“Don’t kid yourself,” he argued. “You’re halfway in love with me already. I can see it in your eyes.”
Carol had said something about her eyes revealing what she felt for Nolan, too.
Maryanne whirled around, intent on composing a suitably sarcastic retort, away from his searching gaze. But before any mocking words could pass her lips, a sharp pain shot through her neck, an ache so intense it brought immediate tears to her eyes. She must have moved too quickly, too carelessly.
Her hands flew to the back of her neck.
Nolan was instantly on his feet. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she mumbled, easing her way back to the sofa. She sat down, hand still pressed to her neck, waiting a moment before slowly rotating her head, wanting to test the extent of her injury. Quickly, she realized her mistake.
“Annie,” Nolan demanded, kneeling in front of her, “what is it?”
“I…don’t know. I moved wrong, I guess.”
His hands replaced hers. “You’ve got a crick in your neck?”
“If I do, it’s all your fault. You say the most ridiculous things.”
“I know.” His voice was as gentle as his hands. He began to knead softly, his fingers tenderly massaging the tight muscles.
“I’m all right.”
“Of course you are,” he whispered. “Just close your eyes and relax.”
“I can’t.” How could he possibly expect her to do that when he was so close, so warm and sensual? He was fast making a lie of all her protestations.
“Yes, you can,” he said, his voice low and seductive. He leaned over her, his face, his lips, scant inches from hers. His hands were working the tightness from her neck and shoulders and at the same time creating a dizzying heated sensation that extended to the tips of her fingers and the soles of her feet.
She sighed and clasped his wrist with both hands, wanting to stop him before she made a fool of herself by swaying toward him or doing something equally suggestive. “I think you should stop. Let me rephrase that. I know you should stop.”
“I know I should, too,” he admitted quietly. “Remember what I said earlier?”
“You mean the hands-off policy?”
“Yes.” She could hardly hear him. “Let’s delay it for a day—what do you think?”
At that moment, clear organized thought was something of a problem. “W-whatever you feel is best.”
“Oh, I know what’s best,” he whispered. “Unfortunately that doesn’t seem to make a damn bit of difference right now.”
She wasn’t sure exactly when it happened, but her hands seemed to have left his wrists and were splayed across the front of his T-shirt. His chest felt rigid and muscular; his heart beneath her palms pounded hard and fast. She wondered if her own pulse was keeping time with his.
With infinite slowness, Nolan lowered his mouth to hers. Maryanne’s eyes drifted closed of their own accord and she moaned, holding back a small cry of welcome. His touch was even more compelling than she remembered. Nolan must have felt something similar, because his groan followed, an echo of hers.
He kissed her again and again. Maryanne wanted more, but he resisted giving in to her desires—or his own. It was as if he’d decided a few kisses were of little consequence and wouldn’t seriously affect either one of them.
Wrong. Maryanne wanted to shout it at him, but couldn’t.
His mouth left hers and blazed a fiery trail of kisses across her sensitized skin. His lips brushed her throat, under her chin to the vulnerable hollow. Only minutes earlier, moving her neck without pain had been impossible; now she did so freely, turning it, arching, asking—no, demanding—that he kiss her again the way he had that night at the waterfront.
Nolan complied, and he seemed to do it willingly, surrendering the battle. He groaned anew and the sound came from deep in his throat. His fingers tangled in the thick strands of her hair as his mouth rushed back to hers.
Maryanne was experiencing a renewal of her own. She felt as if she had lain dormant and was bursting to life, like a flower struggling out of winter snows into the light and warmth of spring.
All too soon, Nolan pulled away from her. His eyes met and held hers. She knew her eyes were filled with questions, but his gave her no answers.
He got abruptly to his feet.
“Nolan,” she said, shocked that he would leave her like this.
He looked back at her and she saw it then. The regret. A regret tinged with compassion. “You’re so exhausted you can barely sit up. Go to bed and we’ll both forget this ever happened. Understand?”
Too stunned to reply, she nodded. Maybe Nolan could forget it, but she knew she wouldn’t.
“Lock the door after me. And next time don’t be so eager to find out who’s knocking. There isn’t any doorman here.”
Once more she nodded. She got up and followed him to the door, holding it open.
“Damn it, Annie, don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like that,” he accused, then slowly shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. He rubbed his face and sighed, then pressed his knuckle under her chin. “The two of us are starting over first thing tomorrow. There won’t be any more of this.” But even as he was speaking, he was leaning forward to gently brush her mouth with his.
* * *
It was the sound of Nolan pounding furiously away on his electric typewriter—a heavy, outdated office model—that woke Maryanne the next morning. She yawned loudly, stretching her arms high above her head, arching her back. Her first night in her new apartment, and she’d slept like a rock. The sofa, which opened into a queen-size sleeper, was lumpy and soft, nearly swallowing her up, but she’d been too exhausted to care.
Nolan’s fierce typing continued most of the day. Maryanne hadn’t expected to see him, so she wasn’t disappointed when she didn’t. He seemed determined to avoid her and managed it successfully for most of the week.
