purposes, Ariel. Do you or do you not want to tell me why you’re here?”
Her pale skin flushed. It would be years before she needed plastic surgery to remain competitive in her line of work. She was the epitome of dewy youth, down to the faint smattering of freckles that lightly dusted the curves of her cheeks.
She hung her head, projecting defeat and resignation. Was it an act designed to make him rush to reassure her?
“Ariel?” He sighed inwardly. At eight years her senior, give or take a few months, he should be able to control the conversation better than this. And he damn sure should be able to withstand the effects of eyes designed by their creator to drive a man crazy. She was barely legal. “Talk to me,” he coaxed. “Whatever you say will remain in this room, even if you don’t become my patient. I swear.”
The tip of her tongue came out to wet her lips. Her head lifted, revealing an expression that was indecipherable. “I need to hire you for the next two months,” she said, tossing it out there without ceremony.
He frowned, struggling to understand. “As your doctor?”
She winced, wriggling in her seat, exposing another three inches of thigh. “As my boyfriend.”
Two
Ariel groaned inwardly. That could have gone better. She’d tipped her hand clumsily and far too soon. But there was something about Jacob Wolff that threw her off balance.
For one thing, he was nothing like she had imagined. She’d been expecting a fortysomething, lab-coat-clad father figure wearing gold-rimmed glasses. Someone she could pour her heart out to in comfort.
Jacob Wolff was young, seriously hot and made her nervous as hell. His gray-eyed gaze was X-ray-like, exposing her in ways that made auditioning for a part seem like a walk in the park.
His short-cropped black hair was styled in a no-nonsense fashion, as was the plain but expensive hand-tailored shirt he wore. Broad shoulders strained the seams of the garment. It was tucked into dark slacks that showcased his flat belly and hard thighs.
Ariel spent her days surrounded by handsome men. Men who made their living with the help of six-pack abs honed in a gym. But Jacob Wolff was real in a way unmatched by most males of her acquaintance. His calm confidence and unsmiling intensity were sexy and appealing.
At the moment, he could not have been less encouraging. His brows drew together in a fierce scowl, and his body language signaled his wish to end what was proving to be an embarrassing interlude.
He cleared his throat. “Forgive me if I don’t understand. Your boyfriend?”
His incredulity made heat rise from her throat to her cheeks. “I realize that boyfriend is a fairly juvenile term. You’re a mature man.”
A trace of pique flittered across his face. “As in old? Trust me, Ariel. I’m well aware that I’m facing down thirty while you are a mere child.”
“Don’t patronize me,” she snapped. “I’m no innocent. They eat babies for lunch in Hollywood. I had to grow up fast.”
“You look about sixteen.”
“Well, I’m not. No one would second-guess us as a couple. My mother says I’m an old soul.”
“We’re wandering away from the point. Again. Why do you need a boyfriend? Aren’t you dating that rapper?”
“It was a publicity photo. I’m surprised you saw it.” She was also intrigued.
“I may live like a hermit, but even decrepit men like me have moved beyond rotary phones and dial-up internet. You’re in the news every other day. Haven’t you noticed?”
His quick, wry smile made her stomach flip. “I don’t read the entertainment news.”
“Shocking, Ms. Dane. Shocking.” He leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands over his trim waist. “It’s a good thing I don’t charge by the hour. You’re not very good at this doctor/patient thing.”
“Well, you suck at being a boyfriend.”
He shrugged. “You’re dumping me already?” A long, exaggerated sigh made his chest rise and fall. “Story of my life.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I can’t imagine any woman dumping you. Surely you’ve had your share of serious relationships?”
His face closed up, every nuance of expression wiped away. The quick but conspicuous glance at his watch was designed to put her in her place. “Either be honest with me, Ariel, or leave.”
I 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. I’m paying for all her bills.”
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