Can't Stop Loving You Page 8

  “Stop it, Noah!” she said in disgust.

  “Stop what?”

  “Stop talking to me that way. If you’re so angry that you can’t be reasonable, then you should just go.”

  “I’m not going anywhere, Mariel. I have as much a right to be here as you do. She’s my daughter, too.”

  She’s my daughter.

  He had never spoken the words out loud. Hearing them made it all so surreal. Here they were, parents arguing over their child, as countless sets of parents had done since the beginning of time. If he tried hard enough, for a moment he could forget that they had given up the baby and gone their separate ways.

  But they weren’t a family, he and Mariel and Amber Steadman. They were three isolated human beings who had lived separate lives except for the briefest interlude, and this didn’t change anything.

  “Noah,” Mariel said, and he realized that uncomfortable silence had hung between them as his thoughts careened on another tangent. “I called you because I needed to know if she had tried to reach you. I thought maybe she had. Your name is on the papers.”

  “Well, she didn’t try to reach me,” he said, filled with disappointment and regret and, yes, envy. He envied Mariel, who had been given a chance that hadn’t been given to him. If his daughter had contacted him, he would have jumped at the chance to know her. To help her. And maybe to fill the gaping hole in his life.

  He drew a deep breath and told Mariel, “I’m going to call the police and find out what they know, because if those people who raised her have hurt her in any way—”

  “Noah, you can’t just call the police,” she cut in. “They’ll think you’re involved.”

  “Well, they’ll figure out soon enough that I’m not. I’m just an outsider.”

  “Exactly.”

  Her voice was suddenly soft. He was startled by the shift in her tone and saw that she was looking directly at him for a change.

  “You and I are both outsiders, Noah. We’re strangers to her,” she said. “You’re the only other person in the world who knows how I feel. How it’s possible to care so much about someone whose life only slightly touched yours.”

  “Slightly? Her life turned ours upside down,” Noah said with a shudder of emotion. “If none of this had happened…well, who knows.”

  He couldn’t tear himself from her somber green gaze. His own gaze locked on her face, he took a step closer, speaking without allowing himself to think, to censor. “I swear, I have wondered every day for fifteen years what happened to you, and to her,” he told Mariel, his voice ragged.

  “I’ve done the same thing,” she said, barely above a whisper. “I wanted her to be alive, and okay. And I wanted you…I wanted you to be—”

  “What?” he asked, when she didn’t finish.

  She said nothing.

  He swallowed over the lump that had risen in his throat. This was Mariel. He had known her so intimately, yet so fleetingly, so long ago, and now she was here in front of him and it was as though time had stood still. He still wanted her, Lord help him, and he could swear she felt the same about him.

  “Where have you been, Noah?” she asked finally, still staring at him. “Are you married? Do you have children?”

  “No children,” he returned. “Just her. If you count her.”

  “I do,” she said softly. “What about a wife?”

  “No wife.” His hands clenched into fists at his sides. “There was a wife, but not anymore.”

  Her expression was impossible to read as she asked, “What happened?”

  She chose herself over having a family with me. Just like you did, Mariel.

  “Irreconcilable differences,” he said aloud. “We wanted different things.”

  “How long were you married?”

  “Seven years. The divorce will be final this month. What about you?”

  “Me? I’m not divorced.”

  His heart plummeted. “Oh,” he said, his tone carefully neutral.

  “I’ve never been married.”

  His heart soared. “Oh.” His tone was still neutral. He didn’t want her to know what an impact those words had on him. Hell, he didn’t want them to have an impact. Her marital status was none of his business. He couldn’t care less if she had a husband and five kids back home in Rockville or wherever the hell she was from.

  Yeah, right.

  “What do you do?” she asked, and it took him a moment to comprehend the question.

  “I work in the creative department of an advertising agency.”

  “Really?” She looked impressed. Well, she always did want to be an actress, he thought wryly. There was nothing impressive about his job.

  “Do you enjoy it?” she asked.

  “Not at all,” he said truthfully. “It’s not what I ever envisioned myself doing.”

  “Then, why are you doing it?”

  Because my wife made me.

  “Because I needed to earn a living in New York, and screenwriters who don’t sell anything can’t afford astronomical rent.”

  “You’re a screenwriter?”

  “In my dreams,” he said on a bitter laugh. “I’ve got a dozen half-written screenplays, and I keep telling myself that someday I’m going to sit down and finish one and sell it.”

  “Why haven’t you?”

  “Burn out, I guess,” he told her, unsettled by his own candor, yet unable to do anything about it. “My job is a rat race. I spend my days catering to demanding clients and reworking lines of copy hundreds of times. It’s hard to feel inspired after that. But I don’t know, maybe now that…”

  “Now that what?” she asked when he trailed off.

  He had been about to say now that Kelly was gone, but he didn’t want to go there. Not now. Not with her. Instead, he said honestly, “Now that I’m getting older, maybe I’ll give it another go. Maybe I’ll leave the rat race and go someplace where life isn’t so hectic and the cost of living isn’t so expensive, and I’ll just…write.”

  She nodded, a faraway expression in her eyes.

