by Patti Berg
Slipping into the kitchen without him seeing her, she curled up in a chair and watched him chopping onions and bell pepper. He was dressed in the white shirt again and the black Levi’s. She really should consider buying him a few more changes of clothes, although he looked rather handsome dressed in the jeans.
His feet were bare and he tapped his toes as he whistled. He reached for the cigarette resting on the edge of the sink and sucked the smoke and nicotine into his lungs. It looked so sexy, so glamorous in the movies, and it seemed so much a part of him that she didn’t have the heart right now to ask him to stop.
He blew out a puff of smoke and slowly cocked his head to peer at her over his shoulder. “Are you going to stare at me all morning, or try some of my coffee?”
“You knew I was here?”
“I have very good hearing. I could almost hear you breathing when you watched me from the patio during the night”
“You knew?”
He stubbed the cigarette out in one of the ashtrays that had once belonged to him, then took a long drink of coffee. “I’d hoped you’d come. I wouldn’t have bet on it, though.”
Adriana crossed the room and poured the thick, strong brew into a cup. It didn’t look the least bit appetizing, but Trevor was drinking it down as if it was water.
“Need any help?” she asked, looking at half a dozen eggs resting on the counter along with a slab of cheddar cheese.
“I’ve got it well under control, but thanks. Thanks for shopping last night, too. You could have waited until today.”
“You were hungry, and I needed some time away.”
Trevor smiled and turned back to the counter.
“Your cooking skills surprise me,” she said, curling up once again in the chair.
“I wasn’t always rich and famous. I didn’t always have a cook to prepare my meals, either.”
“What about the women in your life? Surely they would have cooked for you.”
“I rarely stayed in a woman’s bed till morning, and the women I knew were interested in things other than making my breakfast.”
“You’re awfully proud of your sexual encounters, aren’t you?”
Trevor dropped half a cube of butter into a pan and tossed the wrapper into the trash. He wiped his hands on a towel and turned around. A slow grin crossed his face. “You seem to be an expert on my life. What do you think?”
“That you were lonely.”
He laughed and went back to work on the onion, tossing it into the sizzling butter. “I didn’t have time to be lonely. I’m surprised you’re not aware of that.”
“Well, there were rumors about a lot of women.”
“And, naturally, the gossip columns don’t lie. Let’s see, supposedly I was with a different woman every night of the week. Women came into my dressing room in the afternoons, and I indulged my carnal appetite in a very expedient manner.”
“Is it true?”
“Not the expedient part.” He winked. “I like taking my time and enjoying myself.”
“You don’t deny the rest?”
“I like women, Adriana. I’ve never denied that to anyone. I won’t deny it to you, either.”
Adriana swirled the coffee in her cup, watching it go around and around. It was a safer place to look than into Trevor’s eyes. She could easily see why so many women had fallen for him, why they’d gone to his dressing room in the afternoons, and to his bed at night.
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 nod
ded.
“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.”
Chapter 9
“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.”
“Why?” Stewart asked, and Trevor rested his forearms on Stewart’s desk.
“He didn’t want to be with Carole,” Trevor said, “but she was his costar, and the studio wanted him to play up the romance, make the filmgoers th
ink they were just as much an item in real life as they were on the screen. Good gossip brought a lot more people to the theaters back then.”
Stewart grinned, his look somewhat skeptical. “Your father told you an awful lot, didn’t he?”
Trevor leaned back, absently stroking the mustache that was no longer there. “He had no one else to talk to.”
“So what did he tell you about running away? Why did he disappear?”
The worry in Adriana’s eyes had heightened, and he knew she was afraid that he’d say the wrong thing, that Stewart wouldn’t believe him, that someone would learn that he’d traveled through time. What would happen then? Would he be hauled off to some laboratory for study?
Would Adriana care? That was the only thing that really mattered to him now. That he wouldn’t disappoint Adriana. That he’d look good in her eyes.
He’d always wanted to look good in people’s eyes. The hell of it was, he’d never succeeded with the people who’d mattered the most—his parents. Adriana was giving him more of a chance than they ever had. Maybe she was an angel after all.
“If I tell you what happened,” Trevor said, “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t talk about it with anyone but us.”
“Stewart’s a friend. And he’s your attorney now, too,” Adriana said. “He’ll keep everything you tell him confidential.”
She reached over, and Trevor thought for sure she was going to squeeze his hand, but she drew away. It didn’t matter. Her smile gave him reassurance enough.
Trevor looked back at Stewart, ignoring the way he was staring at Adriana, at him, probably wondering what kind of relationship they shared. He couldn’t let the man’s scrutiny bother him. Right now he was forced to think of the all-too-real events of that evening and relate them to Stewart, substituting my father for I.
“My father told me that the last thing he remembered was climbing into bed with Carole and passing out. When he woke, he was covered with her blood, and he had a knife in his hand.”
“Then he did murder her,” Stewart stated, already assuming the worst.
“I don’t think so. Trouble is, he couldn’t remember.”
“Then why didn’t he stick around? Why didn’t he call for help?”
