Hot Silver Nights: Silver Fox Romance Collection
Page 33
“Maybe you could sign an autograph for her?”
“I’d be happy to. We can go back to my hotel and pick out a souvenir for her.”
The look of alarm that crossed her face told him he’d stepped waaaay out of line. “Or I could bring something to you tomorrow.” He spoke fast. “I always keep a box of whatever they’re selling at the venues. Would she like a T-shirt? A CD?” He felt like a traveling salesman, but this was his opportunity to see her again.
“Oh, I don’t want to be any trouble. It would be great if you’d sign the program from tonight’s concert.” She fished a slightly crumpled program out of her purse. And a pen.
His heart sank. He felt like she’d asked him to sign his death warrant. There was something so final about giving her his autograph—as soon as he’d signed it, and paid the bill, they’d part ways and he wouldn’t see her again for another thirty years.
He couldn’t let that happen.
Chapter 5
Lina watched Amadou hesitate about signing the program. “You don’t have to. I suppose everyone’s worried about fraud these days. You probably don’t want anyone having your signature.”
“I’m not worried. I use a different signature for autographs than I do for signing checks.” He signed it. She watched his dark, bold scrawl cover half the front photo. “I’d just like to give her something more special.”
“She’ll be thrilled with this.” She admired the signed program before tucking it back in her purse. “And now she’ll probably pepper me with questions about how I really knew you.”
“Will you answer them truthfully?”
“Probably not.” A wry smile tugged at her mouth. “I don’t want to shock her.”
“She’s a young woman. I doubt she’d be shocked. You might be surprised at what she gets up to when she’d not under your motherly gaze.”
“True! I’ve always been careful not to try to control my children. I raised them to make wise decisions, but they’re adults now and can make their own choices.”
She managed to keep the conversation about his tours and which cities he liked best until the waiter removed their plates and asked if they’d like to hear the dessert menu.
“Oh, no, thanks,” she said quickly. “I really should get going. It’s been lovely.” Things had gone smoothly so far, but being around Amadou made her nervous, like a powder keg was about to explode. She couldn’t wait to get back to the quiet safety of her hotel room.
“How about a coffee?” asked Amadou softly.
“I can’t drink coffee at this time of night. I won’t sleep a wink.”
Sadness flickered in his eyes. She was flattered that he wanted to spend more time with her, but that just wasn’t a good idea.
“I’ll be in Paris for two more weeks. I’d love to see you again.” He looked relaxed on the outside, but his voice had an edge to it, an intensity that only spurred her desire to flee like Cinderella after the ball.
“Uh, maybe. My daughter has organized an awful lot of—”
“Can I text you my number?”
Goodness. This was getting way too intimate. Giving someone her personal phone number felt almost like giving them a key to her home. She usually gave people the main palace number, which was answered by a receptionist, but she could hardly do that with Amadou. “Uh, sure.” He pulled out his phone, and she gave him her number. It wouldn’t matter, really. He was always traveling. She’d soon be safely tucked away in the ancient cloisters of Altaleone.
She heard her phone ping as he texted her, but she resisted the urge to look at it. She gave him one of her polite ceremonial smiles instead, as she put on her jacket.
He rose and pulled out her chair, then donned his hat. She’d always loved how tall he was. Emil was only a couple of inches taller than her. Amadou towered over her, and she’d liked the way his sheer size made her feel safe.
Right now, however, she felt anything but safe. They exited the restaurant courtyard into the street and started the short walk toward her hotel, murmuring pleasantries about Paris at night.
Would they shake hands? Maybe hug? People didn’t really hug members of the royal family, but then Amadou was hardly your average, everyday guy.
“This is it.” She paused just before the brightly lit facade of the hotel. She didn’t want to say goodbye in front of a phalanx of night porters and bellhops. “I’d better head in.”
Before she had a chance to walk off, he took her gently in his arms and held her close. She could feel his fingertips press lightly into her back through the thin fabric of her jacket. Something swelled in her chest. It felt wonderful to be held by him again, for just a few moments.
“You haven’t changed at all,” he murmured.
“Oh, but I have.” She pulled back just enough to look into his face. “Sometimes it’s hard to believe I’m even the same person.”
His warm dark gaze made her breath catch. “I can hardly believe I’m holding you in my arms again.” And before she had time to breathe—or protest—his lips captured hers in a kiss so tender that she thought her heart might burst.
Uh-oh. We’re kissing. Her brain struggled to process a sudden barrage of information. Her body had no such difficulty. She simply melted into his arms, drawing closer to him and inhaling his spicy male scent. Memories swept over her like a gust of hot wind, spinning her back to a time when anything was possible.
He probably only kissed her for a couple of seconds before pulling back. “I’ve missed you, Lina.”
I’ve missed you, too. She couldn’t say it. She’d been married to someone else the whole time! She’d never be unfaithful to the memory of her dead husband by admitting that from time to time—hardly ever, really—she’d allowed herself to think back to those magical days and nights with Amadou.