  “What are you thinking?” he asked.

  “That you’re describing Rockton. Life isn’t hectic there, and it’s definitely affordable. But the rat race sounds a lot more appealing to me,” she said. “I mean, New York is where I always pictured myself living. I was going to be a big star. And now look at me.”

  He was looking at her. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her. “What do you do in Rockton, Mariel?”

  “I teach first grade. Careful, don’t fall over,” she said, catching sight of his astonishment. “I know. It’s not what I ever imagined myself doing, either.”

  “Do you like it?”

  “I love it,” she said with a smile. “The children are so sweet, and I like to think that I make a huge difference in their lives. That’s amazing to me, that I have such an opportunity to help guide all these little people at the beginning of an important path. I never knew I had it in me to do something so…”

  “Noble,” he supplied when she seemed to be searching for a word.

  “Noble? I never thought of it that way.” She leveled a gaze at him. “And I never thought I’d hear you call me that, Noah. Not when five minutes ago you were telling me how much you hate me.”

  “I never said I hated you,” he told her, his mind whirling with thoughts he was powerless to stop or even pin down and consider.

  “You didn’t have to say it. It was obvious.”

  “It’s obvious that I hate you?” he echoed, his heart pounding. “Right now? You feel as though I hate you?”

  She looked up at him, studying his face.

  And then, seized by an impulse he couldn’t control, he bent his head and kissed her.

  As Noah’s lips came down over hers, Mariel met him hungrily, too far gone to think clearly. She wanted this as she had never wanted anything in her life.

  He tasted of mint toothpaste and he smelled of soap, and when he touched the sides of her face as he kissed her, she q
uivered, remembering that yes, this was exactly how it was, kissing Noah. This was how he had always begun when he kissed her—by touching her face, cupping her cheeks in his hands as he slowly moved his lips over hers.

  It was good, so incredibly good, to be kissed by him again. When he opened his mouth she did as well, welcoming his warm, gently probing tongue. And when he leaned into her, she sank back on the bed, her hands on his shoulders, pulling him down on top of her. Her stomach was fluttering like mad and her mind was racing and she couldn’t think clearly; all she could do was feel. And need.

  She needed him desperately—had needed him for years—and now he was here. They were back in this inn in this town—

  Then she remembered why.

  She froze, then turned her head, breaking off the kiss.

  “What is it?” he whispered, but when she opened her eyes she saw that he, too, had just remembered what was going on.

  They sat up, and for a moment the only sound in the room was their breathing. She waited for her pulse to slow, for the aching need to subside, but it didn’t happen. Every ounce of her energy was focused on the overwhelming desire to throw herself into his arms again, to beg him to finish what he had started and damn the consequences.

  “What the hell are we doing?” he asked, standing.

  She gazed up at him, standing there without a shirt, taking in his strong biceps and upper arms and his broad, hairless chest and the taut muscles of his torso. He wore a pair of faded blue jeans that hugged his hips and couldn’t hide the blatant fact that he was as passionately drawn to her as she was to him.

  She dragged her attention to his face—that darkly handsome face that had haunted her dreams all these years. It was the same in so many ways—the same thick, dark lashes fringing his dark eyes, the same strong jaw and full lips and cleft in his chin. Yet there was no sign of the sweet, earnest boy she had once known, only a rugged man who was determined to be nobody’s fool.

  “We can’t do this,” she said, but she was trying to convince herself more than him, and he wasn’t arguing.

  He shook his head, disgust blatant on his face. When he spoke, she realized that he was disgusted with himself as much as he was with her—or maybe, instead of her. The hatred and resentment and anger she had glimpsed earlier were no longer evident as he said, “I’m sorry, Mariel. I don’t know what I was thinking. I wasn’t thinking—that was the problem. But it won’t happen again.”

  “No,” she said, wondering if he could hear the warble of disappointment in her voice. “It definitely won’t happen again.”

  “What are we going to do?” he asked, pacing over to the window, his hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans. She wondered if it was to relieve the pressure or to hide his arousal from her, and she felt a pang of regret. She hated this. Yet she had done it to herself. She had summoned him to Strasburg, and now she had to deal with the consequences.

  “We’re going to keep our hands off of each other,” she said firmly. “That’s what we’re going to do.”

  He turned, amusement flashing in his dark eyes. “I didn’t mean that. That’s a given.”

  “Oh.” She felt a hot flush on her cheeks.

  “I meant, what are we going to do about Amber Steadman? Now that we’re both here…what’s our next step?”

  She hadn’t thought beyond finding out whether Amber had e-mailed him. She certainly hadn’t thought about the two of them in Strasburg, dealing with this together.

  There was such comfort in the realization that she was no longer alone that she shoved aside the turmoil and embarrassment over what had just happened between them, focusing at last on the more pressing issue at hand.

  “We have to find out what happened to her, Noah.”

  “I agree. But if the police are working on it, we should—”

  “No. We can’t go to the police,” she cut in firmly.

  “I think you’re wrong. I think we have to go to the police. We need to tell them that she contacted you. She was reaching out to find her birth mother, and now she’s disappeared. That can’t be a coincidence.”

