Unravel Me (4 page)

“It doesn’t matter what my body’s telling you, Juliet. I’ve got a job to do, and I’m going to do it.”

“Noah—”

“You know the general would expect me to check this out for you.”

“
I
can check this out for me.” And she definitely would, she decided. “Tomorrow I’m going to back to the shop to find out more about the situation and the sisters.”

He touched her shoulder, and she turned. “For me, then,” he said. “Let me look into this as your friend, to set my mind at ease. There are people out there who might like to take advantage of you.”

And he was a soldier, under orders from the general. That part went unspoken, though she suspected a deal had been struck between the two men during the months Wayne lay dying. She could hear him now, officer to subordinate.
Get Juliet settled, soldier. Make sure she stays safe and has everything she needs.

She’d understood that everything about Wayne—his upbringing, his personality, his career—had given him a great need to protect the ones he loved. Unfortunately, his illness had robbed her of the time to fully dispel the fragile flower image he had of her—and had apparently passed on to Noah.

She frowned at the younger man now, irritated by the thought. “Look—”

“Please,” he said with a smile—and oh, yeah, despite his denials he was no doubt a lady-killer, because she felt her irritation immediately start to seep away.

“Please,” Noah said again.

And he asked so nicely, too. “Okay,” she heard herself answer, but she grumbled it, trying to make clear she was no gentle geranium.

He smiled a second time anyway. “So tomorrow we’ll visit this business and these self-proclaimed relatives of yours together,” he said. “We’ll go to lunch first.”

“Fine.” She watched him head toward the door.

With his hand on the knob, he paused and looked over his shoulder. “Wear something pretty.”

Startled by the request, she let out an awkward laugh. “What? That sounds like a date.”

He flashed his lady-killer grin again. “You can call it what you like. By the way, how old are you, Juliet?”

Surprised again, she answered automatically. “Thirty-two.”

“I’ll be thirty on my next birthday.”

“August fourth.” Where had that come from? She knew his birthday off the top of her head?

“Yep.”

Apparently she did. “So . . . ?”

“So stop thinking you’re older than me. Come next summer, we’ll be in the same decade darlin’, both of us over the age that anybody can trust.”

Then he left, which gave him the last smile and the last word. But not the last thoughts.

Those were racing through Juliet’s head as she stared at his retreating, half-naked form, the muscles of his strong back shifting as he walked away. She’d definitely failed at getting things back to normal, hadn’t she? Because normal for this lonely widow definitely wasn’t a lunch date with a virile, muscled young man who suddenly made her sweat just looking at him.

 

On the day they’d carried boxes into Juliet’s house on Mar Vista Drive, the movers had told Noah there were three kinds of people in Malibu: the beach people, the canyon people, and the view people. As he and Juliet ascended the road in the direction of the Pacific, it made sense to him that she’d chosen a hillside home. She’d always struck him as someone who stayed above the fray.

Composed and serene in her beauty, her feelings always seemed to be held carefully close. While her love for the general had been palpable and her grief over his death truly deep, she’d never betrayed any wild swings or passionate bursts of emotion. He’d never seen her less than graceful. Not once had she ever fidgeted in his presence.

Until last night, when he discovered she’d bumped into her butcher-block table and cut her hand.

Until now, when her fingertips were drumming a ceaseless percussion against her left leg. Letting his gaze linger on her a moment, he smiled to himself. She
had
dressed pretty. Not that she ever looked anything less than classy. Today she had on a pair of leg-hugging, biscuit-colored jeans covered by a V-necked tunic-y thing that was mostly the same color as the pants and splashed with vibrant blue, green, and gold flowers. She wore low-heeled strappy gold sandals on her feet.

Her toenails were painted a matching shade the color of twenty-four carats and the whole outfit made her look expensive but approachable.

And yet, oddly nervous.

He put out his hand to still her fingers, flattening them against her warm thigh. She twitched at his touch, and he slanted her a glance. “Why so tense?”

