Maryanne stood in the doorway of her new apartment, the key held tightly in her hand. She was embarking on her grand adventure, but now that she’d actually moved out of The Seattle her confidence was a bit shaky.
Carol joined her, huffing and puffing as she staggered the last few steps down the narrow hallway. She sagged against the wall, panting to catch her breath.
“This place doesn’t have an elevator?” she demanded, when she could speak.
“It’s being repaired.”
“That’s what they always say.”
Maryanne nodded, barely hearing her friend. Her heart in her throat, she inserted the key and turned the lock. The door stuck, so she used the force of one hip to dislodge it. The apartment was just as she remembered: worn hardwood floors, the bulky faded furniture, the kitchen appliances that would soon be valuable antiques. But Maryanne saw none of that.
This was her new life.
She walked directly to the window and gazed out. “I’ve got a great view of Volunteer Park,” she announced to her friend. She hadn’t noticed it the day Nolan had shown her the apartment. “I had no idea the park was so close.” She turned toward Carol, who was still standing in the threshold, her expression one of shock and dismay. “What’s wrong?”
“Good heavens,” Carol whispered. “You don’t really intend to live here, do you?”
“It isn’t so bad,” Maryanne said with a smile, glancing around to be sure she hadn’t missed anything. “I’ve got lots of ideas on how to decorate the place.” She leaned back against the windowsill, where much of the dingy beige paint was chipped away to reveal an even dingier grey-green. “What it needs is a fresh coat of paint, something light and cheerful.”
“It’s not even half the size of your other place.”
“There was a lot of wasted space at my apartment.” That might be true, Maryanne thought privately, but she wouldn’t have minded bringing some of it with her.
“What about your neighbor?” Carol asked in a grudging voice. “He’s the one who started this. The least he could do is offer a little help.”
Straightening, Maryanne brushed the dust from her palms and looked away. “I didn’t ask him to. I don’t think he even knows when I was planning to move in.”
Nolan was a subject Maryanne wanted to avoid. She hadn’t talked to him since the night he’d followed her to the waterfront…the night he’d kissed her. He’d stopped off at The Seattle to leave the apartment key and a rental agreement with the doorman. Max had promptly delivered both. The implication was obvious; Nolan didn’t want to see her and was, in fact, doing his best to avoid her.
Clearly he disapproved of the way things had developed on the pier that night. She supposed he didn’t like kissing her. Then again, perhaps he did. Perhaps he liked it too much for his oft-lamented “peace of mind.”
Maryanne knew how she felt about it. She couldn’t sleep for two nights afterward. Every time she closed her eyes, the image of Nolan holding her in his arms danced through her mind like a waltzing couple from a 1940s movie. She remembered the way he’d scowled down at her when he’d broken off the kiss and how he’d struggled to make light of the incident. And she remembered his eyes, so warm and gentle, telling her another story.
“Hey, lady, is this the place where I’m supposed to bring the boxes?” A lanky boy of about fourteen stood in the doorway, carrying a large cardboard box.
“Y-yes,” Maryanne said, recognizing the container as one of her own. “How’d you know to bring it up here?”
“Mr. Adams. He promised a bunch of us guys he’d play basketball with us if we’d help unload the truck.”
“Oh. How nice. I’m Maryanne Simpson,” she said, her heart warming at Nolan’s unexpected thoughtfulness.
“Nice to meet you, lady. Now where do you want me to put this?”
Maryanne pointed to the kitchen. “Just put it in the corner over there.” Before she finished, a second and third boy appeared, each hauling boxes.
Maryanne slipped past them and ran down the stairs to the parking area behind the building. Nolan was standing in the back of Carol’s husband’s pickup, noisily distributing cardboard boxes and dire warnings. He didn’t see her until she moved closer. When he did, he fell silent, a frown on his face.
“Hi,” she said, feeling a little shy. “I came to thank you.”
“You shouldn’t have gone up and left the truck unattended,” he barked, still frowning. “Anyone could’ve walked off with this stuff.”
“We just arrived.”
“We?”
“Carol Riverside and me. She’s upstairs trying to regain her breath. How long will it be before the elevator’s fixed?”