Since she’d promised not to make a nuisance of herself, Maryanne kept out of his way, too. She started work at the cleaning company and wrote three articles in five days, often staying up late into the night.
The work for Rent-A-Maid was backbreaking and arduous. She spent three afternoons a week picking up after professional men who were nothing less than slobs. Maryanne had to resist the urge to write them each a note demanding that they put their dirty dishes in the sink and their soiled clothes in the laundry
basket.
Rent-A-Maid had made housekeeping sound glamorous. It wasn’t. In fact, it was the hardest, most physically exhausting job she’d ever undertaken.
By the end of the week, her nails were broken and chipped and her hands were red and chapped.
It was by chance rather than design that Maryanne bumped into Nolan late Friday afternoon. She was carrying a bag of groceries up the stairs when he bounded past her, taking the steps two at a time.
“Annie.” He paused on the landing, waiting for her to catch up. “How’s it going?”
Maryanne didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t very well inform him that the highlight of her week was scraping a crusty patch off the bottom of an oven at one of the apartments she cleaned. She’d had such lofty expectations, such dreams. Nor could she casually announce that the stockbroker she cleaned for had spilled wine on his carpet and she’d spent an hour trying to get the stain out and broken two nails in the process.
“Fine,” she lied. “Everything’s just wonderful.”
“Here, let me take that for you.”
“Thanks.” She handed him the single bag, her week’s allotment of groceries. Unfortunately it was all she could afford. Everything had seemed so exciting when she started out; her plans had been so promising. The reality was proving to be something else again.
; “Well, how do you like cleaning?”
“It’s great, really great.” It was shocking how easily the lie came. “I’m finding it…a challenge.”
Nolan smiled absently. “I’m glad to hear it. Have you got your first paycheck yet?”
“I cashed it this afternoon.” She used to spend more each week at the dry cleaners than she’d received in her first paycheck from Rent-A-Maid. The entire amount had gone for food and transportation, and there were only a few dollars left. Her budget was tight, but she’d make it. She’d have to.
Nolan paused in front of her door and waited while she scrabbled through her bag, searching for the key. “I hear you typing at night,” she said. “Are you working on anything special?”
“No.”
She eyed him curiously. “How fast do you type? Eighty words a minute? A hundred? And for heaven’s sake, why don’t you use a computer like everyone else?”
“Sixty words a minute on a good day. And for your information, I happen to like my electric. It may be old, but it does the job.”
She finally retrieved her key, conscious of his gaze on her hands.
Suddenly he grasped her fingers. “All right,” he demanded. “What happened to you?”
CHAPTER FIVE
“Nothing’s happened to me,” Maryanne insisted hotly, pulling her hand free of Nolan’s.
“Look at your nails,” he said. “There isn’t one that’s not broken.”
“You make it sound like I should be dragged before a firing squad at dawn. So I chipped a few nails this week. I’ll survive.” Although she was making light of it, each broken fingernail was like a small loss. She took pride in her perfect nails, or at least she once had.
His eyes narrowed as he scrutinized her. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”
“I didn’t realize you’d appointed yourself my father confessor.”
Anger flashed in his dark eyes as he took the key from her unresisting fingers. He opened the door and, with one hand at her shoulder, urged her inside. “We need to talk.”
“No, we don’t.” Maryanne marched into the apartment, plunked her bag of groceries on the kitchen counter and spun around to confront her neighbor. “Listen here, buster, you’ve made it perfectly clear that you don’t want anything to do with me. That’s your choice, and I’m certainly not going to bore you with the sorry details of my life.”
He ignored her words and started pacing the small living area, pausing in front of the window. His presence filled the apartment, making it seem smaller than usual. He pivoted sharply, pointing an accusatory finger in her direction. “These broken nails came from swinging a dust mop around, didn’t they? What the hell are you doing?”
Maryanne didn’t answer him right away. She was angry, and his sudden concern for her welfare made her even angrier. “I told you before, I don’t need a guardian.”
“Against my advice, you took that stupid job. Anyone with half a brain would know it wasn’t going to—”
“Will you stop acting like you’re responsible for me?” Maryanne snapped.
“I can’t help it. I am responsible for you. You wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t written that damn column. I don’t want to intrude on your life any more than you want me to, but let’s face it, there’s no one else to look out for you. Sooner or later someone’s going to take advantage of you.”
That did it. Maryanne stalked over to him and jabbed her index finger into his chest with enough force to bend what remained of her nail. “In case you need reminding, I’m my own woman. I make my own decisions. I’ll work any place I damn well please. Furthermore, I can take care of myself.” She whirled around and opened her front door. “Now kindly leave!”
“No.”
“No?” she repeated.
“No,” he said again, returning to the window. He crossed his arms over his chest and sighed impatiently. “You haven’t eaten, have you? I can tell, because you get testy when you’re hungry.”
“If you’d leave my apartment the way I asked, that wouldn’t be a problem.”
“How about having dinner with me?”
