If I Can't Have You

by Patti Berg

“I could have smelled like raspberries, too, if you’d let me shower with you.”

  “I believe you said something about taking things slow and easy.”

  “Maybe I lied.”

  She felt his fingers slide through her hair as he pulled her close, his kisses turning hot and hard. She opened her mouth to him and shivered with excitement when his tongue danced with hers.

  The hand he held against her back tugged at her blouse, pulling it from the waistband of her trousers, and suddenly she felt the warmth of his palm against her bare skin, felt the strength of his chest, the hardness of his desire.

  What little experience she’d had with men hadn’t prepared her for the intensity of his passion, but an instinct as old as time seemed to take over. Like Trevor had done with her blouse, she pulled his shirt from his jeans and slid her fingers over his back. His skin was smooth and warm, and...

  She felt the five welts on his shoulder blade, welts made by another woman at another time in another heat of passion.

  This wasn’t right. It wasn’t right at all.

  She drew away, and his eyes narrowed in question.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  She shook her head, unable to tell him. “Nothing.” She tucked her shirt back under her waistband. “I have an appointment I need to get to.”

  “Don’t run away from me, Adriana.”

  “I have a meeting. You know I have to go.”

  “I’m not interested in your meeting. I’m interested in knowing why you’re running away from the feelings you have for me.”

  “Things are going too fast.”

  “You’re making excuses. Dammit, Adriana, I thought we were beyond all this. I thought you’d finally stopped pulling away from me.”

  “I made a mistake, that’s all. I got wrapped up in the dancing and the music and... and I made a mistake.”

  “You think kissing me was a mistake?”

  “Yes! Letting you into my life was a mistake, too.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re trying to seduce me.”

  He laughed darkly. “And I’ve failed at every attempt because you get scared and run away.”

  “I have good reason to be scared of you.”

  “Give me a reason.”

  “I could give you plenty.”

  “Let’s start with just one.”

  “Okay. That’s easy. I don’t like drunks.”

  “What you like is making excuses rather than facing things head-on.”

  “That’s not true.”

  Trevor shook his head, then ripped open a cabinet above the sink. He pulled down the only bottle of whiskey remaining in the house, twisted off the cap, and poured the amber liquid down the sink.

  “You wanted to see me get rid of the whiskey, well I have. What’s the next reason you have for being afraid of me? My well-documented womanizing? Do you want me to wear blinders, so I’ll never look at another woman?”

  “You’re being ridiculous.”

  “I can stop drinking for you, Adriana. I can easily forget other women because I’m not interested in anyone other than you. But I can’t do the one thing that you really want. I can’t prove to you or to me that I didn’t murder Carole Sinclair. Either you believe in me or you don’t.”

  She looked away from his eyes and walked to the window, staring out at the bright blue sky but seeing nothing. “I want to believe.”

  “Wanting to believe and actually believing are two different things.”

  “What do you want me to do, forget sixty years of speculation about that murder? Do you want me to forget the fact that you woke up in bed with a dead woman? Forget that you were holding the knife and that you were covered with blood?”

  “That’s exactly what I want you to forget.”

  She spun around. “Then you forget it first. You’re the one who brings it up constantly. You’re the one who lies in bed at night tossing and turning, then drowns out the fear with a bottle of whiskey.”

  “I’m not the only one trying to hide.”

  Adriana sighed deeply. They were getting nowhere. The morning had been ruined, all because of those scratches on his back and a reputation and murder he could never live down.

  For the first time in days she wished he’d never stepped foot into her life. She wished that she was lonely again.

  She wished she’d quit lying to herself. She wasn’t afraid of Trevor’s past, she was afraid of herself.

  She was afraid of falling any deeper in love—then losing him.

  She looked at her watch, knowing she had to get away before they said even more things they might regret. “I’ve got a meeting to go to.”

  “Go ahead. Run again, but nothing will have changed while you’re gone.”

  “I’m not running. I’m taking care of business.”

  Turning, Adriana walked out of the kitchen, but she couldn’t miss his parting words.

  “I’ve come sixty years through time to find you, Adriana. You can run from me, push me away, even tell me to leave, but I’m not going to give you up without a fight.”

  What the hell was he doing? For nearly a week he’d done nothing but cook, eat, clip flowers, and feel sorry for his lot in life. But not any longer. He was bored with others telling him what he should or shouldn’t do. Tired of sitting around with nothing fulfilling to occupy his time, with the exception of the glorious moments he spent with Adriana.

  Hell, how could he possibly fight for her or make her love him when he had nothing to offer?

  All of that was going to change, though. He was taking charge of his life. He had to find a job, preferably one in Hollywood. He had to make some money to replace the stash he’d hidden away in 1938 and nearly depleted in 1998. And he had to get that new I.D. He had very little money, no job, and an identity he could never prove. He had to start a new life, and he wasn’t going to sit around and wait for Stewart Rosenblum to call Adriana about the identification. This was one issue he had to take into his own hands.

  Half an hour later Trevor was seated in Stewart’s office. “Any luck obtaining a birth certificate?”

  Rosenblum leaned back in his chair, his hands steepled in front of his face. “Why the hurry? I told Adriana I’d call her when the paperwork was ready.”