“Not soon.”
She nodded. Well, if he’d hoped to discourage her, she wasn’t going to let him. So what if she had to walk up four flights of stairs every day! It was wonderful aerobic exercise. In the past she’d paid good money to attend a health club for the same purpose.
Nolan returned to his task, lifting boxes and handing them to a long line of teenage boys. “I’m surprised you didn’t have a moving company manage this for you.”
“Are you kidding?” she joked. “Only rich people use moving companies.”
“Is this all of it, or do you need to make a second trip?”
“This is it. Carol and I put everything else in storage earlier this morning. It’s only costing me a few dollars a month. I have to be careful about money now, you know.”
He scowled again. “When do you start with the cleaning company?”
“Monday morning.”
Nolan placed his hands on his hips and glared down at her. “If you’re really intending to take that job—”
“Of course I am!”
“Then the first thing you’ll need to do is ask for a raise.”
“Oh, honestly, Nolan,” she protested, walking backward. “I can’t do that!”
“What you can’t do is live on that amount of money, no matter how well you budget,” he muttered. He leapt off the back of the truck as agilely as a cat. “Will you listen to me for once?”
“I am listening,” she said. “It just so happens I don’t agree. Quit worrying about me, would you? I’m going to be perfectly all right, especially once I start selling articles.”
“I’m not a knight in shining armor, understand?” he shouted after her. “If you think I’ll be racing to your rescue every time you’re in trouble, then you need to think again.”
“You’re insulting me by even suggesting I’d accept your help.” She tried to be angry with him but found it impossible. He might insist she was entirely on her own, but all the while he was lecturing her he was doling out her boxes so she wouldn’t have to haul them up the stairs herself. Nolan might claim not to be a knight riding to her rescue, but he was behaving suspiciously like one.
Two hours later, Maryanne was alone in her new apartment for the first time. Standing in the middle of her living room, she surveyed her kingdom. As she’d told Carol, it wasn’t so bad. Boxes filled every bit of available space, but it wouldn’t take her long to unpack and set everything in order.
She was grateful for the help Carol, Nolan and the neighborhood teenagers had given her, but now it was up to her. And she had lots of plans—she’d paint the walls and put up her pictures and buy some plants—to make this place cheerful and attractive. To turn it into a home.
It was dark before she’d finished unpacking, and by that time she was both exhausted and hungry. Actually famished more adequately described her condition. Her hunger and exhaustion warred with each other: she was too tired to go out and buy herself something to eat, but too hungry to go to bed without eating. Making the decision about which she should do created a dilemma of startling proportions.
She’d just decided to make do with a bowl of cornflakes, without milk, when there was a loud knock at her door. She jerked it open to find Nolan there, wearing grey sweatpants and a sweat-soaked T-shirt. He held a basketball under one arm and clutched a large white paper sack in his free hand.
“Never open the door without knowing who’s on the other side,” he warned, walking directly into the apartment. He dropped the basketball on the sofa and placed his sack—obviously from a fast-food restaurant—on the coffee table. “That security chain’s there for a reason. Use it.”
Maryanne was still standing at the door, inhaling the aroma of french fries and hamburgers. “Yes, your majesty.”
“Don’t get testy with me, either. I’ve just lost two years of my life on a basketball court. I’m too old for this, but luckily what I lack in youth I make up for in smarts.”
“I see,” she said, closing the door. For good measure she clipped the chain in place and turned the lock.
“A little show of appreciation would go a long way toward soothing my injuries,” he told her, sinking on to the sofa. He rested his head against the cushion, eyes drifting shut.
“You can’t be that smart, otherwise you’d have managed to get out of playing with boys twenty years younger than you,” she said lightly. She had trouble keeping her eyes off the white sack on the scratched mahogany coffee table.
Nolan straightened, wincing as he did so. “I thought you might be hungry.” He reached for the bag and removed a wrapped hamburger, which he tossed to her before taking a second for himself. Next he set out two cardboard cartons full of hot french fries and two cans of soda.
Maryanne sat down beside him, her hand pressed against her stomach to keep it from growling. “You’d better be careful,” she said. “You’re beginning to look suspiciously like that knight in shining armor.”
