Page 29 of Romance and Peppermint Lattes
She raised her chopsticks in an effort to stop him. “It seems to me I’ve heard this argument before. Actually, it’s getting downright boring.”
Nolan dropped his voice even lower. “You’ve been sheltered all your life. I know you don’t want me to feel responsible for what you’re doing—or for you. And I wish I didn’t. Unfortunately I can’t help it. Believe me, I’ve tried. It doesn’t work. Every night I lie awake wondering what trouble you’re going to get into next. I don’t know what’s going to happen first—you working yourself to death, or me getting an ulcer.”
Maryanne’s gaze fell to her hands, and the uneven length of her once perfectly uniform fingernails. “They are rather pitiful, aren’t they?”
Nolan glanced at them and grimaced. “As a personal favor to me would you consider giving up the job at Rent-A-Maid?” He ran his fingers through his hair, sighing heavily. “It doesn’t come easy to ask you this, Annie. If for no other reason, do it because you owe me a favor for finding you the apartment. But for heaven’s sake, quit that job.”
She didn’t answer him right away. She wanted to do as he asked, because she was falling in love with him. Because she craved his approval. Yet she wanted to reject his entreaties, flout his demands. Because he made her feel confused and contrary and full of unpredictable emotions.
“If it’ll do any good, I’ll promise not to interfere again,” he said, his voice so quiet it was almost a whisper. “If you’ll quit Rent-a-Maid.”
“As a personal favor to you,” she repeated, nodding slowly. So much for refusing to be swayed by dinner and a few well-chosen words.
Their eyes met and held for a long moment. Deliberately, as though it went against his will, Nolan reached out and brushed an auburn curl from her cheek. His touch was light yet strangely intimate, as intimate as a kiss. His fingers lingered on her cheek and it was all Maryanne could do not to cover his hand with her own and close her eyes to savor the wealth of sensations that settled around her.
Nolan’s dark eyes narrowed, and she could tell he was struggling. She could read it in every line, every feature of his handsome face. But struggling against what? She could only speculate. He didn’t want to be attracted to her; that much was obvious.
As if he needed to break contact with her eyes, he lowered his gaze to her mouth. Whether it was intentional or not, Maryanne didn’t know, but his thumb inched closer to her lips, easing toward the corner. Then, with an abrupt movement, he pulled his hand away and returned to his meal, eating quickly and methodically.
Maryanne tried to eat, but her own appetite was gone. Wong Su refused payment although Nolan tried to insist. Instead the elderly man said something in Chinese that sent every eye inthe place straight to Maryanne. She smiled benignly, wondering what he could possibly have said that would make the great Nolan Adams blush.
The drive back to the apartment was even more silent than the one to the restaurant had been. Maryanne considered asking Nolan exactly what Wong Su had said just before they’d left, but she thought better of it.
They took their time walking up the four flights of stairs. “Will you come in for coffee?” Maryanne asked when they arrived at her door.
“I can’t tonight,” Nolan said after several all-too-quiet moments.
“I don’t bite, you know.” His eyes didn’t waver from hers. The attraction was there—she could feel it as surely as she had his touch at dinner.
“I’d like to finish my chapter.”
So he was going to close her out once again. “Don’t work too hard,” she said, opening the apartment door. Her disappointment was keen, but she managed to disguise it behind a shrug. “Thank you for dinner. It was delicious.”
Nolan thrust his hands into his pockets. It might have been her imagination, but she thought he did it to keep from reaching for her. The idea comforted her ego and she smiled up at him warmly.
She was about to close the door when he stopped her. “Yes?” she asked.
His eyes were as piercing and dark as she’d ever seen them. “My typing. Does it keep you awake nights?”
“No,” she told him and shook her head for emphasis. “The book must be going well.”
He nodded, then sighed. “Listen, would it be possible...” He paused and started again. “Are you busy tomorrow night? I’ve got two tickets to the Seattle Repertory Theatre and I was wondering...”
“I’d love to go,” she said eagerly, before he’d even finished the question.
Judging by the expression on his face, the invitation seemed to be as much a surprise to him as it was to her. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
“Right,” she answered brightly. “Tomorrow.”
***
The afternoon was glorious, with just the right mixture of wind and sunshine. Hands clasped behind her back, Maryanne strolled across the grass of Volunteer Park, kicking up leaves as she went. She’d spent the morning researching an article she hoped to sell to a local magazine and she was taking a break.
The basketball court was occupied by several teenage boys, a couple of whom she recognized from the day she’d moved. With time on her hands and an afternoon to enjoy, Maryanne paused to watch the hotly contested game. Sitting on a picnic table, she swung her legs, content to laze away the sunny afternoon. Everything was going so well. With hardly any difficulty she’d found another job. Nolan probably wasn’t going to approve of this one, either, but that was just too bad.
“Hi.” A girl of about thirteen, wearing a jean jacket and tight black stretch leggings, strolled up to the picnic table. “You’re with Mr. Adams, aren’t you?”
Maryanne would’ve liked to think so, but she didn’t feel she could describe it quite that way. “What makes you ask that?”
