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 th
in.”
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.”
“How sweet.”
Nolan reacted instantly to her words. He dropped his spoon beside the bowl with a clatter, planted his elbows on the table and glared at her heatedly. “Now don’t go all sentimental on me. There’s nothing between us and there never will be.”
Maryanne promptly saluted. “Aye, aye, Captain,” she mocked.
“Good. Well, now that’s settled, tell me about your week.”
“Tell me about yours,” she countered, unwilling to change the subject to herself quite so easily. “You seemed a whole lot busier than I was.”
“I went to work, came home...”
“...worked some more,” she finished for him. Another plate, heaped high with sizzling hot chicken and crisp vegetables, was brought by Wong Su, who offered Maryanne a grin.
Nolan frowned at his friend and said something in Chinese that caused the older man to laugh outright. When Nolan returned his attention to Maryanne, he was scowling again. “For heaven’s sake, don’t encourage him.”
“What did I do?” To the best of her knowledge she was innocent of any wrongdoing.
Nolan thought it over for a moment. “Never mind, no point in telling you.”
Other steaming dishes arrived—prawns with cashew nuts, then ginger beef and barbecued pork, each accompanied by small bowls of rice until virtually every inch of the small table was covered.
“You were telling me about your week,” Maryanne reminded him, reaching for the dish in the centre of the crowded table.
“No, I wasn’t,” Nolan retorted.
With a scornful sigh, Maryanne passed him the chicken. “All right, have it your way.”
“You’re going to needle me to death until you find out what I’m working on in my spare time, aren’t you?”
“Of course not.” If he didn’t want her to know, then fine, she had no intention of asking again. Acting as nonchalant as possible, she helped herself to a thick slice of the pork. She dipped it into a small dish of hot mustard, which proved to be a bit more potent than she’d expected; her eyes started to water.
Mumbling under his breath, Nolan handed her his napkin. “Here.”
“I’m all right.” She wiped the moisture from her eyes and blinked a couple of times before picking up her water glass. Once she’d composed herself, she resumed their previous discussion. “On the contrary, Mr. Adams, whatever project so intensely occupies your time is your own concern.”
“Spoken like a true aristocrat.”
“Obviously you don’t care to share it with me.”
He gave an exaggerated sigh. “It’s a novel,” he said. “There now, are you satisfied?”
“A novel,” she repeated coolly. “Really. And all along, I thought you were taking in typing jobs on the side.”
He glared at her, but the edges of his mouth turned up in a reluctant grin. “I don’t want to talk about the plot, all right? I’m afraid that would water it down.”
“I understand perfectly.”
“Damn it all, Annie, would you stop looking at me with those big blue eyes of yours? I already feel guilty as hell without you smiling serenely at me and trying to act so blasé.”
“Guilty about what?”
He expelled his breath sharply. “Listen,” he said in a low voice, leaning toward her. “As much as I hate to admit this, you’re right. It’s none of my business where you work or how many nails you break or how much you’re paid. But damn it all, I’m worried about you.”
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 in the 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. “Th
e 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?”
“You moved in with him, didn’t you?”
“Not exactly. I live in the apartment next door.”
“I didn’t believe Eddie when he said Mr. Adams had a woman. He’s never had anyone live with him before. He’s just not the type, if you know what I mean.”
Maryanne did know. She was learning not to take his attitude toward her personally. The better acquainted she became with Nolan, the more clearly she realized that he considered all women a nuisance. The first night they met, he’d mentioned that he’d been in love once, but his tone had been so casual it implied this romance was merely a long-ago mistake. He’d talked about the experience as if it meant little or nothing to him. Maryanne wasn’t sure she believed that.