“Don’t kid yourself.”
Maryanne was too hungry to waste time arguing. She devoured the hamburger and fries within minutes. Then she relaxed against the back of the sofa and sighed, content.
“I came to set some ground rules,” Nolan explained. “I think you and I need to get a few things straight.”
“Sure,” she agreed, although she was fairly certain she knew what he wanted to talk about. “I’ve already promised not to pester you.”
“Good. I intend to stay out of your way, too.”
“Perfect.” It didn’t really sound all that wonderful, but it seemed to be what he wanted, so she didn’t have much choice. “Anything else?”
Nolan hesitated. Then he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “Yes, one other thing.” He turned to her with a frown. “I don’t think we should…you know, kiss again.”
A short silence followed his words. At first Maryanne wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly.
“I realize talking about this may be embarrassing,” Nolan continued, sounding as detached as if he’d introduced the subject of football scores. “I want you to know I’m suggesting this for your own good.”
“I’m pleased to hear that.” It was an effort not to mock him by rolling her eyes.
He nodded and cleared his throat, and Maryanne could see he wasn’t nearly as indifferent as he wanted her to believe.
“There appears to be a certain amount of physical chemistry between us,” he said, avoiding even a glance in her direction. “I feel that the sooner we settle this, the less likelihood there’ll be for misunderstandings later on. The last thing I need is for you to fall in love with me.”
“That’s it!” she cried, throwing up her arms. The ridiculousness of his comment revived her enough to indulge in some good-natured teasing. “If I can’t have your heart and soul, then I’m leaving right now!”
“Damn it, Annie, this is nothing to joke about.”
“Who’s joking?” she asked. She made her voice absurdly melodramatic. “I knew the minute I walked into the radio station for the Celebrity Debate that if I couldn’t taste your lips there was nothing left to live for.”
“If you’re going to make a joke out of this, then you can forget the whole discussion.” He vaulted to his feet and stuffed the wrappers from their burgers and fries into the empty sack. “I was hoping we could have a mature talk, one adult to another, but that’s obviously beyond you.”
“Don’t get so bent out of shape,” she said, trying not to smile. “Sit down before you do something silly, like leave in a huff. We both know you’ll regret it.” She didn’t know anything of the sort, but it sounded good.
He complied grudgingly, but he stared past her, training his eyes on the darkened window.
Maryanne got stiffly to her feet, every muscle and joint protesting. “It seems to me that you’re presuming a great deal with this hands-off decree,” she said with all the dignity she could muster. “What makes you think I’d even want you to kiss me again?”
A slow cocky grin raised the corners of his mouth. “A man can tell. My biggest fear is that you’re going to start thinking things I never meant you to think. Eventually you’d end up getting hurt. I intend to make damn sure nothing romantic develops between us. Understand?”
“You’re saying my head’s in the clouds when it comes to you?”
“That’s right. You’re a sweet kid, stubborn and idealistic, but nonetheless naive. One kiss told me you’ve got a romantic soul, and frankly I don’t want you fluttering those pretty blue eyes at me and dreaming of babies and a white picket fence. You and I are about as different as two people can get.”
“Different?” To Maryanne’s way of thinking, she had more in common with Nolan Adams than with any other man she’d ever dated.
“That’s right. You come from this rich upstanding family—”
“Stop!” she cried. “Don’t say another word about our economic differences. They’re irrelevant. If you’re looking for excuses, find something else.”
“I don’t need excuses. It’d never work between us and I want to make sure neither of us is ever tempted to try. If you want someone to teach you about being a woman, go elsewhere.”
His words were like a slap in the face. “Naturally a man of your vast romantic experience gets plenty of requests.” She turned away, so angry she couldn’t keep still. “As for being afraid I might fall in love with you, let me assure you right now that there’s absolutely no chance of it. In fact, I think you should be more concerned about falling for me!” Her voice was gaining strength and conviction with every word. The man had such colossal nerve. At one time she might have found herself attracted to him, but that possibility had disappeared the minute he walked in her door and opened his mouth.
“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?”