If I Can't Have You (29 page)

“I think a touch of wickedness was just below the surface. All it needed was someone like you to bring it out of hiding.”

Trevor gathered Adriana into his arms, cradling her head against his chest. He played with the silkiness of her hair, the soft curve of her ear, cherishing the warmth of her body so close to his. This was a part of lovemaking he’d never indulged in. In the past, sex was a sport. He’d played hard, and he’d always won, but he’d never basked in the glory. He’d just gone off in search of another game.

It wasn’t a game any longer. What he had with Adriana wasn’t a quick seduction and a night of extraordinary sex. It was slow, sweet enchantment
.
It was pure and passionate. It was something enduring, and he couldn’t help but wonder what good thing he’d done in his wicked life to deserve someone so right, someone worth cherishing forever.

“Tell me about your childhood,” she asked, swirling her fingers through the light coating of hair around his navel.

“You know everything there is to know about my past. You’re an expert, remember?”

“You’ve already proved me wrong on more than one occasion. I have the feeling the stories I’ve read are nothing close to the real thing.”

“They’re not, but the truth isn’t worth bringing up.”

Adriana frowned and slid out of his arms.

“You wanted to know every minute detail about
my life. Isn’t it time you divulged something about yours?”

Trevor shook his head, ignoring her plea. He didn’t talk about his past. His memories and nightmares were enough.

He traced a finger over her chest and slipped his hand beneath the sheet, gently caressing one small breast with his palm. “Kiss me, Adriana.”

She pulled away from his hand, but instead of fear in her eyes, this time he saw the sparkle of a smile. “I’m not going to be seduced again. Not now, anyway.”

Climbing from the bed, she swept the sheet around her body and wink
ed as she left him lying naked o
n the middle of the mattress. She sauntered across the room and stood beside the window, smiling back at him over her shoulder just one time before looking out across the estate.

It amazed him how that simple act of bravado made him want her all the more. She was teasing him, and she was going to tease until she got her way. Maybe he should tell her about his past. Maybe she could help him forget.

He crossed the room and stood at her back, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close to his chest.

“I grew up in the middle of all this beauty,” she said. “It’s a lot different from where you grew up, isn’t it?”

Night had rolled in, blanketing the coastline and hiding the view of the Pacific. Still, in the amber glow of lights that lit the estate, he could see the tall, majestic palms that dotted the grounds, the Grecian columns of the temple beside the Poseidon Pool, the marble terraces. Yes, Sparta was different from his Chicago home. Not just in size and beauty, but in atmosphere. Sparta had been a place of parties and good times; his home had had neither.

“The books talked about a crumbling shanty near the railroad yards and the noise of trains switching tracks all day and all night long,” she said, breaking into his thoughts. “I can’t imagine you living anywhere like that.”

“I didn’t. I lived in a penthouse, not a shanty. I had a view of Lake Michigan, not of railroad tracks.”

Adriana twisted around in his arms and tilted her face to his. “But that’s so much different from the stories in the books. Why?”

“I didn’t want the studio knowing anything about my past, so they made up something they thought would get the most sympathy. It worked wonders. Son of a drunken switchman who slipped under the steel wheels of a locomotive. It looks impressive in print, and no other actor could lay claim to the same story.”

“Why didn’t you want them knowing the truth?”

“Because I’d worked too hard to forget the past. I was in Hollywood for nearly ten years before anyone was interested enough to put together a bio on me. My life had changed, and I had no connections with anyone in my old life.”

“What about your parents?”

“All connections I had with them
ceased the moment I got on the
train headed for Hollywood.”

Her soft hand caressed his cheek, offering him comfort he’d thought he no longer needed. He thought the pain of being disowned was gone, but it wasn’t. It was buried deep in his heart. He’d kept it there for nearly twenty years, and every time it tried to come out of hiding, he’d take a drink and push it a little deeper inside.

Grasping her fingers, he drew them to his lips and kissed them. “I don’t want to talk about the past anymore. I’ve got a new life
 
... with you. What happened all those years ago doesn’t matter.”

‘It does matter. You wouldn’t let me run away
from my fears. Well, I’ve got news for you. I’m not going to let you do it, either.”

“What happened to me has never interfered in my life.”

“Maybe it did. Maybe it’s the reason you drink.”

God, why did she con
tinually drone on that
subject?

“I quit drinking. Remember?”

“That doesn’t mean you won’t start again. I know all about drinking. I watched it kill my father. He started drinking when my mother died. He thought he could drink away the pain, but he couldn’t. He thought he could hide the pain, but he couldn’t. You’re trying to hide something, too.”

“I’m not hiding a thing.”

“But you are. Please tell me. Let me help.”

“Stop harping, Adriana. That’s the best way to help.

He stalked across the room and pulled on his jeans.
“I’m going for a walk.”

“Fine. Go for a walk. Run if you want. You can go a hell of a long way, but you can’t run away from whatever it is that’s hurting you.”

She didn’t know what she was talking about. He’d walked away from the pain before. He could easily do it again.

He slammed out of the bedroom, through the sitting room, and took the marble stairs two and three at a time.

The house was quiet. The tourists, the guides, and the caretakers had left hours ago, while Trevor and
Adriana slept and made love, and fed each other the food that had materialized in the dumb waiter.

He didn’t see a soul as he breezed through the hallways, out one of the massive side doors, and down the paths leading to the Poseidon Pool.

