If I Can't Have You (16 page)

If she wasn’t careful, she could end up there herself.

But she was always careful. She wasn’t going to make an exception for Trevor Montgomery, no matter what he said or did.

“I’ve been thinking about all the things you need to start over,” she said as she skirted around Trevor, attempting to open a cabinet without touching his clothes, his skin, or any part of that body that radiated so much heat and passion.

“I’m glad one of us is levelheaded,” he said. “I haven’t given any thought at all to the future. Instead, I’ve been thinking about you, about your
smile, about the way you rarely laugh, and the fact that you’re afraid to let me touch you.”

“None of those things are important right now,” Adriana tossed back, somewhat ignoring his words as she gathered plates, silver, and napkins to set the table.

“They’ll matter sooner or later, especially if I’m going to be living with you.”

Adriana glared at him, at his smile, at the lights glinting off his smoldering eyes. “Living here is only temporary,” she reminded him, again concentrating on setting the table, trying not to think about how good his words made her feel. “Right now, we need to get you a Social Security card.”

“I have one. Of course, I’m not too sure I like this new idea of giving the government money to take care of me in my old age, but the studio insisted everyone apply for one early last year.”

Adriana smiled at his words, remembering that Social Security was a brand-new plan in 1938. “It’s an old idea, Trevor. People have been giving money to the government for years. You’d be collecting it now if...”

“If I hadn’t disappeared? If I was ninety-four years old and still alive?”

She found it difficult to picture Trevor as an old man. He was too virile, too attractive. Too, too perfect. She forced herself not to think of him, but of the subject at hand.

“You can’t use your Social Security number. It’s too old. People would question your identity.”

“People on the street are going to question my identity.”

Again she shook her head and smiled. “You’ve been gone for sixty years and, I’m sorry to say, you’re not exactly a hot item in Hollywood anymore. I seriously doubt anyone will point at you
when you walk down the street and say “There’s Trevor Montgomery.’
 
”

“Ah, fame is so fleeting.”

He said it jokingly, but she sensed the loss of his identity hurt him deeply.

“I never forgot you,” she whispered.

“For which I’m extremely thankful.”

He joined her at the table, placing a plate before her that contained an omelet rich with butter and cheese. It smelled like heaven. It had been a long time since she’d indulged in anything so decadent. It was just one more sinful thing to add to the list of things she’d given in to since Trevor had come into her life.

It was one more thing her father wouldn’t have approved of. Sweets. Fats. Men. But she was able to forget her father and the fact that he found disfavor with anything unhealthy or fun when she noticed the way Trevor studied her mouth as she tasted a bite of egg and cheese.

“You have nice lips, Adriana.”

“I’m sure you say that to all the girls, but that’s beside the point.”

“What is the point?” he asked, his eyes still concentrating on her lips.

She chewed the omelet and his intense scrutiny-nearly made her choke as she tried to swallow. “Let’s see, you need a new Social Security number, a driver’s license, and a birth certificate. I suppose you’ll need a new name, too.”

Trevor’s fork stopped midway to his mouth. “The name sticks. I wouldn’t let the studio change my name, and I’m not going to let you change it, either.”

“I can probably explain a mystery man showing up on my doorstep named Joe Jones, but I’ll never be able to explain Trevor Montgomery. You look too much like him.”

“I
am
him! I don’t intend to be anyone else. You
can make up some cockeyed story about my history, but you’re not changing my name.” Trevor shoved the eggs into his mouth. “And while you’re at it, do you mind explaining to me how you propose to get a birth certificate for me? I was born ninety-four years ago. Don’t you think someone will question my birth year when they look at the certificate and look at me?”

“I’m not going to get a copy of your original birth certificate, I’m going to get a new one. Baby boy Montgomery, born in some month on some day in 1964.”

“Do you propose to get this certificate illegally?”

Adriana nodded.

“Do you do illegal things often?”

“Never.”

“And what makes you think you can do it now?”

“Connections. Money.”

“You’re not involved with the mob, are you?”

Adriana smiled and took a bite of the omelet. The thought of her doing something wrong and possibly being involved with the mob seemed to make him uncomfortable. It felt only right to let him squirm after the way he’d stared at her lips and made her absolutely miserable.

She chewed slowly. “This is delicious.”

“Of course it is. I’m a good cook. But don’t ignore my question. Are you involved with the mob?”

“Would that bother you?”

“Of course it would bother me. I’ve never done anything illegal in my life.”

Except maybe kill someone,
Adriana thought. Suddenly the omelet didn’t taste so good, and her teasing was no longer fun.

“I’m not involved with the mob,” she said, turning serious once again. “My attorney knows his way around the system. He can get all the I.D. you need. Then you’re set.”

“Does being set mean you’ll be through with me? That you’ll kick me out?”

“It simply means you’ll be able to go on with your life.”

Trevor leaned back in his chair. “But I’ll always have the old life hanging over my head, all the fears, all the uncertainty.”

Adriana wished those things had disappeared when he’d traveled through time. Of course, maybe that’s why he’d come forward to 1998—to find out the truth, to rid himself of all the uncertainty.