  “I need to find a job. It’s difficult getting one without some form of identification.”

  “You could always lie.”

  “I could, but I’ve never been good at it.”

  Rosenblum raised a doubting brow. “My sources tell me otherwise.”

  Stewart reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a file of papers. “I sent someone to that little village in Mexico. Funny thing. No one had ever seen you.”

  “We lived in the mountains,” Trevor lied, keeping calm as he attempted to patch the holes Stewart had uncovered in his story.

  “There are no mountains nearby.”

  “Then your spy must have gone to the wrong Santa Elena.”

  “I don’t think so,” Stewart said. He thumbed through the papers and ran his fingers down a typewritten page of notes.

  “The only Gabrielle Ramon Montgomery we could trace was born in 1872. She was a socialite, the wife of a well-respected Chicago lawyer in the early part of this century. His name, by the way, was Trevor Montgomery.”

  “My grandparents.”

  “You’ve done your homework well, haven’t you?”

  “Actually, I’m quite familiar with my family history.”

  Stewart leaned forward, resting his arms on his desk. “This is quite a little charade you’ve got going. Obviously you’ve done a lot of research trying to find out everything you could about the real Trevor Montgomery. But when you couldn’t figure out what had happened to him after he disappeared, you made up a story to explain your birth. You made a big mistake, though, using the name Gabrielle Ramon.”

  Trevor didn’t let the calm, cool look leave his eyes, in spite of his anger over his mistake. He should have known
better than to use that name. In all his years in Hollywood, no one had ever known the truth about his parents. He didn’t want anyone knowing. Not then. Not now.

  “Who are you?” Stewart asked.

  Trevor met Stewart’s glare eye to eye. He couldn’t back down now. “I’m Trevor Montgomery. Perhaps you haven’t been listening.”

  “Want to make up another story?”

  “I can’t.”

  “I could have you take a lie detector test.”

  “Go right ahead.”

  “The prospect of being proved a liar doesn’t bother you?”

  “Not in the least. Hypnotize me. Give me a lie detector test. Stick me in an office with a psychiatrist for a month and my story won’t change. I am and always have been Trevor Montgomery.”

  Stewart shook his head. “I will prove you’re a fraud.”

  “How? By sending more investigators to Mexico? By sending more photographers to spy on Adriana and me?”

  “Photographers?”

  “The man who’s been watching us. Last night. The day before. He’s not very shrewd. That silver van of his is as inconspicuous as Mae West in a nunnery.”

  Stewart frowned. “Someone else must be investigating you. If I’d hired a photographer, you never would have seen him.”

  “I can’t think of any reason I’d be followed. Maybe it’s Adriana he’s interested in.”

  “Adriana’s name’s been dragged through the papers enough in her lifetime. Why don’t you get out of her life so it doesn’t happen again.”

  “What makes you so sure I’m bad for her?”

  “You’re a fraud.”

  Trevor pushed out of the chair and paced the room. “Tried and convicted without a trial, right? Is that your usual style?”

  “I’m known for making good character judgments. I’ve doubted your claim to be Trevor Montgomery’s son from the moment you threw that insane story at me.”

  “I don’t care what you think about me. Investigate me all you want, you’re not going to find a thing. But I’ll clear up one thing in your mind right now. I have no intention of hurting Adriana. I care for her. I’d get out of her life if I thought being with her was going to cause her any harm.”

  “I could almost believe you’re sincere.”

  Trevor braced his hands on the desk and glared at Stewart. “I’ve never been more sincere about anything in my life.”

  Stewart pulled an envelope from the file he’d compiled on Trevor’s made-up past and slowly pushed it across the table. “That’s the identification you want. It doesn’t matter much to me who you say you are, but maybe you’ll take that and get out of Adriana’s life.”

  Trevor took the envelope, not bothering to look inside. He didn’t care much for Stewart Rosenblum, but he trusted him to do what Adriana had asked.

  “It’s been a very interesting conversation, Stewart. I’d hoped we could be friends, for Adriana’s sake. But that doesn’t seem possible.”

  “I’m sure she’ll be wanting you out of her life as soon as she hears this news about you. Then we won’t have to bother becoming friends.”

  Trevor grinned. “She knows that story already. In fact, she’s the one who made it up.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  “Why don’t you ask her, since you find what I say difficult to believe.”

  “Perhaps I will, as soon as my investigator gets back to me with a few other pieces of information.”

  “It’s going to take a hell of a lot better information than what you’ve already come up with to make her change her mind about me.”

  “Then I’ll keep digging.”

  Stewart pushed up from his desk, walked across the room and opened the door. “I’m a busy man, Mr.... Montgomery.”

  He’d been branded a murderer, a womanizer, an alcoholic, and now a fraud. Maybe sticking around in 1938 would have been easier.

  But Adriana was in 1998. She made all the accusations easier to bear. Besides, he said he’d fight for her. He meant it, too.

  He held out his hand when he got to the door, but Stewart ignored his gesture. Hell! He was getting awfully tired of people backing away from him.

