Completely Smitten (28 page)

Perhaps this man was him.

As if confirming Darius’s thought, the man leaned forward and brushed Ariel’s lips with his own. She reached her arms around his neck and pulled him close.

They held each other for a long moment, rocking back and forth together as if they were attuned to the same rhythm. Then the man stepped back, held Ariel by the upper arms, and smiled at her. He seemed to be encouraging her.

She certainly didn’t need Darius.

Not that she would have known he was there anyway. He wasn’t about to tell her. When he had overheard her mention the race to one of the waiters, he had vowed to come. He wanted to see how her new obsession was working.

Obviously, it was working just fine.

He pushed his way through the knot of people that had formed behind them. Most of them acted like trees—immobile, ignoring him. The rest seemed to think he was a weird, overdressed child who had wandered into the wrong place.

He had almost made it through the knot when he heard one of the organizers tell everyone to get into position. They had to line up, fastest runners up front, the laggers behind.

In spite of himself, Darius turned around, wondering if people were really that cooperative. They seemed to be. Ariel was right up front, her body ready, her face a mask of concentration.

She had never looked more beautiful.

The man who had talked with her was sitting behind a nearby table, writing down figures. He wasn’t even looking at her, and she didn’t seem to be thinking about him either.

Her entire body was poised at the edge of something— a moment that might change her forever.

Then the starting gun went off, and she lit out, immediately ahead of the pack.

Darius walked back toward the starting area, willing her to slow down. She had to pace. He knew she thought of this as a sprint, but it wasn’t. Even though she was used to the five kilometers—it was the three miles she had told him she had started with—she didn’t dare take it for granted.

Not at all.

If she burned up all at once, she’d be disappointed by the end.

Almost without thinking about it, he wrapped his hand into a fist as he started a spell. He’d slow her down. He’d keep her ahead of the pack but paced, so that she didn’t burn out, so that she didn’t get disappointed—

And then he realized what he was doing. He was taking away her opportunity to succeed or fail. He was taking away her opportunity to learn from her experience, to set her expectations properly, and to react to them with the strength that he knew she had.

He unclenched his fist and let his hand fall to his side. He couldn’t see her anymore. The runners were still fanning out along the course, but she was long gone, not even a cloud of dust rising behind her.

He could spell himself to the turn-around point, but he didn’t dare. If he did something wrong, then he would interfere with the race as surely as he would have if he had cast the spell.

Darius sighed. He was hooked now. He couldn’t go home if he wanted to. He walked toward the starting area—which was now being converted into the finish line by the man who had hugged Ariel—and watched as the man strung the ribbon between two poles.

Around Darius, the small crowd talked nervously. He caught snatches of conversation: how Suzy had lost fifty pounds and thought she was ready for running; how Dan felt he was ready to try a real race; how Julia had always dreamed of winning something. The real athletes didn’t seem to be a topic of conversation—maybe they didn’t bring supporters. Or maybe there were no real athletes in this race aside from Ariel.

Darius slipped his hands in his pockets, staring at the path through which, someone had pointed out, the runners would return. Nothing yet, not that there should be. He’d only been watching for a few minutes.

He inched closer to the finish line. Some people who had stood farther out in the earlier part of the race were inching back toward the end, and he wanted to be in front of them.

The man who had hugged Ariel was talking to another woman, older with a mane of gray hair. She laughed and touched his arm as they spoke, and then, suddenly, the man enveloped her in a hug.

Darius’s fist curled again. If that man was going to hurt Ariel, he would have to answer to Darius.

The man rocked the woman the same way he had rocked Ariel, and their bodies seemed just as attuned. Finally the man pulled back, held her arms, and talked to her. She laughed again, kissed him on the cheek, and went to the sign-in table, where she seemed to go back to work.

Darius nudged the guy next to him. The guy looked down, surprised.

“Who is that man?” Darius asked, pointing at the serial hugger.

“He’s the guy who organized this whole thing. Used to be pretty good himself, I heard, until he blew out his leg.”