“I’m glad we met again.” She congratulated herself on a response that was both diplomatic and appropriately enthusiastic. She tugged herself gently from his embrace, feeling a tiny sense of loss as his muscled arms moved back to his sides.
“Me, too.” She could tell that he wanted to say more and prayed he wouldn’t. This was awkward enough already.
“Bye.” She backed away, almost ready to turn and run.
“Goodbye, Carolina. I’ll be in touch.” He kept his gaze on her, steady and unnerving, until she finally did turn and march toward the lobby with almost undignified speed. Had the hotel staff seen her kiss him?
She glanced around quickly. What if there were paparazzi nearby? Possibly she was being paranoid and no one really cared what some middle-aged dowager from an obscure microstate got up to, but if someone more exciting was staying here they might well be staked outside and anything that happened was fair game for their prying lenses.
“Good evening, madame.” The doorman greeted her. She managed to nod a polite greeting back, while her mind spun so fast she hoped she wouldn’t trip on the marble steps. “I trust you had a pleasant night out?”
Was he leering? Had he recognized Amadou? He was far more famous than her. She’d just die if her children found out about this. They’d be so shocked. Their father was dead barely a year.
She realized that she hadn’t answered the doorman, who was now holding the door for her. “Lovely, thank you.” Another ceremonial smile. If she could just get to her room without having to talk to anyone, that would be fantastic. Then she could scream—silently, of course—and release the tension building up inside her like a tsunami.
As she marched across the lobby, she heard her phone ping. Another text. She didn’t dare look at it as she pressed the elevator button, then stepped in and pressed her floor.
By the time she got to her hotel room and let herself inside, she’d already started to mistrust her memories. How could she have kissed him? She was a widow and still in mourning. She had a royal reputation to uphold and couldn’t just go around kissing celebrity musicians if she felt like it.
Maybe the kiss was a figment of her underused imagination? Perh
aps he’d given her a peck goodbye and she’d somehow reinvented it into a full-on smooch?
No. Impossible. Her lips still tingled, and her heartbeat skipped and jumped around. She could still feel the press of his strong fingers into her back.
She’d definitely kissed him and it had left an indelible mark on her psyche.
His text! She remembered it and pulled out her phone. First he’d texted her with just his name—so she’d know who the strange number belonged to. The second text took her a moment to unravel.
Be happy for this moment. This moment is your life.
Huh?
It was probably a quote from someone. When she’d been close to him, Amadou was always reading this and that, too impatient for formal education yet hungry for wisdom beyond his years.
She Googled the line and found it was from Omar Khayyam, a tenth-century Persian poet and mathematician. Typical! She had to smile. If this moment was her life, it was certainly unexpected.
Perhaps he’d sent her the text to forestall the regret he knew she’d feel as soon as she was alone with some common sense.
Her phone rang and she jumped. Surely he wasn’t calling already?
No. It was Callista. She hesitated, wondering if she could pretend she’d already gone to bed.
Now you’re going to fib to your children? You have nothing to hide! She picked it up. “Hello, darling. You really should be asleep.”
“How can I sleep when I know my mom is out on a date with Amadou Khadem? I want all the details.”
“Don’t be silly, my love. We had a nice dinner, and now I’m back in my room.”
“Is he there?”
“Callista!”
“You know I’m just kidding. It’s just that I’ve never thought of you before with anyone other than Dad. And Amadou is just so…different from Dad.”
“Yes. He was always very exciting. Too exciting.”
“And that’s why you left him for Dad?”
“Maybe. I don’t remember. It was all so long ago.”
“I had no idea you were such a woman of mystery. I suppose I thought you incubated at a strict boarding school for years, then walked right into a royal marriage. How did you ever even meet him?”
“We met by the lake in Zurich. He was singing for tips from passersby—busking I think they call it—and he stopped singing to talk to me. I don’t even know why I stopped to respond. I suppose he’s not the type of person you can ignore.”
“He was busking? That’s hilarious. I cannot picture the international superstar performing for loose change.”
“He was young. It wasn’t such a strange thing to do in those days. One of my German girlfriends used to play her violin there, too.” Now she was defending him. She didn’t want Callista to see him as some kind of street hustler. He’d been mesmerizing even back then, always with a crowd around him. They’d all known it was only a matter of time before he hit it big.
“And I guess you guys became quite…intimate.”
“We were friends. It was different back then. People didn’t jump into bed with each other the way they do now.” She should check the mirror to see if her nose was growing because that was a stone-cold lie! Though she hadn’t jumped into bed with him until at least their third date.
“From the way he reacted to seeing you again I’d have thought you were a lot more than just friends. When are you seeing him again?”
“Again? Oh, no. It was just a friendly catch-up dinner. He’s touring. I probably won’t see him again for years.”
She heard the sound of a text coming in. And ignored it.
“It’s about time you started dating.”
“Callista!”