  “That’s exactly what I thought,” Mariel told him. “But instead of going to the police, maybe we should start with the parents.”

  “I think that’s just asking for trouble. They’ll be suspicious. Besides, if they’re guilty of treating her badly or doing anything that would lead her to run away—”

  “Then we’ll probably sense it, Noah. We’ll probably be able to tell if there was something going on there.”

  “Not necessarily. We’re not detectives, Mariel. We’re just—”

  “Strangers. I know. Strangers who—” Her voice broke, and she felt tears building in her eyes.

  “Strangers who care,” he said gently, walking back over to stand above her.

  He seemed to hesitate before laying a hand on her shoulder and patting her. “Look, I feel the same way you do, Mariel. We’re in the same boat. So let’s help each other with this, okay?”

  She nodded, wanting to lean into him for support, but knowing that the slightest physical contact between them was dangerous.

  “We’ll go see her parents in the morning,” Noah conceded. “You look as exhausted as I feel. For now, let’s get some sleep.”

  “Okay.”

  But sleep was the last thing on her mind when he left her alone in her room and she climbed into bed at last.

  For countless recent nights, her daughter had occupied her thoughts.

  Now, as she tossed and turned in the hot, humid third-floor room, all she could think about was Noah.

  Seeing him again—kissing him again—had reawakened feelings she had tried so hard, for so long, to escape.

  Now he was here, and there was no possible escape.

  She couldn’t leave Strasburg until she found out what had happened to Amber.

  She would just have to be strong enough to resist her attraction to Noah, and hope that he would do the same.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Mariel met Noah in the dining room at nine o’clock Sunday morning, just as they had arranged.

  She had planned to be there first, so that she could be settled in and compose herself to see him again. But the alarm she had set on the bedside table didn’t go off, and she found herself scrambling to get ready on time. It was ten past nine when she finally showed up in the big, elegant dining room and found him seated in the far corner at a round table for two.

  The place was crowded with other guests and what appeared to be local families coming from early mass. As Mariel made her way through the dining room she felt self-consciously casual in her khaki shorts, sandals, and pale green, sleeveless T-shirt, her hair pulled into a high ponytail to keep it off her neck in the heat.

  She had taken a few moments to put on light make-up, though—mascara and a hint of brown shadow to make her eyes look bigger, and a pale pink gloss on her lips. She had told herself that it wasn’t for Noah’s benefit, but now, as she saw him sitting there and felt her body react in anticipation, she admitted to herself that of course it was. She wanted him to be attracted to her—she just didn’t want him to do anything about it.

  Yeah, Mar, that makes perfect sense, she thought wryly as she arrived at the table.

  He was reading a newspaper, a steaming cup of coffee in front of him. She saw that he, too, was dressed casually. Like her, he had on khaki shorts, and he also wore a navy, short-sleeved polo shirt with a collar and two buttons, and a pair of Docksiders without socks. He was intent on his newspaper until she cleared her throat and spoke.

  “Hi, Noah.”

  He started, then said hello and jumped up to pull out her chair.

  She remembered how impressed she had always been by his manners. He was the first boy who had ever treated her like a lady, holding doors and chairs for her and helping her with her coat, even offering to carry her backpack for her. He had grown even more courteous when she was pregnant, but by then, she had found herself annoyed by his chivalry,
rather than flattered.

  Now, as she slid into the chair he held for her, she tried to be annoyed but couldn’t be.

  She smiled at him as he seated himself again, and she said, “Thanks. You always were a gentleman.”

  “My mother taught me well.”

  Her smile faded. The mention of his mother reminded her of his long-ago argument for getting married and keeping their baby—he had said he didn’t want their child to grow up without a father, as he had.

  “How’d you sleep?” he asked, busy refolding his newspaper. She saw that it was the local one and wondered if he was looking for articles about Amber.

  “Not that great,” she answered his question. Then, not wanting him to think she had lost any sleep over him, she said quickly, “It’s just so damned hot.” She thrust out her lower lip and blew her bangs off her forehead as if to punctuate the point.

  “It is hot,” he agreed. “I only spent one summer here—the one before senior year—and I don’t remember the sun ever shining or the temperature getting above eighty. You know what they say. There are only two seasons in this part of New York State—winter and the Fourth of July.”

  She froze.

  So did he, when he realized what he had said.

  The Fourth of July.

  Amber’s birthday.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled, looking down at the newspaper in his hand.

  “It’s no big deal,” she told him, but her hands were shaking as she spread her cloth napkin on her lap.

  When she glanced up at him again, he was handing her one of the menus that had been propped against the vase of fresh cosmos in the middle of the white cloth tablecloth.

  “The waitress was already by,” he said. “She told me that the challah french toast is amazing.”

  “Did you order it?”

  He shook his head. “I waited for you. I’m a gentleman, remember?”

  That broke the ice again, and she smiled.

  For a few minutes, until the waitress returned, they chatted about food. The small talk was a relief, and she found herself caught up in the details he shared about himself—that he had cut back on eating meat and cheese because his cholesterol was high, but that his favorite thing to eat for breakfast was a bagel piled with cream cheese and lox and onions.