“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.
“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 FIVE
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? Perhaps 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 t
o 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 playing his saxophone for tips from passersby—busking I think they call it—and he stopped playing 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?”
The Princess and the Player (Royal House of Leone Book 5) Page 3