If I Can't Have You

by Patti Berg

  “Is there any way we can get in touch with the owner now?” Adriana asked, anxious to make the purchase.

  “It’s the oddest thing,” Hannah told her. “A man claiming to be Trevor Montgomery’s son brought it in.”

  Adriana’s heart skipped a beat. Was it her Trevor who had taken the coin into the shop?

  “Did he tell you where he got the coin?” Adriana asked, trying not to show her excitement.

  “In a pair of tuxedo trousers.”

  He’d been wearing a tux the night he came into her life. A tux that was wrinkled and sodden. The same tux he’d been wearing sixty years before when he stepped into the pool at Sparta and tried to end his life.

  Could everything he told her have been the truth? She’d believed it once, so why was it so difficult to believe it now? Maybe if she saw him again she’d believe.

  “Did he leave a phone number or address?”

  Hannah laughed. “The bus depot. Locker 372.”

  “That’s it? That’s all he told you?”

  “No. He said he’d be back in two days to get the rest of his money.”

  Hannah seemed hesitant, as if there was more to the story.

  “What else did he tell you?” Adriana asked.

  “He asked me to give you a message.”

  “Which was?” Adriana prodded.

  “That you should watch Captain Caribe very closely, especially the scene where he’s taking off his boots. He said you should look at Trevor Montgomery’s ankles.” Hannah frowned. “Is this all some kind of joke?”

  Adriana remembered that first morning Trevor came to her home. She remembered the way he’d walked around her bedroom while she lay in bed trying to stay calm. He’d picked up the video of Captain Caribe and told her about spraining his ankle and wrapping it himself. Had he been telling the truth all along?

  Or was all of this just another lie to confuse her?

  “I’ve got some work to do in the shop, Hannah. Why don’t I come down day after tomorrow and spend the day. I’d like to meet the man who brought in the doubloon.”

  “Would you like me to take it to a jeweler, see if I can have it authenticated?”

  Adriana shook her head. “I don’t think that’s necessary. If he’s a fraud, he’ll be happy with the five hundred dollars. I doubt he’ll want or need anything else.”

  Chapter 21

  Adriana prayed that Trevor would come. She’d even plucked a red rosebud from one of the bushes in her garden before driving to her shop in Hollywood, kissed it, and made a wish. “Come to me, Trevor. Please.”

  Long before business hours she’d busied herself around the store, sorting through merchandise to determine what should go in the next catalog. It was a month before it had to be done, but she needed to stay occupied while she waited for the man who’d brought in the gold doubloon.

  Her stomach churned while she waited. Her palms were damp. Swallowing was difficult. And she jumped every time a customer walked into the shop.

  At ten she sat alone in her office sipping at a cup of Earl Grey with a dollop of thick cream, like Trevor would have made it. Closing her eyes, she relived the moments when she’d danced in his arms, the way he’d masterfully maneuvered around the dance floor in spite of the times she’d stepped on his toes, and the way he’d whispered that she was born to dance. No, he’d told her that she was born to be in his arms—and she longed to be in them now.

  She thought of his gentleness when they’d made love. She thought of his passion for all the good things in life.

  And she thought of the way he’d looked over sixty years ago when he’d filmed Captain Caribe. He’d worn gray buccaneer breeches, a patch over one smoldering brown eye, a leather vest, and a white cotton shirt with voluminous sleeves that billowed in the wind as his galleon sailed the seas. He’d grown his ebony hair long for the role, and he’d had it pulled back into a queue, except for that lock that refused to stay in control and waved over his forehead.

  Breathtaking. There was no other way to describe him—on the screen or in real life.

  Captain Caribe. She’d watched it last night, laughing, crying, wishing she was the captive princess the Captain teased unmercifully, the woman the Captain saved from the churning ocean and kissed passionately as the screen darkened and the credits began to roll.

