Can't Stop Loving You

by Miranda Liasson

  Lukas smiled affectionately at him. “If anybody can do it, you can. Listen, I’ve got to go, but I wanted to let you know I’ve started to search for our other brothers.”

  “Andreas and Jared.”

  Lukas nodded. “I sent an e-mail to an Andreas Poulos, who’s a financial guy on Wall Street. The PI thinks that’s our Andreas. He’s still gathering info on Jared.”

  Lukas and Roman shared the same last name because Roman’s adoptive mother, Marjorie, insisted he keep it until he was old enough to decide for himself if he wanted it anymore, but their other two brothers had been adopted and given different surnames long ago.

  “Great. More brothers,” Roman said a little facetiously.

  “You’re not eager to find them?” Lukas asked.

  “No—it’s not that. Just that I’m not sure I can handle myself right now, let alone long-lost family.” Especially as far as Bella was concerned. Whom he couldn’t seem to stop thinking of.

  “Hey, the longer you live in this town, the more you get hooked on how important family is.” He gave Roman a little shoulder punch. “See you around.”

  “Thanks, Lukas.” He paused. “It really is great to see you again.”

  As Lukas drove off, Roman realized he was spending more time thinking about seeing Bella again than pondering his long-lost brothers, which probably wasn’t the healthiest thing. Well, he knew of only one way to put her out of his head.

  Time to rip up more shingles.

  Midmorning, he was still up on the barn roof going at it when he saw his mother’s black MINI Cooper pull up the drive.

  Marjorie Ganz walked briskly over to the barn in her usual no-nonsense way and stopped, craning her neck up to the dilapidated old roof.

  “Oh, hello, sweetie,” she said, grabbing ahold of her sunglasses from atop her head and pulling them on. “I brought you lunch, but I have to get back to work in a few.”

  He swung down the ladder and embraced the woman who had been a mother to him since he was eight. Marjorie was a rail-thin, practical woman who favored black in nearly everything—less time wasted on choices—and was a hard-core vegan. Not to mention she was a child psychologist who took on the most hopeless cases, the ones no one else wanted. Which was why desperate parents often drove from hours away in hopes that she could help their children. He’d been one of those kids, minus the parents, of course. For some reason, her compassion for him had extended beyond the office—and she’d adopted him. Changed his life. She’d tried to adopt Lukas, too, but he was quite a handful by then, was in and out of various homes, and at the time of Roman’s adoption, was living with a family out of state. But she’d made sure they stayed in contact. His mom was one of the quirkiest, smartest, most interesting people he knew—and one of the most loving. Lucky him.

  He took the container she was forcing on him and peeked inside, finding something that vaguely resembled a sandwich.

  “It’s a kale and chickpea flatbread with homemade mayo,” she said, pushing up her glasses over her gray, one-length hair. “I’m sorry I missed the wedding this weekend, but I felt the environmental crisis conference was more critical.”

  “Of course,” he said. She was always saving the world, whether it was through her practice, sitting on the boards of several children’s organizations, or all her work on the environment. She’d also been single for as long as he knew, which was a little sad. She had a lot to offer someone if they could crack through her intellectual exterior.

  Her gaze drifted over to her parents’ old house.

  “At some point we have to go through it, you know,” Roman said. The house was empty of people but full of memories. That might make it difficult to stay there, but they were really good ones. He was damn grateful to have landed in the family that he had.

  Marjorie waved a hand dismissively. “Honestly, Roman, I’m happy to have you do it. It’s just stuff, after all. And God knows, someone can use it.”

  No matter how glib she was, how free thinking and non-materialistic—and a world-class recycler to boot—he and she both knew it wasn’t just stuff. Every one of the dozens of tchotchkes held a memory, and those were enough to break their hearts.

  “Maybe you can come over for dinner and we can spend a few hours . . .”

  “Oh, you’re a dear, but honestly, Roman, I can’t bear it. Everything in there is yours to do with what you want, okay?”