“It’s been a year. No one will hold it against you. I, for one, think you should get out and about more.”
“That’s why I came to Paris, remember?”
“Then I guess it’s working.” They wished each other good night. Goodness, it was late! Well after midnight. She undressed and removed her makeup. Then she remembered the newest text.
It could wait until morning. Already she was frazzled and overstimulated by the day’s events. She really was happiest when she was pottering about in her rose garden, annoying the gardener with her suggestions.
But as she lay down in bed she realized it could be a text from one of the children. Or news in the case of her husband’s murder. She picked up her phone and glanced at it.
I’m thinking about you.
Of course it was him. Who else would send a bold message like that to her phone?
She grabbed her phone and texted back quickly. I’m a widow and still in mourning. I am thinking about my dead husband. She sent it before she could second-guess herself.
In the silence that followed she had opportunity for regret. Did she have to be so brusque about it? Still, it annoyed her that he would flirt with her on such a short reacquaintance. He didn’t know anything about her life between now and then.
Her phone pinged again, and she fought the urge to read it. And failed.
You are still alive. And more lovely than ever.
Flatterer! She cursed the smile that flew to her lips. He could have probably taken half of the women in the audience out to dinner if he’d wanted to, but he’d wanted to be with her.
I want to see you tomorrow.
I already have plans. She texted back before she could think about the possibilities. She wasn’t ready to start dating.
Forget dating—her being seen to be involved with Amadou would mean a media circus. She could just imagine the headlines. She wasn’t ready for that either. The gaudy press coverage of the murders had only just died down, and she was relieved that they’d never uncovered the whole story of the compromising positions the bodies had been found in.
And she hoped they never would.
Cancel them. I’ll pick you up first thing in the morning.
What? The nerve!
No. I need to sleep now. Goodbye.
Hopefully that was terse enough to discourage him.
Dead yesterdays and unborn tomorrows. Why fret about them, if today be sweet?
Another quote, no doubt. Probably Omar Khayyam again. She put her phone on her bedside table, determined not to respond.
The dead yesterdays were alarming enough, but the unborn tomorrows scared the heck out of her. Especially if any of them had the dangerously seductive Amadou Khadem in them…which she strongly suspected they would.
Chapter 6
Will you meet me for lunch? He sent the message barely after seven-thirty a.m. Just couldn’t wait any longer.
Sorry, I can’t. I have plans.
Damn.
He wanted to push for more details, to ramp up and ask for dinner. Maybe even just to show up at her hotel and offer to escort her wherever she was going.
But he knew that if he came on too strong—which arguably he’d already done—he’d drive her away. If he played too safe, she’d slip out of his grasp. Amadou was no stranger to seducing women, but Carolina was a special challenge.
He stopped halfway through his morning series of sun salutations. Normally he used the yoga poses to focus on his breathing and clear his mind. Today his mind was cluttered—burdened—with thoughts of Carolina and how badly he wanted to see her again.
He resolved to go for a run instead and laced up his running shoes, then headed outside. A light drizzle blurred the air, and its cold drops on his face pulled him out of his overactive imagination and into a reality with slippery streets and irritable commuters.
But it didn’t slow his pace as he covered the distance between his hotel near the Champs-Elysées and hers near Boulevard Haussmann. He ran right past her hotel. Why did he want her so much, anyway?
It had been more than thirty years. He was over her. Or at least he’d thought he was. He was here in Paris on important business—the business of saving young lives from a grim fate. He didn’t have time to lose his head over a woman. Especially this woman.
He shuddered. Better to be alone with his music.
Right?
Maybe that wasn’t it anyway. He stopped and glanced back down the street behind him, past the spot where he’d kissed her last night. He’d known the kiss would be unexpected, unwelcome, even. Maybe that was why he’d done it. Perhaps he wanted revenge for the way she’d coldly walked away from him when he’d thought they were so close.
Clearly their relationship had meant a lot less to her than it had to him. They’d never discussed the future but who did at twenty? They didn’t even think beyond the next week at that age. He hadn’t questioned where their union was going, hadn’t even thought about it until he got that crisp, apologetic letter.
He did deserve a little revenge for that. He’d burned the letter that night, but its words were seared into his brain. I enjoyed our time together. Like they’d just shared a pleasant evening! I wish you much success. As if he needed her good wishes or anyone else’s. He’d always known he was going to make it and sooner rather than later.
He turned away and started running again, determination rippling in his veins.
He was going to bed Carolina Leone.
“Uh, no, don’t come up. I’ll come down.” Lina didn’t want her daughter entering her room and seeing the three big vases of flowers Amadou had sent her. Since their kiss two days ago he’d texted her several times with invitations and she’d turned them all down.
And now the flowers? Why? He must know by now that she didn’t want to see him again.
Well, she did, but she knew it was a terrible idea and that she absolutely MUST NOT DO IT.
Surely he’d received the hint by now? Would she have to come out and tell him that she wouldn’t see him again no matter what?