  Captain Caribe. The privateer who’d laughingly made a slave of a princess. “Fetch my wine,” he’d demanded, then pulled her onto his lap while he drank, stealing kisses from the protesting miss. She fought him in the beginning, hating his miserable, sea dog’s hide, and halfway through the movie she had hidden in the darkened corner of his quarters and admired his form as he’d pulled on his boots.

  Adriana watched every second of that part as if she’d been the one hiding in the dark. The Captain hoisted one long leg on the edge of a chair and struggled into a boot. The other leg was next.

  That’s when she saw it for the very first time. Under the tight-fitting breeches he wore she could see the swollen outline of a thick, protective bandage around his ankle.

  Never before had she heard stories about a sprained or broken ankle. Harrison had never mentioned it. None of Trevor’s biographers had mentioned it. There was nothing in the studio notes.

  But there on the screen was Trevor Montgomery, obviously suffering from an injury.

  Just as he’d told her.

  She thought about the swollen ankle, and the fact that some man claiming to be Trevor Montgomery had brought it to her attention. How could he possibly have known unless... unless he was really Trevor Montgomery.

  Oh, Trevor. I should have believed you.

  “Would you like more tea?” Hannah asked, jerking Adriana back to the present.

  “No, thank you. This was delicious, but I need to get back to work.”

  She took the teacup to the small kitchenette in the back room, then went back to work, trying, unsuccessfully, not to think about Trevor.

  He’d pledged his love, he’d begged her to trust him, and she’d slammed the door in his face. She wouldn’t blame him if he no longer wanted anything to do with her.

  Sighing heavily, she tried to get her mind back on her work. She unlocked the glass doors in a display case and removed the Roman helmet Fredric March had worn in The Sign of the Cross, thinking how striking it would look photographed on a background of purple velvet.

  From one of her hanging files she pulled a movie poster of the Clark Gable and Jean Harlow film Saratoga, with the banner at the top reading, To an expectant public we announce the presentation of Jean Harlow’s last screen production! Hollywood and the movie-going public had lost a wonderful actress in 1937. In 1938 they’d lost Trevor Montgomery.

  In 1998, Adriana had lost him again.

  But maybe there was a chance to get him back—if he’d return to her.

  She attempted to concentrate. She tried not to think of Trevor, but it was useless. She’d barely slept in the four nights he’d been gone. The house had been too quiet, her bed and arms too empty.

  It didn’t matter any longer if he’d lied, if he was an impostor, or if he really was Trevor Montgomery. She wanted him. That’s all.

  At noon Hannah brought in salads for lunch and at three-thirty she went out for coffee. At five o’clock Adriana decided that Hannah had given away five hundred dollars of her money to a cheat, a man who didn’t really love her, and she decided she should have the gold doubloon verified for authenticity. It had looked legitimate, but the man hadn’t returned for more money or to claim his coin—both those things pointed to fraud.

  Once again he’d made her look the fool. Once again he’d made her heart think before her head.

  Hannah closed and locked the doors at 6:00 P.M., urging Adriana to go home.

  “I’ll be out of here in half an hour. I promise,” Adriana said, as she thumbed through more black-and-white stills, looking for just the perfect thing for the catalog.

  “Would you like me to stay?”

&
nbsp; “No, no. I’m fine here by myself.”

  “I’m sorry about the five hundred dollars.”

  Adriana looked up from her work and smiled. “I probably would have given him a thousand on deposit. Don’t worry about it.”

  Hannah shrugged, grabbed her purse, and headed for the door.

  Adriana heard the keys in the lock, heard the tinkling bell of the opening door, then heard Hannah’s voice again.

  “We have company, Adriana. The Trevor Montgomery look-alike has finally shown up.”

  Trevor’s familiar laugh rang through the shop, and Adriana fought the urge to cry. He had returned. Her wish had come true—again.

  Pushing up from the floor where she’d been sitting as she sorted through boxes, she brushed nonexistent dust from her navy trousers while trying to look calm and completely at ease. Slowly she gazed upward, to the man standing just inside the doorway, one hand tucked in his pants pocket, his suit coat hanging unbuttoned from broad shoulders, a lock of ebony hair hanging over his forehead.