  Gee, thanks, Mom. Roman never realized before how difficult it was to be an only child. After all, when he started out in life, he’d been one of five. A memory surfaced, of roughhousing and horsing around with his brothers. He felt the emptiness that always hit him when he remembered good times, and he wondered what had happened to his brothers. The likelihood of them all being reunited one day seemed slim, and of actually being brothers again, almost impossible.

  Starvation finally won over and he dug into the veggies, which actually weren’t half bad. Too bad he’d need to eat half a field of kale to feel full.

  “So, how are you?” Marjorie asked, clearly pleased he was eating. “Any girlfriend?”

  He quirked a brow. His mother conserved words like she did everything else, and she cut right to the chase. “No, and that’s the way I like it.”

  “Now, honey, you know what Dr. Brennan encouraged you to do. You have to fight that tendency to be too self-sufficient.”

  He’d seen Dr. Brennan, a colleague of his mother’s, at her insistence for years. The man may not have been able to cure him of all his deeply embedded flaws, but after all that therapy, Roman now possessed an uncanny ability to know what they were. “You’re self-sufficient,” he pointed out.

  “Yes, but I have an entire network of friends, even if I don’t have a significant other right now.”

  “I have friends, Mother.” Oh Lord. He sounded like a teenager.

  She sighed. “I’m worried about you. Children of alcoholics often become workaholics. And you’ve always been a bit threatened by intimacy, which is also pretty typical of a child with your background. I don’t want you to be too isolated out here.”

  She waved around at the property, from the woods separating his land from D’Angelos’ Garden Center next door, to the rows of apple trees that were planted about one hundred yards from the house and ran in tidy rows all the way down to the lake. His property. The thought both excited and terrified him. He hoped he would do his grandparents justice. “I want you to have a happy life, honey.” She reached out and squeezed his arm. He eyeballed her in a way that all sons have done to their mothers for ages and hugged her back.

  “Thanks, Mom,” he said.

  Oh, to have a single hippie mother who knew way too much about him and knew all the psychological language to describe it in great detail. He wished she’d find a relationship so she could direct her intensity elsewhere.

  His stomach growled. He cracked the lid on the chickpeas again. Looked like a McDonald’s run might be in his near future. Or maybe not. The nearest drive-through was twenty minutes away, and he didn’t want to take the time. Warily, he tried not to inhale and took another bite. Ugh. Not working for him. But he pretended to like it for his mom’s sake.

  He looked up from the food to see a scruffy brown dog amble out of the woods. The dog’s nose was to the ground, hot on some trail. It was that damn dog. The mangy one. Bella’s newest project. Now looking a bit polished around the edges—i.e., brushed. Her foreleg was wrapped and her ribs were still visible, but the limp was better. Maybe. The beast galumphed along, happily sniffing along the grass like it was covered with beef gravy.

  “Is it a stray?” his mother asked, putting her sunglasses back on and squinting.

  “Unfortunately not.” Roman put his fingers in his mouth and whistled. “Hey! Come here.” The dog looked up, saw Roman coming toward it, and promptly trotted farther up the property. If it kept going through the trees, the beast would run into the lake in another five hundred yards or so. Against his better judgment, Roman ran after it. As if
sensing danger, the dog picked up its pace.

  “Honey, you have to entice it,” his mother said, rummaging in her car. She stood up with another container in hand. “Here, take some quinoa and pretend-cheese dip.”

  Now that would certainly do the trick. Not. A figure running out of the woods saved Roman from answering. It was a woman, wearing a T-shirt and calf-length jogging pants that hugged every sweet curve, her thick hair tied back in a ponytail.

  “Gracie!” Bella called, cupping her hands over her mouth. Surprisingly, the dog stalled. For a second. Then it tore off toward the lake.

  Gracie? She’d named that ratty-looking mutt Gracie?

  Bella looked around and saw him and his mother. “Oh, hi, Dr. Ganz, nice to see you.” She jogged over and gave his mom a quick hug. He, on the other hand, got nothing but a finger wave. “My dog got loose, and I’ve got to run after her,” she said to Marjorie. She cast Roman a wary look. “Sorry about that, Roman.” She promptly took off after the dog, dangling a leash at her side.

  “I always liked Bella,” Marjorie said, getting into her tiny car. “Looks like she could use a little help.”