“We’ll work on the identification first,” she said softly. “Later, I’ll help you deal with the rest.”

oOo

Trevor studied himself in the bathroom mirror, surprised by the image he saw. Gone was the slicked-back hair, the pencil-thin mustache. Gone was the man who’d graced movie screens and magazine covers around the world. This was a new role he was playing—the clean-cut all-American boy next door instead of the dashing, daring, devil-may-care hero.

He didn’t know if he was up for the part. He didn’t know if he could give up the liquor, the parties, the women...

No, with Adriana in his life,
having other women around didn’t matter. She piqued his curiosity. She was using every ounce of her will to fight him, but what she didn’t realize was that it was having just the opposite effect.

No woman had ever fought him before. The conflict between them roused his passion, the challenge stirred his desire. Winning her over slowly would be the greatest triumph of his life.

Losing her was something he’d never accept.

He wiped the last speck of shaving cream from his jaw, folded the towel neatly, and laid it next to the sink.

Again he looked at the new man in the mirror and hoped he could be all that Adriana needed.

He found her in the living room, scribbling away at her desk.

“Well, what do you think?”

She turned around and he saw her eyes narrow into a frown. It wasn’t a very good beginning.

“You look so different,” she said.

“Good or bad?”

“Do you want an honest answer?”

He nodded, although it appeared she was going to deliver some ego-shattering words.

“I liked the other you,” she told him. He watched the way her eyes focused on his hair, on the strand that still hung over his forehead, at his clean-shaven upper lip. “It doesn’t seem right that you’re having to make so many changes.”

“I’m an actor, and this is just one more role to play. It doesn’t bother me nearly as much as it seems to bother you.”

“It’s just that... well, I liked your mustache, I liked the way you wore your hair. I was used to you the other way.”

“You’ve just met me. All you knew before was some man on a movie screen.”

Adriana looked away, absently doodling on a piece of paper. When she spoke, her words were soft and reflective. “I fell in love with the man on that movie screen.”

Trevor leaned over her desk, inhaling a hint of sweet perfume. “What was it you loved about Trevor Montgomery?” he asked. “His looks? His playboy image?”

“You’re laughing at me.”

“I just want to know how you could have loved a figment of some studio mogul’s imagination.”

“
The Trevor Montgomery I saw on that screen was everything good. He was handsome and carefree.
He was gentle but strong. He loved hard and he loved forever. Any woman in her right mind would have fallen in love with him.”

“The women on screen fell in love with a character in a script. Other women fell in love with who they thought was Trevor Montgomery. But no woman ever got close enough to him to know what he was really like.” He swept her soft blond hair behind her ear so he could see her pretty face, see the expression in her eyes. “Are you interested in knowing the real me?”

“Do you think I can separate fact from fiction?”

“Only if you want to. That decision’s entirely up to you.”

He listened to her sigh. He wanted to kiss her. But not right now. Not until she wanted it just as badly as he did.

She looked at the slim gold watch on her wrist, a watch that didn’t come close to hiding the bruises he’d put there.

How could she possibly want him after what he’d done? He had to make up for it. He had to.

She straightened the already-neat papers on her desk, obviously doing anything she could to avoid him. “We have an appointment with my attorney at one o’clock,” she said. “He’s an old friend. I’m sure he’ll help us out.”

“I’ll be on my best behavior.”

“Just don’t forget who you’re supposed to be.”

“I’m a quick study, Adriana. I’ve never flubbed my lines before.”

“This isn’t just any role, Trevor. It’s your life we’re dealing with.”

“I’ll play the role perfectly. Everyone will believe I am who I say.”

Slowly, very, very slowly, he caressed her cheek.

“Only you will know the real me, Adriana. Only you.”

“Let me get this straight,” Stewart Rosenblum said as he leaned into his black-leather executive chair. “You’re Trevor Montgomery’s son?”

Trevor nodded, smiling his long-ago famous Trevor Montgomery smile, the one the columnists said made his brown eyes sparkle, the cleft in his chin deepen. He might have shaved off the pencil-thin mustache that appeared in all his movies, he might have softened the style of his hair and modernized his clothes, but no one could mistake his smile for anyone’s but Trevor’s.

“You know, son, a million people would pay you top dollar to see your dad, to talk to him and find out if he killed Carole Sinclair.”

“He didn’t kill her,” Trevor said adamantly. “And I’d pay top dollar if I could see my dad again, too. Unfortunately... he’s dead.”

Trevor couldn’t help but notice the way the attorney studied his face, obviously looking for signs that he was lying, but Trevor had long been able to fool the public. His acting was too real, too true to form.

Still, Stewart continued the interrogation.

“Why did he disappear? Why didn’t he turn himself in to the police and explain what happened?”

“Because he didn’t know what happened,” Trevor said, easily remembering the events of that morning in 1938 and the night before, but nothing in between. “He was with Carole. Everyone knew it. They’d driven away from a party together and gone to Carole’s home in Santa Monica. He drank too much.” Trevor looked at Adriana, at the concern in her eyes as he related the story. “My father always drank too much, but that night it was more than normal.”