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The guy was smart enough to shuffle back.
But Juliet intervened once again. “Celeb!.com, you said? Don’t they have a companion TV show in the new fall lineup?”
“Well, yeah,” the photographer replied, shooting Noah a wary look. “CC! on TV. Celeb!.com on television. You a fan?”
“We happy widows have to fill our hours somehow,” she answered, without a hint of irony in her voice. “Maybe they’d like to do a piece on the general’s book.”
Noah rocked back on his heels. It all made sense to him now. General Wayne Weston’s autobiography was hitting the shelves next month. Apparently Juliet wasn’t above chatting up a slimy paparazzo if she thought it might gain attention for her late husband’s book. Noah knew she counted on the publication of the general’s life story repairing the damage to his reputation that had been the result of their marriage.
Christ. Noah rubbed his chest. He really wished he hadn’t left the guesthouse now. He hated seeing her like this—because it made him worry that what she wanted so badly wouldn’t come to pass.
“How about if I take a couple of shots of you?” the photographer asked.
“Now?” Her hand went to her hair.
“Sure. Why not? I’ll bet people would like to know what you’re up to.” He jerked his chin in Noah’s direction. “And who you’re with.”
The overhead light clearly illuminated the flush shooting up Juliet’s slender neck. “That’s not…we’re not…”
Yeah, Noah thought. I’m the furniture. The enlisted guy. The hired help. Not good enough for her, and I know it.
Her gaze flicked to his face, then jumped away. “Noah is…Noah was my husband’s assistant. He helped Wayne as…as my husband declined. He helped him dress, helped him with his meals, helped him with the book he was writing.”
Noah refused to let any feeling show in his expression. He’d helped the general in ways that Juliet would never know about. In ways that she would never thank him for if she ever found out.
Which she never would.
The paparazzo shrugged. “None of that means you two aren’t an item.”
Juliet was shaking her head, her cheeks bright pink. She glanced over at Noah again, and licked her lips.
God, he thought, staring at her mouth. She was so effing beautiful, sometimes it hurt to look at her. And maybe it hurt a little more to see her total rejection of him as a romantic interest.
Of course, they were miles apart and he accepted that. And he also knew her well enough to realize it would be difficult for her to verbalize this to some dumbass from Celeb!.com. With a sigh, he stepped closer to the photographer.
“Listen, bud, the lady said we’re not…intimate or whatever the hell you’re getting at, and that’s a fact. She’s…” He ran out of steam, and just lifted his hand to where she stood under the light, her pretty hair, her delicate build, her slender limbs all glowing golden. “She’s…”
“Too old for him,” Juliet said.
Noah froze. He was hearing things, right? There was water in his ears from his swim. Because he knew Juliet Weston. Of the many things to keep them apart, the very last thing that would ever stand in the way was…was…
He moved his head to stare at her. She couldn’t have possibly said…
But then she said it again. “Noah’s younger than me.” All right. He hadn’t left the guesthouse and come back to her after all. Instead, he’d fallen across his bed and then into a deep sleep, dreaming.
A really odd, odd dream.
Two
You can no more win a war than you can win an earthquake.
—JEANNETTE RANKIN
Noah was back in Juliet’s kitchen. He’d ushered from the premises the Celeb!.com photographer who’d left after trying to wheedle her phone number out of her. With disapproval blasting from Noah’s parade-rest position a few feet away, she’d reconsidered her impulsive proposal of a tabloid TV segment on Wayne’s book—she must have been really rattled to suggest it in the first place—but the paparazzo had persisted in trying to set something up.
She’d held firm to her refusal though, and while the stranger with the cameras was finally gone, Noah’s dark mood hadn’t dissipated. Trying to ignore it, she moved about the room, making up little tasks for herself like refolding the dish towels and straightening the salt-and-pepper shakers. Normal activities. Normal activities that she hoped would put their relationship back to normal.
There’d never been tension between herself and Noah, and now the air seemed thick with it. From the corner of her eye she stole a look at him and—bam!—another jolt of sexual heat rocked through her. Oh, boy. Her response to him wasn’t anywhere near normal either.