  Trevor Montgomery, the most devastatingly handsome man she’d ever seen, smiled warmly, the dimple beside his lips deepening, just as it had in so many movies.

  How could she ever have doubted him?

  She kept her composure, trying to think of all the reasons he might have come to her shop. He needed money. He wanted his doubloon back. He wanted to give her hell for kicking him out. Surely it couldn’t have anything to do with wanting to see her again, not after what she’d done.

  Act the role of a businesswoman, she told herself. Tucking one hand in her pants pocket, just as Trevor was doing, she assumed a casual, relaxed stance, and forced herself to speak. “I understand you’d like to sell your gold doubloon.”

  “I’ve changed my mind.”

  Hannah peered around Trevor’s back. “Do you need me to stay?”

  “No, thank you, Hannah. Just lock the door on your way out, and thanks for all your help today.”

  Adriana leaned against a wall for support as Trevor moved toward her, the light from the back room illuminating the cleft in his chin, the hint of whiskers shaved away early that morning just now breaking through his skin.

  Again she heard the bell on the door, Hannah’s keys in the lock, and finally the clip of her shoes as she walked past the front window and out of sight.

  Trevor stood beside the cabinet that held all his cherished belongings, and his devouring gaze settled on her lips. “Did you watch Captain Caribe?” he asked quite casually, as if they were two friends discussing an old film.

  Adriana nodded slowly, and struggled to speak. “I should have believed you.”

  “Yes... you should have.”

  She could see the pronounced movement of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed. She could see the heavy rise and fall of his chest. Was he in nearly as much turmoil as she was? Did he love her nearly as much as she loved him?

  “May I have the doubloon back?” he asked, holding out his hand.

  She reached into her pocket for the small purple velvet bag she’d stored the coin in, drew it out, and dumped the doubloon into her palm. Her gaze flickered from the coin to Trevor’s eyes. The gold was cold, but his eyes were hot, burning deep into her soul.

  Stay calm, she told herself. Stay businesslike. She had to do it to protect herself, just in case he didn’t want her.

  “The coin’s worth a small fortune,” she said. “Why don’t you want to sell it?”

  “I don’t give up the things that mean the most to me.”

  He took the doubloon from her palm and she felt the instant shock of his touch.

  “I won’t give you up, Adriana. Not today. Not ever.”

  She wanted to step into his arms, but she felt foolish for not having believed in him.

  “How could you possibly want me after the things I said, after I kicked you out of your house?”

  “You cried when you kicked me out,” he said, moving close and wiping an escaped tear from her cheek. “No one else ever cried for me. No one else ever cared. I’d be a-fool not to want you.”

  “I’m the fool. I never should have...”

  “Just kiss me, Adriana,” he interrupted. “Don’t apologize. Please.”

  In less than a heartbeat she stepped into his embrace, stood on tiptoes, and kissed him. Slow and easy became hard, hot and passionate when Trevor took over. In the middle of his searing kiss, she felt him push the suspenders off of her shoulders, felt him nimbly release the button at the side of her trousers, and felt them float to the floor.

  She was lost in a whirlpool of sensations, drowning in the excitement of his touch as his fingers feathered over her belly.

  “I need you,” he growled, as his mouth slanted over hers.

  And she needed him.

  Her mind whirled as she pulled away his tie, unbuttoned his shirt, and helped him shed his slacks. She was caught up in the erotic sensations of his lips on her neck and her chest, while her hands pressed against the heat of his back and pulled him ever closer. His teeth and tongue teased her breasts, and his fingers deftly explored her legs, her thighs, and the warm, moist center of her being.

  He laid her gently down on the carpet, his smoldering brown eyes never leaving hers when he covered her body with his, when he whispered “I love you,” and when he entered her slowly and smoothly—and loved her—giving her a feeling of pleasure and fulfillment that she wanted to last forever.

  The small, mid-twenties Spanish-style house sat just off Sunset in West Hollywood. In the bright light of the streetlamps Adriana could see fresh grass clippings littering the sidewalk and orange and yellow marigolds planted in neat beds along the sloping wall that edged the steep driveway to a single-car garage.