“I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Yeah?” With a final pat, he slid his hand off hers and gripped the steering wheel again. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

His sleep had been shitty, too. He’d kept dreaming of Juliet’s fingertips drifting down the bare skin of his chest, leaving four hot, pulsing brands in their wake. Then his eyes would open and he’d find himself in his dark bedroom, alone. After a groan, he’d bury his head in the pillow . . . and hope to find his way right back to where the dream had left off.

“What kept you up?” he asked.

“I had a lot on my mind. This, especially.”

He glanced over. “This . . . lunch? You and I sharing a meal?”

Her face flushed. “I mean meeting my sisters again today. I didn’t spend much time with them last night. After their initial revelation, I just turned and walked out of the shop. Shell-shocked, I guess.”

They’d reached the Pacific Coast Highway. Noah turned left on PCH, following Juliet’s directions. Malibu & Ewe, the business owned by Cassandra Riley, shared a parking lot situated on a bluff overlooking one of the area’s famous—and surf-friendly—south-facing beaches. When they pulled in, he realized that the adjoining business to the yarn shop was an eatery he’d noted on his own previous explorations.

His eyebrows rose as he pulled into a parking spot. “This is where you want to have lunch?” It was more his kind of place than hers, with the appetite-tempting smell of something sizzling in a deep fryer already reaching his truck. There was a small number of tables within the café proper, and then a stand-alone shelter harboring plastic-covered picnic tables. “I don’t think it runs to Asiatic pear and goat cheese salads.”

She wrinkled her nose, which made her look fifteen. “Goat cheese. Yuck.”

He laughed, and then followed her from the car and toward the restaurant’s screened door. Even though it was October, here in Southern California the temperature was summer-warm, the sky clear, and the view spectacular. The sound of the surf hitting the sand below mixed with the cars whooshing by along the coastal highway.

Inside, she claimed a table next to a window while he ordered at the counter, lingering there to wait for the fish tacos—his—and the shrimp salad—Juliet’s choice. With a smile, he watched her pull a paper napkin from the table’s holder to brush the plastic surface free of unseen crumbs. Then she plucked plasticware from a foam cup and grabbed other napkins to set them each a place at the table. Such a lady.

To a guy who’d eaten MREs from a ditch dug beside a Stryker combat vehicle, and who’d found those haute cuisine compared to some of his childhood meals, it was no wonder he was fascinated by her fastidious habits and elegant appearance. The slightest whiff of her top-shelf perfume could make his head spin.

When he slid their tray of food on the table and dropped into his plastic seat, she was staring out the window across the parking lot. In the direction of Malibu & Ewe.

He moved her paper plate and iced tea in front of her. “Should we have gone over there
before
lunch?”

“I don’t mind putting it off a little longer.” She drew her drink toward her with a frown.

“Juliet, no law says you have to have further contact with these women, legitimate claim to sisterhood or not.”

“You want the truth?” Her gaze lifted to his.

There were those eyes of hers, arresting in their difference, and just as arresting by their own individual quality. One was as blue as the Iraqi desert sky, the other the green that he’d dreamed about all those months of his deployment, when sand had been his second skin. “Sure I want the truth.”

“Part of me is excited. Startled, sure, and I’m going to proceed with caution, I promise you, but if I’m honest, I’d have to say I’m a bit thrilled at the idea of siblings.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Thrilled?”

She nodded. “My two best friends don’t live in the area. One’s a new mom in Seattle and my friend Kim’s opening a dance studio in London. It would be nice to have some people nearby who are on my side.”

She said it as if she was all alone in the world. “What, I’m not people?” He tried smiling, but it felt forced. She was always so composed: He hadn’t considered how lonely she might be. Or how lousy he might feel hearing that he wasn’t enough for her.

“Of course you’re people, Noah. It’s just that . . .”

He groaned. “Tell me you’re not going to play the age card again. Even if you overlook my time in college and law school, before that I spent four years working for Uncle Sam.”

