Callista’s expression revealed that she’d figured out they were more than acquaintances. “How exactly do you two know each other?”
A slow smile tilted one corner of Amadou’s expressive mouth. “It’s a long story. Perhaps we can tell it to your daughter over dinner?”
“No!” the word shot out of Lina’s mouth. “I mean, it’s late. She has a big meeting tomorrow.”
“Just you, then. My favorite restaurant is only steps away, and I’m always starving after a concert. I’ll be deeply offended if you don’t join me.” Just enough humor shone in his dark eyes to suggest—at least to others—that he was joking.
But she knew he wasn’t joking. If she turned him down, she’d give him yet another reason to never forgive her.
“Go on, Mom. You can walk back to your hotel afterward. It’s so close.”
“I’ll escort your mother back safely,” assured Amadou, already looking confident. “Just give me a few moments to change. Mustafa, please look after Mme. Leone while I shower.” He disappeared into an anteroom. This might have been a good moment to make a speedy exit if it weren’t for Mustafa and the still-gathered throng now talking among themselves in more than one language.
Trapped, she made awkward conversation about nothing with Callista and smiled grimly at Mustafa, who looked very suspicious of her and the whole situation. As well he might.
In less than two minutes Amadou emerged dressed in black pants and a bright white shirt, also slightly damp but this time with fresh water from the shower. He toweled off his hair and looked relieved that she was still there.
This was so weird, being backstage while he showered. Far too intimate. He never had been the type to stand on ceremony, but still. He pulled on some sharp-looking leather shoes and placed a dark fedora onto his head. Then he extended his arm.
Lina gulped, then took it. How could she not?
Callista stared. Lina could tell that her daughter would have stayed up all night and missed her meeting if she thought for even one second that she’d be welcome at this dinner. But she knew she wasn’t, and so did everyone else there.
Amadou had claimed her.
Again.
Chapter 3
The restaurant he took her to was less than two blocks away and totally invisible from the street. They entered through a large carriage door into a tidy cobbled courtyard—like so many buildings in Paris—with just four tables set for dinner. A couple and a laughing group of four were the only customers.
“This looks rather exclusive,” she murmured, more to make conversation than anything else.
“It’s the best. I come here every time I’m in town.” His gaze lingered, as if he still couldn’t quite believe she was right here with him.
The maître d’ led them to a table, and she removed her jacket while the waiter poured water and Amadou ordered wine.
“I’m surprised you recognized me.”
“Why? You’re in the social pages of the papers quite often.”
“You read the social pages?”
A wry smile crossed his mouth. “Only to catch a glimpse of you.”
“I don’t believe it for a minute. You’re far too busy. You seem to spend each year circling the globe and performing on every continent except Antarctica.”
“I performed in Antarctica two years ago. For the scientists.” His cheek creased as he grinned. She’d always loved his smile, so quick and warm. That hadn’t changed. “Of course I mostly went because I wanted to see the place.”
“You always loved to travel. Do you have a home base these days?”
“This is it.” He gestured around them.
“This restaurant?” She sipped her wine.
He laughed. “No, this city. Paris. It’s where I grew up, remember.”
“I didn’t know you back then. And you didn’t talk about it much.” He’d seemed kind of bitter about his life back then and—young and shallow—she hadn’t wanted to hear depressing details about his impoverished childhood. She was more interested in the dynamic musician he’d blossomed into. “It’s great that you’re still performing after all these years. Do you know how unusual that is?”
“And you’re still royal after all these years. That’s rather offbeat, too.”
“We always did dream big.” She smiled, then wondered if she’d said the wrong thing. Becoming a royal wife was hardly something one aspired to. That sounded tacky. Though probably no one married a future king by mistake either.
“Your husband never became king.”
“No. His mother was still going strong when they were killed. He didn’t mind not being king. He wasn’t too interested in pomp and ceremony. He liked to focus on hunting and the vineyards. He enjoyed his life, short as it was.”
“With you at his side, how could he not?” Amadou lifted his freshly poured glass of wine. “Salut.”
She raised her glass and sipped, then resolved to drink as little wine as possible. She didn’t want to get tipsy around this man. He already had a dangerously intoxicating effect on her.
He’d removed his fedora so she could see his face clearly. His brow was smooth and unlined—the face of a man with a clear conscience. A man who enjoyed his life. “You look happy.”
“I am happy. I make sure of it.” He smiled slowly, his gaze wandering over her face. “I wish I could say the same for you.”
She felt an awkward expression pass over her face. “I’m happy! Very happy.” Her words sounded rushed, forced. “I mean, of course I miss my husband. And my children are all grown and busy with their lives, so I’m in a transitional phase, but—”
“I understand. I didn’t mean to accuse you of anything. Sometimes I’m too frank.”
“You always were. You never could keep your opinion to yourself. Remember when you told that huge bouncer he was an ass because he wouldn’t let you perform outside his club?”