The invitation took Maryanne by surprise. Her first impulse was to throw it back in his face. After an entire week of pretending she didn’t exist, he had a lot of nerve even asking.
“Well?” he prompted.
“Where?” As if that made a difference. Maryanne was famished, and the thought of sharing her meal with Nolan was more tempting than she wanted to admit, even to herself.
“The diner.”
“Are you going to order chili?”
“Are you going to ask them to remove the nonexistent bean sprouts from your sandwich?”
Maryanne hesitated. She felt confused by all her contradictory emotions. She was strongly attracted to Nolan and every time they were together she caught herself hoping they could become friends—more than friends. But, equally often, he infuriated her or left her feeling depressed. He made the most outlandish remarks to her. He seemed to have appointed himself her guardian. When he wasn’t issuing decrees, he neglected her as if she were nothing more than a nuisance. And to provide a finishing touch, she was lying to her parents because of him! Well, maybe that wasn’t quite fair, but…
“I’ll throw in dessert,” he coaxed with a smile.
That smile was her Waterloo, yet she still struggled. “A la mode?”
His grin widened. “You drive a hard bargain.”
Maryanne’s eyes met his and although Nolan could make her angrier than anyone she’d ever known, a smile trembled on her own lips.
They agreed to meet a half hour later. That gave Maryanne time to unpack her groceries, change clothes and freshen her makeup. She found herself humming as she applied lip gloss, wondering if she was reading too much into this impromptu dinner date.
When Nolan came to her door to pick her up, Maryanne noted that he’d changed into jeans and a fisherman’s sweater. It was the first time she’d seen him without the raincoat, other than the day he’d played basketball with the neighborhood boys. He looked good. All right, she admitted grudgingly, he looked fantastic.
“You dressed up,” she said before she could stop herself, grateful she’d understated her attraction to him.
“So did you. You look nice.”
“Thanks.”
“Before I forget to tell you, word has it the elevator’s going to be fixed Monday morning.”
“Really? That’s the best news I’ve heard all week.” Goodness, could she take all these glad tidings at once? First Nolan had actually invited her out on a date, and now she wouldn’t have to hike up four flights of stairs every afternoon. Life was indeed treating her well.
They were several blocks from the apartment building before Maryanne realized Nolan was driving in the opposite direction of the diner. She said as much.
“Do you like Chinese food?” he asked.
“I love it.”
“The diner’s short-staffed—one of the waitresses quit. I thought Chinese food might be interesting, and I promise we won’t have to wait for a table.”
It sounded heavenly to Maryanne. She didn’t know how significant Nolan’s decision to take her to a different restaurant might be. Perhaps it was foolish, but Maryanne hoped it meant she was becoming special to him. As if he could read her mind, Nolan was unusually quiet on the drive into Seattle’s International District.
So much for romance. Maryanne could almost hear his thoughts. If she were a betting woman, she’d place odds on the way their dinner conversation would go. First Nolan would try to find out exactly what tasks had been assigned to her by Rent-A-Maid. Then he’d try to convince her to quit.
Only she wasn’t going to let him. She was her own woman, and she’d said it often enough to convince herself. If this
newsman thought he could sway her with a fancy dinner and a few well-spoken words, then he was about to learn a valuable lesson.
The restaurant proved to be a Chinese version of the greasy spoon where Nolan ate regularly. The minute they walked into the small room, Maryanne was greeted by a wide variety of tantalizing scents. Pungent spices and oils wafted through the air, and the smells were so appealing it was all she could do not to follow them into the kitchen. She knew before sampling a single bite that the food would be some of the best Asian cuisine she’d ever tasted.
An elderly Chinese gentleman greeted Nolan as if he were a long-lost relative. The two shared a brief exchange in Chinese before the man escorted them to a table. He shouted into the kitchen, and a brightly painted ceramic pot of tea was quickly delivered to their table.
Nolan and Maryanne were never given menus. Almost from the moment they were seated, food began appearing on their table. An appetizer plate came first, with several items Maryanne couldn’t readily identify. But she was too hungry to care. Everything was delicious and she happily devoured one after another.
“You seem well acquainted with the waiter,” Maryanne commented, once the appetizer plate was empty. She barely had time to catch her breath before a bowl of thick spicy soup was brought to them by the same elderly gentleman. He paused and smiled proudly at Nolan, then glanced at Maryanne, before nodding in a profound way.
“Wong Su’s the owner. I went to school with his son.”
“Is that where you picked up Chinese?”
“Yes. I only know a few words, just enough to get the gist of what he’s saying,” he answered brusquely, reaching for his spoon.
“What was it he said when we first came in? I noticed you seemed quick to disagree with him.”
Nolan dipped his spoon into the soup, ignoring her question.
“Nolan?”
“He said you’re too thin.”
Maryanne shook her head, immediately aware that he was lying. “If he really thought that, you’d have agreed with him.”
“All right, all right,” Nolan muttered, looking severely displeased. “I should’ve known better than to bring a woman to Wong Su’s place. He assumed there was something romantic between us. He said you’d give me many fine sons.”
What Makes a Family Page 23
