Sweet Trilogy: Sweet Talk / Sweet Spot / Sweet Trouble. Сьюзен Мэллери
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she still felt like a kid. As if she had to ask for permission.
“Is she why you’re not playing?” he asked.
She stared at him. “What do you mean?”
“You’re not playing the piano,” he said. “Shouldn’t you be? Isn’t that what you do?”
Not anymore, she thought sadly, remembering the previous evening when she’d managed to lose herself in music. She’d played for hours, until she was trembling with exhaustion and soaked with sweat. She’d played and played, wanting the music to heal everything. Unfortunately the complications in her life were such that playing was only a distraction, albeit a satisfying one.
“I don’t have any current tour dates,” she said. “It’s close to summer. The season winds down during the late spring. Everything starts back up in the fall.”
Wyatt pulled a beer out of the refrigerator and took the chair across from hers. “You didn’t cancel anything to look after Nicole?”
“No. Would it have been better if I had?”
“I don’t know. We were talking about it last night. I dropped by to check on her.”
He’d been at the house? Claire fought a sense of loss for having missed the visit.
“I would have canceled dates to be here,” she said. “Not that Nicole would believe that.”
“She can be tough.”
“Is that what we’re calling it?”
He smiled. “You’re more alike than either of you realize.”
Because they were twins. There was a connection. At least there had been.
“How does it work?” he asked. “Do you just play out of New York? Are you with an orchestra? I don’t know anything about what you do.”
It was a simple question that might have been brought on by casual interest. Nothing more. Yet she felt both flustered and pressured.
“I, um, usually book for individual nights. I can do a series in a city, as well. I’ve played with different orchestras in the past. For a season or part of a season. But I—” Her chest tightened and not because Wyatt was so good-looking. “I’m not playing anymore. I can’t.”
“You’re a little young to retire.”
“I haven’t retired. I just…” She didn’t want to tell him, didn’t want him to be ashamed of her. Yet she couldn’t seem to hold in the words. “I can’t play. I have panic attacks.”
He looked at her as if he didn’t understand the words.
“They started last year,” she said in a rush. “I was so tired. I wanted a break and I was looking forward to doing nothing for a few weeks. But Lisa wanted to book me on a special summer tour. I got upset and sort of faked a panic attack. She totally backed off. I know it was wrong. I know the mature thing to do was tell her the truth, right? I’m an adult. It’s my life, but it’s just not that easy.”
She grasped the glass in both hands and stared at the contents. It was better than looking at him.
“I faked a couple more attacks, just to get her off my back. But then one day an attack happened on its own and I couldn’t control it. I guess I’d gotten so good at faking them that they became real. They got worse and worse and now they control me. I barely got through the final week of my schedule and I collapsed at my last performance.”
She ducked her head as shame rushed through her. She felt the heat on her cheeks. As much as she tried to forget what had happened, she relived the experience over and over again.
“I’m so ashamed. I don’t know what to do. I’ve been to a therapist, who has tried to help. I know in my head that as long as I believe this is the only way I can get power, I can’t get better. But I don’t know how to change how I feel. And what if I can’t play again? This is all I know. It’s who I am. What will I be without that?”
Wyatt regretted bringing up the subject of her playing more than he could say. Now he was faced with an obviously upset Claire and he had no idea what to do or tell her. This was completely foreign to him—not just female and emotional, but nothing he’d ever experienced.
“Maybe, uh, if you saw, you know, someone else,” he mumbled. “Another therapist.”
“I guess I could try. I just don’t know.”
She looked small and broken, which made him feel like crap. In typical guy-speak, he wanted to tell her to ignore the problem and it would eventually go away. But he knew that wouldn’t help.
“I hate feeling helpless,” she said. “Weak.”
Weak he could handle, he thought with relief. He was strong and tough. He could protect her. He could offer to…
He put on the mental brakes and did a one-eighty. Protect her? Where had that come from? He didn’t want to protect any female, except for Amy. And maybe Nicole because she was his friend. But not romantically. He didn’t get involved—ever.
Sex was fine. He liked sex, looked forward to it. He understood it. But caring, feeling and anything else emotional? No way. He knew the disaster that could result. He came from a long line of men who totally screwed up when it came to women. Drew and his ex-wife were only the latest illustrations.
“To be honest,” Claire said, “Jesse’s call came at a perfect time. Not that I wouldn’t have come no matter what. I would have. But I’m kind of hiding out from my manager and Nicole’s surgery gave me the perfect reason to disappear. Is that terrible?”
He thought about how she’d totally accepted his daughter, learning sign language and listening patiently as Amy slowly worked to speak clearly. He thought about how she’d kept showing up with Nicole, despite her sister’s ill temper. He remembered her sitting at the piano, playing as if it was as important to her as breathing. How her gift and abilities had stunned him.
“It’s not terrible,” he said. “Everyone needs a place to go when things get hard.”
“According to Nicole, they’re not hard for me at all.”
“She doesn’t know everything.”
“She thinks she does.”
“She’s wrong,” he said, staring into her blue eyes. There was something there, a hint of sadness, but something else. Something he couldn’t place. Interest? Passion?
Talk about projecting what he wanted to see.
Still, he found himself wanting to hold her. To put his arms around her and be the rock she needed for a while. Of course there was also a part of him that wanted to drag her close and kiss her until they were both breathless.
Claire smiled. “Thanks for listening. It helped.”
“Good. Want to stay for dinner?”
The invitation had come from nowhere. He was rewarded by a slow smile that heated his blood.
“I’d love to.”
NICOLE TOLD HERSELF she wasn’t actually watching the clock. What did she care if Claire was taking a long time to return Amy. It wasn’t as if she was worried or even cared. Claire was nothing to her.
Still, as the clock in the great room ticked along, she found herself getting nervous and thinking about accidents and car jackings.
“You’re being stupid,” she muttered to herself. “If something bad had happened, you would have heard by now.”
Just then, someone knocked on the front door.
Nicole pushed herself into a standing position and started toward the door. She wasn’t moving very quickly and the person knocked again before she could get there.
“I’m