  The place was lovely, but Adriana had no idea why Trevor had brought her here straight from her shop. He insisted it had nothing to do with the role he’d won, starring as himself in Shattered Dreams. As they’d lain together on the carpet in the back room of her shop, he’d told her all about his trip to the studio, how he’d impressed the producer. He’d told her about the agent he’d hired, about his excitement at acting again. And he’d told her how much he’d missed her while they were apart.

  But he hadn’t told her why they had to make a detour on their way home to Santa Barbara. “It’s a surprise,” was all he’d say. “A special treat.”

  He was back in her life. That was the most wonderful treat she could ever want.

  When they reached the door, he rapped on the screen and waited.

  “I hate secrets, Trevor. Please, tell me.”

  He shook his head and knocked again.

  Behind the door she heard the sickeningly familiar voice of a man calling to someone else in the house. The door creaked open, and Jim Paxton’s face peered through the screen.

  Adriana’s fingers tightened around Trevor’s hand. She attempted to pull away, not wanting to be anywhere near the vile photographer, but Trevor held her close, refusing to let her run.

  “Well, what a surprise,” Paxton said in his normal, cocky tone. “I didn’t expect to see you here, Ms. Howard.” He took a quick drag on his cigarette and blew out a puff of smoke. “I didn’t expect you, either,” he said, his brow furrowing as he looked at Trevor.

  “Just checking out a little rumor I heard,” Trevor said casually.

  “And what might that rumor be?” Mr. Paxton asked, beginning to look a touch uncomfortable with their presence.

  From deep inside the house Adriana heard another man’s voice, unfamiliar this time, call out, “Is that the production company people?”

  Paxton’s face reddened, and Adriana noticed the quick rise and fall of his Adam’s apple. He was terribly nervous now, but Trevor stood tall and calm, his eyes twinkling with some hidden merriment as he stared down at Paxton.

  The photographer twisted around and answered the man hidden in another room. “It’s someone else. No need for you to come to the door.”

  His words were too late, though. Adr
iana heard footsteps and saw a near mirror image of Trevor peer around Paxton’s shoulder.

  “Well, I’ll be,” the man drawled in a thick Southern accent. “What did you do, Jim, find someone to take my place?”

  Paxton shook his head and leaned against the doorjamb. “Just shut up,” he muttered, before inhaling deeply on his cigarette.

  “I see the rumor’s true. I do have a double,” Trevor said, his gaze sweeping over his twin, who was dressed in gray sweat shorts and nothing else. “You must be Paul Dorn.”

  “Yeah. The one and only,” the model quipped.

  Adriana studied him quickly. The cleft in his chin wasn’t as deep, and he didn’t have a dimple. His ebony hair didn’t shine as brightly, and his skin was paler—it didn’t have the sheen of Trevor’s sun-bronzed body. He wasn’t nearly as tall, and his physique was much too slight. His hands weren’t strong, and he was much too pretty. There was nothing rugged in his face, nothing masculine or heroic.

  She’d been right that first time she’d seen Paul Dorn at Sparta. She’d been so very wrong to have ever questioned Trevor’s identity.

  “I’ve seen enough,” she said, tugging on Trevor’s arm. “Can we go now?”

  “Not until I get a few things straightened out with Mr. Paxton.”

  “Like what?” Paxton asked, regaining a hint of composure. “You can’t keep me from taking photos. I’ve checked you out, and I know who you are. Don’t think that just because you claim to be Trevor Montgomery’s son you can intimidate me.”

  “I don’t make empty threats, Mr. Paxton.”

  Paxton laughed, but Adriana saw the iciness in Trevor’s eyes.

  “My attorney’s in the process of filing a restraining order against you. Trust me, if you come within half a mile of Adriana, we’ll make sure you’re thrown in jail. There’s a lot of power in money, Mr. Paxton, and we’re going to back up this threat with every penny we’ve got.”