Sweet Trilogy. Susan Mallery
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on Claire Keyes than he’d expected. She was famous, revered and adored on every continent she’d visited. Critics loved her, fans worshipped her and she’d had multiple bestselling CDs. He was a guy who built houses in Seattle. What was wrong with this picture?
“Would you like to order a bottle of wine?” he asked, refusing to talk himself out of the evening before it had even begun.
“That would be great. Do you—”
Just then a man in a tux walked over to their table. “Good evening. I am Marcellin, your sommelier. I heard you mention wine and my ears perked up. May I offer some assistance?”
He had a French accent that sounded so perfect, Wyatt wondered if it was fake. Before he could decide whether or not to use Marcellin’s services, Claire began speaking to him. In French.
They chatted for a few minutes, before Marcellin excused himself. Claire turned to Wyatt.
“Sorry. I got carried away.”
“No problem. You two know each other?”
She smiled. “I’m into wine, so I was asking about their wine list.”
“You speak French.”
Her eyes widened as if she hadn’t realized she’d slipped into the other language. “Um, a little.”
It sounded like more than a little to him.
“Sometimes I would listen to language CDs on flights. It helps pass the time. Then I get to practice when I’m in that country.”
“So it’s more than French.”
“I speak Italian, a little German. I tried Mandarin, but I so don’t have the ear.” She shifted in her seat as if she was uncomfortable. “It’s not a big deal. Anyway, the wine list is very impressive. A lot of good Washington wines. I like to try local when I’m somewhere, both food and wine. I always order a glass of something regional with my room service dinner.”
“Room service? You’re not out partying every night?”
“Not even close. After a performance, I’m usually exhausted. I go back to the hotel where I eat something light, try to unwind, then go to bed. Occasionally there are dinners with patrons. Those aren’t as fun as they sound. I have to be totally on, which is its own kind of tiring.”
He knew nothing about her or her world, he thought. A few articles on the Internet and Nicole’s dismissive comments hadn’t prepared him for Claire. As she talked about life on tour, he realized he’d asked a world-famous pianist to be his babysitter.
“Who are you?” he asked, without meaning to speak the question aloud.
“What?”
“You don’t belong here. In the real world.”
“But I like the real world. That other place isn’t very fun.”
He couldn’t begin to understand her life. What it would be like to go from city to city, performing at a level only a handful of people could reach.
“I want to fit in,” she added. “I’m trying to be like everyone else.”
“Don’t lower your standards.”
“I don’t think I’m better. I’m just different. I want to be less different.”
She was beautiful, he thought absently. When had she gotten so beautiful? Amy said she looked like Barbie. He was willing to admit she had the long blond hair and even longer legs, but there was little about her that reminded him of a girl’s toy. She was all woman and he liked that. He liked her. When had she stopped being the evil ice princess?
“Why don’t you order the wine,” he said. “Go crazy. We’ll both try something new.”
She smiled with obvious delight. “Are you sure? I can be very free with money.”
“I’m good.”
Marcellin returned and they had a lengthy discussion in French about different wines. Claire flipped pages in the wine book and pointed. Finally they agreed on a local boutique winery he’d never heard of. The waiter appeared and they ordered their dinner. When they were finally alone, she leaned toward him and smiled.
“Did I already thank you for asking me out?”
There was something about that smile—an invitation that made him want to lean close and kiss her. He’d liked kissing Claire. He wouldn’t mind doing a lot more. But a nagging voice in the back of his mind reminded him that he had to make sure they were playing by the same rules.
“You did.”
The wine arrived. They went through the ceremony of tasting and approving. When the sommelier had left, Wyatt asked, “Has Drew been back to the house?”
“Not that I know of. I still can’t decide if I feel badly about hurting him or not.”
“Don’t bother. He’s healing. Pain and suffering might help his character.”
“He’s your stepbrother?”
“One of many.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Big family?”
“One that’s constantly changing. I come from a long line of men who screw up relationships. Most of my uncles haven’t been married and the few that have are going for the land speed record for divorces. My dad recently remarried. It’s his fifth. Drew’s my stepbrother from two or three marriages ago. I can’t remember which one.”
Claire looked a little startled. “What about your mom?”
“She found someone decent. They’ve been together about twenty-five years. But not my dad. I give this one six months.” He leaned toward her.
“The problem with him is he keeps trying. He thinks he’s something he’s not—a man capable of choosing the right woman.”
“It could happen.”
“Not likely. We have screwed up relationship biology. I wasn’t going to get married. Figured I’d try to stop the train wreck before it happened.”
“You married Shanna.”
“She got pregnant. I didn’t have a choice.”
Claire tilted her head. “Actually you did. You could have not married her and still been a part of Amy’s life.”
“Marriage seemed to be the right thing to do. At the time.”
“Because you do the right thing.”
Somehow the conversation wasn’t going in the direction he wanted. “I’m not the hero here.”
“Why not? Shanna’s the one who left. Was it right after Amy was born?”
“Within a couple of months, after we confirmed she couldn’t hear. I didn’t mind being a single father. I guess I half expected Shanna to bolt, what with my family history.” He met her gaze and held it. “You’re missing the point, Claire. I don’t do relationships. I’m glad we’re going out and I’m having a good time, but that’s all this is to me. Casual fun. Sex would be good, but I don’t get involved. I don’t do serious.”
He shrugged. “I might be putting all this out there for nothing. I don’t know if you’re interested. But if you are, I want to be clear about what I’m willing to do and not do.”
Her blue eyes widened. “You want to have sex with me?” Her voice was low and breathless.
“Is that all you got from what I said?”
“No, I got the rest of it. You’re warning me off, for my own good. I totally understand that. But you really want to sleep with me?”
“Why is that a surprise?”
Because no one