“And he picked me up by the front of my shirt and hurled me against the wall.” He laughed. “And he only held back from punching me because you begged him to.”
“Exciting times.” She laughed, too. Though she hadn’t laughed at the time. She’d cried and been angry with him for being too rash. “Too exciting for me, really.”
“Is that why you left me?” His question, on the tail of their laughter, was so serious, so clear and bold, that she knew he wanted a real answer.
She sighed. “I left because I was done with school and my family had other plans for me.”
“You could have defied them.”
“That’s not who I am.”
“You’re very loyal.” His eyes glittered. “To them, not to me.”
“They were my family.” Had she even thought about arguing with them? Not really. She’d always known her interlude with Amadou was just that—an exciting adventure that would have to end so her real life would begin.
She half expected him to accuse her of weakness and braced herself for defense.
“Family is important.” He held his glass, not drinking but peering over it at her. “The happiest day of my life was when I finally bought my mother the house she’d always dreamed of. She still lives there. It’s in the countryside outside Paris.”
“That’s wonderful. She must be so proud of you.”
He shrugged. “She wishes I would settle down.”
“And why don’t you? You must be a wealthy man by now.”
He laughed, but the laughter didn’t reach his eyes. “Everyone always asks that sooner or later.”
“You don’t want to settle down. Is that why you never married?” As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted them and wished she could take them back. Who was she to ask such a personal question?
“It’s part of it. I can’t settle down. It’s not in me. I’m a nomad by heritage and inclination.”
She wanted to argue that his mom presumably shared his nomadic heritage yet she was apparently happily settled in France.
But she knew better. She’d a
lways been good at knowing what not to say. The skill came in handy in the social circles she moved in. “So you spend most of the year on the road.”
“It’s what I love best. So of course we could never have been together for long. You had dreams of castles and a large family, and I had dreams of the road.” He sounded like he was trying to convince himself.
She nodded. “True. All good things must come to an end.” She uttered the platitude just wanting to agree with him and smooth the conversation.
But he didn’t reply. And his silence stretched out until an awkward space for thought opened up. A space that echoed with the words “what if?”
“We should order.” She wanted to fill the air with sound, though they’d barely glanced at their menus. “I think I’ll have the boeuf en croute.”
“A very traditional choice.” His comment sounded slightly scolding.
She rose to the bait. “I am a very traditional girl.”
His mouth hitched into a half smile. “Yes. You always were, deep down. I suppose that was one of the things that attracted me to you. I shouldn’t have been so surprised when you walked away from a poor street musician to marry a prince.”
“Were you really surprised?” She hadn’t let herself think too much about how he would feel. The end was always written into their relationship—at least for her—and she’d assumed he felt the same.
He stared at her long enough to make her heart pound. Then his eyes narrowed slightly and flashed with unexpected emotion. “I was devastated.”
Chapter 4
Amadou leaned back in his chair, appraising the effect of his admission.
He’d silenced her. Did she really think she was just another notch on his bedpost?
She had the decency to look shocked for a moment. Then she laughed. A polite tinkle of a laugh. The kind of laugh you’d trot out at a royal tea party. “You’re teasing me.”
“If only I were.” He let his words sit in the air for a moment. Just long enough to make her uncomfortable.
Why did he want to make her uncomfortable? All of this was so long ago even he had almost forgotten it. Until he saw her face in the first row of his audience. Then something had roared back to life inside him with fearsome power that threatened to unman him.
“I should have known you were out of reach,” he said at last, after she’d reached nervously for her wine glass. “But I never was one to accept any limits in myself or others. Naïve, I suppose.”
“You seemed so worldly to me. I thought I was the naïve one.”
“I guess we were both wrong.” Looking at her right now, he could almost taste the cherry apple flavor of her mouth. Amazing that he still remembered it after all these years. He wondered if she’d taste the same.
He wanted to find out.
“I guess it’s lucky you’d seen my picture in the papers. I must look so different.” She touched her elegantly coiffed hair. It looked like it had been set by a stylist. Maybe she had one come to her room every morning.
“In some ways you do.” He let his gaze wander over her hair—not a strand out of place—and across the elegant planes of her face. “You look more…established.”
“Matronly.” Her quiet exclamation startled him. “It’s okay. I know I do. You can’t have ten children and not look matronly.” A pink flush appeared above her cheekbones.
“Nonsense. You look calm, quietly at home in the world. When you were younger you always acted like you were in a big rush to get somewhere. But matronly? No way.” He let his gaze drift lower, to the swell of her breasts, the lovely body emphasized by the elegant lines of her expensive pantsuit.
She’d lost that breathless air of excitement she always had about her, but in its place glowed something deeper, warmer, and he wanted to bask in its glow.
He wanted to peel away her cleverly designed layers and run his fingers through her artfully styled hair. He wanted to explore the redrawn continent of her body and lose himself in both its known and its unexpected mountains and rivers.
She shifted, uncomfortable, and he realized he was staring like a teenage boy who’d never seen a woman before. Luckily, the waiter arrived to take their order, which provided enough distraction for him to pull himself together.