  Roman rolled his eyes, then kissed her on the cheek, closed the car door, and ran off through the trees after Bella.

  “So you kept the mutt,” he said when he caught up, trying not to notice her shapely ass. She must still be a runner like she was in high school. Running was something he enjoyed as well.

  “Perceptive as always.” They jogged along together for a moment before she said, “You don’t need to help me. I can get her myself.”

  He eyeballed her from the side. She had a nice stride, strong, light on her feet, and they kept up a natural pace together. As they had at one time with other things.

  “It’s no problem,” he said. “I’d hate for her to end up in the lake.” That was a stupid thing to say. What kind of dog would plunge into the lake to get away? A dumb one.

  It was a warm early-September day, the kind that tricked you into believing it was still summer, except for a faint dryness at the tips of some of the branches and the sparse scattering of a few dead leaves on the ground. The sweet scent of ripening apples was light in the air.

  They ran through the rows of trees, down the gentle slope of the land, until at last the lake stretched out in front of them, wide and blue as the September sky. Usually it gave him a sense of peace just looking at it, but not today. Not with the dog plowing right into the water and Bella standing there near the dock, hands on those glorious hips, cajoling the beast to come back.

  “That dog has a mind of its own,” he said. Stubborn, like her, but of course he didn’t say that. “What kind of pet is it going to be?”

  She tsked. “I don’t know, Roman. Sometimes people don’t have all the answers right away. It’s called discovery.”

  “Marriage is discovery. A job is discovery. Having a pet should be simple.” Just like the decision to stay away from her should be. All he needed to do was head back to his work. Leave her to grab the stubborn animal on her own. As she’d pointed out to him multiple times, she didn’t need his help. Ever again.

  “Gracie, come here,” Bella called, in a tone of voice that wouldn’t scare a mosquito off an elephant. The dog, who was happily paddling away from shore, didn’t even acknowledge her.

  What the hell? He’d never seen an animal swim with such determination. And that was the closest thing to a compliment he could come up with right now for a dog too stupid to know it was swimming too far out.

  Bella began pulling off her running shoes. “I’m going to get her.”

  He put a hand on her arm. “Do not go in there.”

  She tossed off her T-shirt to reveal—oh God—a sports bra. Purple with wavy geometric designs. Not that he’d really even noticed the designs in light of her gorgeous rack, which he was staring at like an idiot. He must’ve frozen for a second, because she shrugged her arm away and walked onto the dock.

  “Let’s at least try calling her back,” he said.

  “You go right ahead,” she called from over her shoulder. “I’m going to grab her before she gets too far out.”

  She ran to the end of the dock, then bent over, crooning to the dog, who blissfully ignored her. Then she poised on the edge. “Wait,” he called, running over to her. “Don’t”—a splash rent the air—“—jump.” Too late. She’d already swum over to the dog, and was trying to wrap her arms around it. Of course she didn’t hesitate. Or wait for help. Some things never changed.

  But the water was neck deep, and the dog was wiggling in her arms. Roman peeled off his own shirt—oh, what the hell—and jumped in, too. He managed to take the dog from her and swim with it into shallower water, then carry it to the shore.

  He took the leash from her and hooked it around the dog’s collar. As he gave Bella a hand out, he caught her glancing at his bare chest. He couldn’t help quirking his lips up in a smile because she was blushing vigorously, like they were eighteen again and he’d just whispered something suggestive in her ear.

  But the joke was on him. Maybe it was the soft warmth of her hand as it brushed his, or the way she looked all wet and curvy and delicious, because his lungs suddenly felt tight, and need rushed through him, just like in the old days. The intensity surprised him; for a moment he wanted to tug her forward until their wet bodies were flush and kiss her hard in the hot sun.

  Thinking like that was not productive. Helping her also made him feel protective of her, and he wasn’t going there, either. Old habits died hard, he guessed.

  The dog and he both slogged out of the lake together, Bella a few paces behind. Then the dog shook itself so that Roman got pelted with a spray of water. Which didn’t even matter because he was all wet anyway.

  Laughter rang out into the warm September day.

  Figured the first time he’d hear her laugh it would be at him.