  “I’ll be watching you,” Rosenblum said. “And I’ll be keeping an eye on Adriana, too. Make sure you don’t hurt her.”

  Hurt Adriana? That wasn’t his plan at all. He was going to seduce her, and he wasn’t going to wait another night. She’d pulled away one too many times, but she wasn’t going to back away from him again.

  When he looked into Adriana’s eyes he could see the want and need. It was mixed in with a hell of a lot of fear, but that was something they could overcome. She had to give in to her own feelings.

  He walked out of Stewart’s office knowing exactly what he had to do. Something completely unexpected. Something wicked. He’d done a lot of wicked things in the past, and he’d tried to be so damn good since he’d stepped into the future. But he was tired of being good.

  Chapter 15

  All afternoon Adriana had thought about Trevor’s wish that she believe in him. If only she could snap her fingers and wish away the doubt, but she couldn’t. As much as his touch set her on fire, as much as she wanted to spend an eternity in his arms, at the back of her mind was the fear.

  He could be a murderer.

  He’s a drunk and might never change.

  He’s a seducer of women.

  Those things haunted her, but in spite of her fear she was easily drawn in by the power of his smile, his charms, his enticing voice that rang with laughter or whispered with passion. He was everything she’d longed for in a man.

  The man she was falling in love with wasn’t a dream. He was real—flesh and blood. A man with faults. He’d held her, he’d kissed her, he’d made her laugh, made her angry. He’d made her feel when for so very long she’d felt nothing.

  The man she was falling in love with was better than a dream. And she wanted so very much to believe in him.

  The car’s headlights flashed across the patio as she pulled into the driveway, and she could see Trevor relaxing in one of the chairs, legs crossed, a crystal wine goblet in his hand.

  So much for belief.

  Slamming the car door, she headed toward the patio. The sleeves were rolled up on his white cotton shirt. He was barefoot and wearing the black Levi’s that had become as much a part of him as the wineglass in his hand. His eyes smoldered as they looked at her. He didn’t smile. He didn’t frown. He just watched intensely. Slowly he raised the glass and took a sip of the wine.

  “What are you doing?” she asked angrily. “You promised not to drink anymore.”

  A slow grin crossed his face. “What I’m doing, Adriana, is making you angry. Has anyone ever told you how pretty you are when you get upset?”

  “Don’t change the subject.”

  He swirled the wine around in his glass. “I can’t think of a better subject to discuss than you. Where should we begin? The brightness of your eyes? The way your cheeks are blushing right this moment?”

  “You’re ignoring me.”

  “Never. I’m just admiring the view.”

  Adriana turned away. “I don’t want to be looked at.”

  She thought about going in the house. She thought about kissing the smugness off his face. Damn! Why did he have to infuriate her so? Why did he have to make her blood boil and her heart pound when she knew she should run away from him?

  From the corner of her eye she could see him lift a bottle and refill his glass. “Care for some?”

  Her head snapped around and she glared at him. “How can you ask me that?”

  “Quite easily,” he said, taking another sip. “Sparkling cider’s not all that bad. Of course, if you’re not thirsty...”

  Her glare shot from Trevor’s arrogant face to the light green bottle that, indeed, said sparkling cider, then back again to his face.

  What had gotten into him? She didn’t like his idea of a joke. She didn’t like the way he was
trying to make her mad.

  Turning, she took one step toward the house, but Trevor wrapped his fingers around her arm and held her back.

  “I’m not through admiring the view.”

  Her chin jutted out. “I’m not here for your amusement.”

  He smiled wickedly. “It’s pleasure I’m after, not amusement.”

  A quiver ran through her chest, her belly, her very soul.

  He planned to seduce her.

  She planned to let him.

  She hoped.

  His fingers loosened around her arm as he stood. Slowly, methodically, he set the glass on the table, then pulled the strap of her purse from her shoulder and discarded it next to the glass. Her briefcase was next.

  He gently curled her hair behind her ears, trailing his fingers along her jaw and down to the hollow of her throat. She could hardly breathe or swallow; she was too mesmerized by his eyes, his touch, the seductive sound of his voice.

  “Take off your shoes, Adriana.”

  “Why?”

  He put a finger to her lips and silenced her. “Don’t ask questions. Just trust me.”

  Was she making a mistake? Would she regret doing what he asked? It didn’t seem to matter after she looked into his eyes. The intensity of his desire seemed to hypnotize her. Right now she’d do anything he wanted.

  She stepped out of her sandals onto the terra-cotta tile. It was warm, but it was his eyes that sent fingers of heat rippling through her body.

  What would he ask her to do next?

  “Kiss me.”

  ‘That’s all?” she asked, a bit wary of what the kiss might lead to, a bit disappointed that he might not want more.

  He grinned as he silenced her again.

  “Don’t talk. Just kiss me.”

  It seemed an easy enough request.

  Standing on her tiptoes, she leaned forward and gently kissed his lips, then waited for his next request.

  His eyes flickered to the silk of her shirt, to the lace concealing her breasts. She took a long, deep breath as he watched her chest rise and fall.

  Suddenly, he swept her up in his arms, and carried her like a babe toward the stairs leading to the beach.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Showing you what pleasure’s all about.”