Darius raised his eyebrows. An injury? “He blew out his leg?”

The man next to Darius nodded. “I think. Or maybe it was his back. Or something. All I know is that he doesn’t compete any more, and my girlfriend is glad of it. She said he used to be real shovey on the course. Real arrogant. People put up with him because he’s, like, important, but I don’t think any of them like him.”

Darius frowned. He thanked the man beside him, then stared at the serial hugger. Sure enough, he was hugging another woman. She had a pained expression on her face as she let him hug her. Then, just as he had done before, the serial hugger pulled back, held the woman by the upper arms, and talked to her as if he were her coach. The woman gave him a polite smile, patted his cheek, and moved away.

Had Ariel been humoring him? She didn’t seem like the kind of woman who would humor anyone.

A wave of discomfort ran through Darius. If she didn’t humor anyone, then she welcomed the serial hugger’s attention, which Darius liked even less. He didn’t want her soul mate to be a man whom everyone else took as an annoyance.

“I see them!” someone yelled, and Darius whirled toward the path, amazed that he had forgotten to watch for Ariel.

He saw a flash of color through the trees. His mouth was dry and he wished he had thought to bring something to drink. He hadn’t expected to be this nervous, or this uncomfortable.

A man charged down the path, running as if he were in Spain and a bull was behind him. The man was red in the face, his shirt wet with sweat, his arms pumping, wasting energy.

Ariel was right behind him, moving gracefully. She looked like she could run all day. Her shirt was damp, but not doused like the man’s was, and her skin was flushed, but not red with overexertion.

They were the two leaders. No one else was even close.

The man glanced over his shoulder, panic on his face, as if Ariel were a hound let loose from hell to pursue him. She didn’t seem to notice him. She passed him as if he were a rock in the road and continued toward the finish line with those easy, graceful sprints.

She was made to run. If Darius had thought she was stunning before, he thought she surpassed it now—becoming, simply, the most perfect human athlete he had ever seen. Her entire body moved together, without effort, like the giant cats of the African plains, running after prey. She had been born to run, and she probably hadn’t realized it, with her focus on the Ironman.

She had no idea how wonderful she looked.

She broke the tape, someone took a Polaroid, and she slowed down, grinning like he had never seen her grin before. The man came in after her, looking dejected.

Ariel still didn’t acknowledge him. She was doing a small celebratory jig all by herself, near the aid station. Other runners trickled in, many of them red-faced and exhausted, having given their all to the 5K distance. A few, even farther behind, didn’t look as tired, but they were clearly out to finish, not set a personal record.

The serial hugger approached Ariel and congratulated her. Darius moved closer so that he could hear their conversation. The serial hugger held out his arms, but Ariel shook her head and danced away from him, saying something about being too sweaty.

Then, as she turned her back on him, her mouth pursed in distaste.

Her expression sent a shot of joy through Darius. He tried to quell it—she had a right to be attracted to other men. She would be someday. He knew she would be. She had that soul mate in her future—but he was so glad the serial hugger distressed her as much as he distressed the other women.

Darius smiled, not just because Ariel had rejected the serial hugger but because her joy at winning was so palpable. He was glad she had focused on the running, glad her attentions had turned away from him. She seemed so much healthier, so much more vibrant now, as if she had been in a dark place and had suddenly stepped into the light.

Darius turned away, heading toward his car. For the first time, he’d watched a race and hadn’t regretted that he had short legs and no discipline. The race hadn’t been about him.

It had been all about her.

“Mr. Vari!”

Ariel’s voice carried over the murmur of conversation and the shouts of congratulations from friends of the runners now crossing the finish line.

Darius kept walking, pretending he didn’t hear her. He hadn’t wanted to get caught. This was her moment; she didn’t need him lurking around.

“Mr. Vari!”

Her voice was closer, and he couldn’t pretend he didn’t hear her anymore. He turned. She was running to catch up to him.

Her joy was unmistakable up close. She grinned, and the entire world got brighter. “What are you doing here?”