Carolina.
For years he’d smarted from her sudden and totally unexpected departure. And now here she was, within reach.
At least for as long as it took her to eat her way through her boeuf en croute. “Are you in Paris for long?”
“Just until next week.”
He wanted exact details but didn’t want to spook her by pressing for them. “You’re here to spend time with your daughter?”
“Yes, and to do some shopping. It probably sounds crazy, but I often do Christmas shopping at this time of year. With so many children I like to take my time and not end up in a mad rush.”
“I’m surprised you do it yourself. You probably have people for that.”
“To buy presents for my children? Why would I want someone else to do that? It’s fun.” Her warm smile lit up something inside him. “I get sad when I’ve finally bought enough.”
“You could buy presents for poor children.” He wasn’t sure why he said that. Maybe he wanted to scold her for being so rich and content as well as beautiful and unattainable.
“I do.” She looked earnest. “I always buy presents for the poor children in Altaleone.”
“I’m surprised there are any.”
She shrugged and smiled. “There aren’t many. But someone’s always falling through a crack somewhere. Parents with drug or alcohol problems or who are going through some kind of crisis. And we’ve taken in quite a few refugees in the past few years, just like everywhere else.”
“It’s kind of you to think of others.” He mouthed the empty words, thinking about how much he’d like to kiss her full mouth.
She laughed. “You don’t have to patronize me.”
Her comment shocked him. “I didn’t mean to.” Or did he? Neither of them was eating the bread the waiter had placed on the table. The distraction of her presence—so enchanting and unexpected—had stolen his appetite for food.
While dangerously inflaming other appetites he preferred not to think of.
“What do you do for fun these days?” she asked.
“Perform,” he answered honestly. “I never get tired of sharing my music with a crowd of people and watching them respond.
“But when you’re not onstage. What do you do?”
“I enjoy whatever city I’m in.” He liked to maintain the illusion that he was an easygoing playboy. No one but his tiny inner circle knew what he really got up to when the lights were off. That he had a whole other vocation unrelated to music. Everything went more smoothly that way, and fewer lives were put at risk. “If I weren’t with you I’d probably be hitting a jazz club with my drummer and my bassist.”
“Do you still stay up to watch the dawn?” Her slim eyebrow lifted. She’d always teased him about being such a night owl.
“More often than I care to admit.”
“You never were normal.”
“More’s the pity. If I was, then maybe you wouldn’t have left me.” He was teasing her. They both knew she would have left him anyway.
“Do your girlfriends mind you moving around so much?”
“Yes,” he admitted. “My nomadic lifestyle has broken up a lot of relationships. Why do ladies always want to settle down somewhere?”
“It’s our nesting instinct. We want to build a home and fill it with children. I don’t think any mother wants to spend her life herding children on and off planes and trying to find meals they’ll eat in a strange city where she doesn’t speak the language.”
He laughed. “I suppose I can see that.”
“Did you ever have children?” She asked cautiously. She probably knew the answer. At least if she’d read about him at all over the years, the way he had looked up news about her. Maybe she hadn’t bothered.
“No.”
“You always said you wouldn’t, so I guess you kept your promise.”
“You though I was crazy.”
“I suppose I still do.” She crinkled her nose in a really cute way. “I don’t understand it. A lot of men don’t want children when they’re young like we were, but most do eventually.”
“Not me.” He shrugged. “Too much responsibility. I float better when I’m not tied down.” He had his pat line. He’d used it enough over the years. He even used it on his own mother.
Luckily, people had mostly stopped asking as he got older. And a vasectomy in his twenties had defused any claims of paternity that girls threw his way. He hadn’t been a monk. “My songs are my children. They follow me everywhere and grow and change along with me.”
“That’s a cute metaphor. I guess they don’t go off to college and get big, important jobs and leave you rattling around in an old palace with too many bedrooms.”
He grinned. “Not yet, anyway.”
The waiter brought their food way too fast. Uh-oh. And the portions at these fancy Paris restaurants were annoyingly tiny. They’d be finished in about two minutes. Perhaps he could convince her to get dessert. Or maybe go to a club with him. He didn’t want to stop talking to her.
“My daughter Callista was so thrilled to meet you.” Her smile lit up her face.
“Did you tell her about you and me?” He assumed he’d been kept as a dark secret over the years.
“Oh, no. She has no idea. I told her that we met once.” She laughed, no doubt oblivious to the knife she drove into his heart.
Of course she hadn’t told anyone. A nearly yearlong affair with a street musician from the bottom rung of society was hardly something you’d brag about to your royal family. They all probably thought she was still a virgin, fresh from her fancy Swiss finishing school. She’d made him laugh so hard with her stories about her classes in how to manage your servants and how many courses to serve at a state dinner.
Obviously they’d come in more useful over the years than anything he’d taught her.
Hot Silver Nights: Silver Fox Romance Collection Page 32