The cool evening air beat against him, calming
some of his anger.
A
ll he’d wanted to do was make love to Adriana. He didn’t want to solve his problems, he didn’t want to dredge up the past, and he didn’t want to dwell on his faults. Couldn’t she just leave well enough alone?

Dim white lights shone on the temple when he reached the pool, and a few more cast a soft glow in the water. All else was dark, with the exception of the pale green lights that beamed into the tops of the palms.

There was no one around, and he did what he’d done early that morning to relieve his frustration. He stripped out of his jeans and dived into the Olympic-sized pool, swimming one lap after another. Back and forth, back and forth, until exhaustion grabbed hold of him.

He rested his head on the edge of the pool and closed his eyes. What was the matter with him? He’d long ago admitted to himself that he drank to drown out anything bad in his life. No one had ever cared before. He hadn’t cared, either.

For the first time in his life someone gave a damn about his excesses, and he’d pushed her away. Just as she’d done to him.

God, they were two of a kind.

And he wanted her desperately.

Pushing himself from the water, he combed his fingers through wet hair, then struggled into his jeans. He had to get back to her, and he wasn’t going to run away again.

He found her sitting in the front row of the theater, watching
Captain Caribe
laughing in the face of his captors as a noose was slipped around his neck.

“Pretty brave guy, huh?” Trevor asked, as he sat down beside her and wove his fingers through hers.

“I always thought so.”

The sound quieted around them when Adriana adjusted the volume control on the edge of her seat.
Slowly she turned toward him. “He’s still a hero to me
.”

“He laughed in the face of danger. I picked up a bottle.”

“But someone always came to his rescue. Someone always wrote happy-ending scripts. No one did that for you.”

“You’re making excuses for me.”

Adriana shook her head. “The man on that screen was a dream to me. I fantasized about him. I envisioned him holding me and making love to me, but it was only a dream. You’re real, Trevor. You make me happy and angry, and at times you make me want to cry. I don’t have to fantasize about you holding me because from the moment you stepped into my life
,
you’ve been there for me. I didn’t have to play one of your movies to feel good, you just seemed to know what I needed. You’re the real hero, not Captain Caribe. You’re the one I want to know. Every little detail.”

“You’re back to that again, huh?”

“I told you before I don’t give up easily. I’ve been in love with a myth for a long time. Now I want to know the truth.”

“I don’t even know where to begin.”

“How about the story of you sneaking in the back door of theaters so you could watch Mary Pickford? Truth, or fiction?”

It had been a long time since he’d thought about those early days, yet he recalled them quickly. “I had a nanny who took me to see Mary Pickford movies every chance she could get. We went at least once a month from the time I was six until I was nearly ten. When my parents found out, she got fired. They didn’t exactly approve of actors or movies.”

“Why?”

“I was supposed to study. My father was a lawyer,
and my mother wanted the tradition to follow in the family. They were determined to have someone distinguished carry on the Montgomery name. Frivolous nonsense wasn’t allowed in our home. Of course, I had other ideas. I wanted to be an actor, so I started sneaking away from the house. My first job was taking tickets in a movie house. I didn’t get paid anything, but I did get to see the movies for free.”

“And your parents never found out?”

“One of my tutors caught me.” He drew Adriana’s hands to his lips, kissing her knuckles, then held them close to his chest as he related the story. “They locked me in my room for a week. I was given food, and textbooks to read, but my mother and father refused to see me. Even the maid who brought my food was told not to speak to me.”

Trevor laughed, a useless attempt to relieve some of his tension. “I was only ten. I was scared, and I didn’t want my parents to hate me, so I read the books and studied and I planned to be the kind of son they wanted when they let me out of that room. But at night, when I tried to sleep, I thought about the movies, about being on the screen.”

“I’m so sorry, Trevor.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about. It’s not like I was used to a lot of attention. My father was rarely home and when he was, I was confined to my room and my studies. ‘Children shouldn’t be seen and children shouldn’t be heard,’ that was his theory of fatherhood. My mother wasn’t the affectionate type, either. They never yelled, they never called me names, they just ignored me. I thought if I made a success of my life, they’d love me then, but I stumbled at every turn. I was locked in that bedroom more than once. A week here. Two weeks there.”

Trevor wiped a tear from Adriana’s cheek. He thought he should end his tale, but he’d never told a soul, and it felt good getting it out in the open,
sharing it with someone who’d understand.

“I spent a lot of years trying to be perfect, but at sixteen I decided the life they wanted me to have and the life I wanted were totally different. So I left. I thought they’d come around, that they’d miss me and want me back, but that didn’t happen. I didn’t give up hope, though. I was sure that when they saw me on the screen they’d be happy for me. But, no. The first time I tried calling home, my father told me he didn’t have a son. He wouldn’t listen to my arguments. God, I even begged. My letters came back after that. They didn’t want anything at all to do with me.”

He took a deep breath.
“That,
Adriana, is the story of my life before coming to Hollywood. That’s the story no one else knows but you.”

“Why didn’t you tell Harrison?”

“Some things you just keep private.”

“Maybe he could have helped.”

Trevor shook his head. “Harry Stafford was the best friend I ever had. But Harry didn’t like dealing with problems any more than I did. He just paid out lots of money to keep trouble from getting too close.”

“Do you regret telling me?”

“Sometimes confession’s good for the soul. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I think I can get through anything if you’re by my side, even a sixty-year-old murder that I might have committed.”

“You didn’t. I know it.”