He could lie, he supposed, but he couldn’t think of anything convincing. “I came to watch you race.”

“You saw it?” Her voice rose with pleasure. “Really? How did you know I’d be here?”

“You mentioned it to someone at work and I overheard.” He shrugged, feeling out of place, like a voyeur who’d been caught. “I wanted to see how you did.”

“I did very well.” She was bouncing on both feet, as if she couldn’t stop moving.

“I know.” This time, he couldn’t keep the smile off his face. “I saw. Your race was spectacular. You sure pissed off that other guy.”

Her grin became mischievous. “He
hated
losing.”

“I think he hated losing to a woman.”

“That too,” she said. “You know, he arranged this race so that he could win.”

Darius leaned his head back in surprise. “He did? How do you know that?”

“You know the guy who fired the starting gun?”

“I saw him. I don’t know him.”

“He’s one of the biggest gossips in all of sport. Not to mention the oogiest toucher.” She shuddered. “When I asked him how the race got organized, he told me who was behind it, and I knew. The races he organizes get shorter and more obscure, and he usually moves on to a new venue for the next year, leaving the other partners behind. I suspect this year he’ll really be gone. He hates losing to anyone, but this’ll be fun. Watch how he posts the results: it’ll be men first, with him as winner with his slow time, and women second, with me as winner with the better time. And there won’t be any overall winner.”

“Doesn’t that bother you?” It bothered Dar. He wanted to find the bigot and set him straight.

Ariel shook her head. Her eyes twinkled. “Doing well is the best revenge. And no matter how he manipulates the numbers, I
won.”

Dar’s grin matched hers. “You did, didn’t you?”

He wanted to hug her but didn’t know how, especially after her comments about the serial hugger. Not to mention the height difference. He would have the disadvantage of hugging her waist, with his face buried in a private part of her anatomy.

Not that he would mind that, but she probably would.

“I’m so glad you came,” she said again, flapping her arms as if she didn’t know what to do with herself.

“What are you going to do to celebrate?”

She wiped a damp strand of hair off her forehead, then shrugged. “Gee, I don’t know. Take a shower?”

He’d invite her to lunch, but it was 9:30 in the morning. “Beer’s not appropriate this early, but we might be able to scrounge up some champagne. Add a little orange juice and it’s perfectly legal.”

“I’d love it,” she said, “but I don’t do alcohol when I’m training. It dehydrates the body and puts the wrong kind of chemicals in.”

Then she rolled her eyes.

“Listen to me. I’m such a tri-geek. I appreciate the offer, really.”

He nodded, feeling awkward again.

“Breakfast would be nice, though. But I have to wait for everyone to get done. They have a ceremony.”

It felt like she was throwing him a bone. He struggled to keep the smile on his face. “I—um, have to be at Quixotic at ten. Maybe the next time?”

“Sure.” She didn’t seem at all upset by his inability to stay. Then she bent and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you for coming. Really. It meant a lot.”

And she danced off, her joy sparking off her like a candle shedding light.

Darius touched his cheek. The kiss had been meaningless, a gesture of thanks, nothing more. But it had sent a shiver of desire through him, followed by a thread of hope.

Which he quickly buried.

She was making the transition away from her obsession to a new and healthier fascination. He had to do the same thing.

He threaded his way through the crowd to his car and headed to Quixotic, even though it was his day off.

Ariel’s limbs tingled and her lungs burned. Even though 5K was an easy length for her, she wasn’t used to going so fast. The race had drained her more than she had thought.

She clutched the small trophy, the certificate done by a local calligrapher, and the free T-shirt she got automatically as the winner, and headed to the parking lot. She had used the showers provided by the organizers, but she had forgotten to bring her own soap. Her skin smelled of industrial cleansers and was already starting to itch.

Still, she had enjoyed herself, more than she ever thought possible.

The race had left her in a good mood, but the cap on her experience had been Vari’s presence. She had been feeling sad and a little sorry for herself when she had arrived at the race location. It seemed she was starting this athletic career the same way she had started the other one—alone.