  It was that same snorty laugh, though, that he hadn’t heard in a long time. Not ladylike at all. He’d forgotten how much he liked it.

  He turned around. Narrowed his eyes. Tried to look menacing. “You think that’s funny?”

  She bit her cheeks to stop. That made her defined Italian cheekbones stand out, which reminded him yet again how beautiful she was. “Just a little.”

  Then thanks to a benevolent God, she waded out of the water, which treated him to quite a spectacular view. Slicked back hair, water dripping onto her shoulders and down her curves, she looked like some kind of fantasy mermaid emerging from the ocean. This time she caught him staring, and he tried to avert his eyes. He really did.

  Instead he said, “Water’s great. Sure you don’t want to go back in?” Then impulsively, he scooped her up. He shouldn’t have done it; there was no excuse for it. Yet there she was in his arms, objecting mildly, beating on his back in weak protest. The familiar warm weight of her, the wet, silken strands of her hair against his chest, the sound of her laughter, felt so damn good. Like freedom. Like he was young again and the sadness that had separated them had never been.

  For a moment, his breath caught as he stared at her. Water beaded on her lashes and her olive skin. Her dark hair lay slicked back against her head, showing the elegant widow’s peak in the middle of her forehead. Somehow he got lost in the feel of her cool, slippery skin, the scent of her shampoo—lemons, maybe?—mixed in with the fresh breeze off the lake. Not a stitch of makeup, but her beauty made him speechless. Her laughter faded away and she stared back at him, her dark eyes wide.

  Suddenly he remembered what it was like to kiss her; hell, he remembered her sweet, unique taste. And in that single, sunny moment, he remembered what it was like to love her, unabashedly and sure, before the tides had turned and all their hopes and dreams had come tearing down.

  The dog woofed, breaking the trance. Somehow, Roman must’ve dropped the leash, because the animal was sitting on the shore, sopping wet and looking more ragtag than ever, waiting for its mistress. Or maybe it was just tired of adventure and finall
y ready to head home.

  “I’m coming, sweetie,” Bella called to the dog. Reluctantly, Roman set her down. She waded the rest of the way out and busied herself with the dog. Avoiding his gaze, she said, “Thanks again, Roman. See you later.”

  Right. Well, it was just as well. He waded out himself, his wet jeans dragging on his hips.

  As soon as he reached the shore, he saw the little group gathered there. Bella’s teenage brother, tall and lanky, already towering a head above their father, and Vito, looking just as pissed off as that fateful day when Roman had seen him last, standing straight with his meaty arms folded as if ready to confront the devil himself. And Bella’s Aunt Fran, wearing an apron and carrying a wooden spoon, more gray than twelve years ago, but with the same regal bearing, the same pearls dangling from her ears.

  He reminded himself that this was his property. How much trouble could the old man cause? A tightness clogged his chest, maybe reminiscent of that last day, when he’d allowed the man to intimidate him. To scoff at him. To write him off as a good-for-nothing.

  That wasn’t going to happen again. Roman was a man now. One who didn’t scare easily, and one who didn’t run from his troubles. He slowed his steps a little, reminding himself that no matter how strained his relationship was with Bella, he would never lose his temper with her father. Out of respect for her.

  Vito assessed the situation. Took one look at his soaking-wet daughter, the dog, and Roman, also dripping.

  “I thought you knew better than to get back with him,” he told his daughter, his voice rife with disappointment.

  Roman’s neck prickled. Bella’s color was high, but this time from embarrassment. He pressed his lips together so the not-very-nice reprimand on the tip of his tongue wouldn’t spill out.

  “Gracie got away,” she said. “Roman helped me fish her out of the lake.”

  “Go get some decent clothes on,” Vito said.

  “No, Pop. I’m not leaving,” she said. Roman almost cheered.

  “I’m about to get angry, and I don’t want you hearing that, okay?”

  “You can’t get angry with him anymore, Pop.” She tugged at her father’s arm, trying to get him to back down. “All that is in the past. He owns a business now. He’s our next-door neighbor, so cool it, all right? Besides, it’s almost time to leave for your PT appointment.”