“I know.” She looked down at her plate. “But at the risk of repeating myself, it’s not about you. Think, Noah. I was married to a much older man. After he became sick, there wasn’t much socializing, but while he was well, it was mainly with
his
peer group. So it’s not that you seem young, it’s just that maybe I feel . . . older than my age.”

Noah had admired the general. Considered him an out-and-out genuine American. But damn it, had the man ever stopped to consider what their marriage might do to his young wife?

Irritation made Noah’s voice caustic. “Shall I find some yellow pages so we can shop for walkers on the way home?”

Her eyes widened, and he felt like a stupid, snarling dog. “Forget I said that.” He grabbed his taco and stuffed it in his mouth to prevent another careless comment.

“If that’s an apology, I accept.” She pierced a shrimp with her fork. “And I’m not ready to sign up for the retirement home just yet. What I
am
going to do—I was thinking about this last night, too—is look for a job.”

His mouth was full, so his only reply was a strangled, “Armph.”

“Don’t look so shocked,” she said. “I have a perfectly good college degree that has surely prepared me for a job doing . . . doing . . . well, I haven’t quite figured that out.”

He swallowed. “What did you study?”

“Dance. I have a bachelor’s degree in dance.” She made a little face. “When I was small, my dad called me his ‘Dreamy Balleriny.’ I either had my nose in a book or my feet on the dance studio floor.”

He could see her willowy body leaping and turning and . . . doing whatever it was that dancers did. “So you wanted to be on a stage somewhere . . .”

She was already shaking her head. “By the time I was a senior in college, I’d figured out I didn’t have what it took to be a star. But before I could decide on what I’d do instead, my parents passed away and Wayne came into my life.”

The general had once told Noah that he’d spent five minutes with Juliet at her parents’ funeral and had been a goner after two minutes and thirty seconds. Gazing on her golden hair and unusual eyes, Noah could sympathize.

He toyed with the edge of his plate. “For the record, I wasn’t shocked about you wanting a job. It’s just that I hadn’t considered—”

“That I’m actually capable of something other than looking pretty and playing hostess?”

Whoa, whoa, whoa
. He hadn’t seen that coming, but from the way Juliet had narrowed her eyes and was staring him down, she had a little tender spot on the subject about, oh, a mile wide and two miles deep. Noah wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Didn’t the general . . . ?”

A flush crawled up her neck and she looked away. “It’s just that . . . that sometimes I feel like he didn’t think I was competent to handle things.”

Shit
. This was a conversation Noah didn’t want to continue as it came much too close to secrets he’d promised to keep. So he attempted to jump the train onto a different track by pasting a cheery smile on his face. “Okay, well. A job. Sure. We can—”

“Noah, there isn’t going to be any ‘we.’”

Cheery, along with his smile, died a swift death. “Of course I didn’t mean ‘we’ we, I meant—”

“I know what you meant. But have you forgotten? You’ve taken the bar exam, Noah. You told me you have feelers out for jobs and that you’re ready to interview as soon as the test results come in.”

He could have been interviewing without the test results, but he’d put off spending those hours away from her. “Yeah, but—”

“It’s your time now. You’ll move on, move away. Before long there’ll be a woman who’ll stick, and you’ll get married and have a family.”

He tried to picture that. Tried to picture the she who would stick, the she who he’d want to stick by, but no image came into his head. He’d never considered himself the marrying kind—Christ, dear old Daddy had been one hell of a husband example—and Noah had been satisfied with the sort of temporary relationships that brought a woman to his bed but not trouble to his life.

So he shook his head. “Maybe the one who’ll get married is you.” And then he decided he didn’t like the sound of those words either. Juliet, with some other man watching out for her when it was Noah’s mission.

“No,” she said, her voice implacable. “I won’t marry again.”

He could read the certainty in her expression and because he knew how much she’d loved her husband, he figured it was likely true. There wouldn’t ever be room for another man in her heart. And didn’t that just strike a sour note, too? But hell, he could be wrong about that. She could be wrong.

She could fall for someone else someday.

As he stared into her face, he saw her gaze shift over his shoulder. Her spine stiffened.