An Irresistible Temptation (25 page)

“After all this time, this was our first
date.”

And despite all that had already passed
between them, everything felt strangely new.

“It was a wonderful first date,” she said,
unsure what to do next.

He smiled and his dimple appeared. “I still
can’t believe you’re here. And I’m here. And neither of us is
attached.”

“It does seem as though the fates are smiling
on us at last,” she offered tentatively.

“May I kiss you?” Riley asked without any
further preamble.

She looked down the street, which was nearly
deserted at this late hour.

“I think that would be all right,” Sophie
allowed. And then she held her breath as he bent his head to hers.
Seconds seemed to stretch to hours, and she was sure time was
moving extra slowly. At last, she closed her eyes and felt him,
ever so lightly at first. A gentle, tender, welcome back kiss.

“Sophie,” he murmured against her mouth.

“Riley,” she said back.

His arms came around her and he pulled her
closely against him. Right on the street!

She stepped back into the foyer, pulling him
with her, away from the public eye. He deepened the kiss, slanting
his mouth in such a way that her lips opened slightly and she felt
his tongue touch hers. The touch went right through her, sending
ripples of awareness that this man was hers. Or that she was his.
She had believed she’d never get to feel this, not with Riley, ever
again.

As he finally pulled away, she felt his teeth
tug on her lower lip before he let her go. That small gesture made
her knees go weak. She opened her eyes to see his, staring directly
into hers, darkest brown and even a little glazed. She wanted to
keep him looking like that and to take him up the stairs and along
the hallway to her apartment. She wanted . . .

“I’d best go home,” he said, shoving his
hands into his pockets. “Right?” he asked, as if there might be
some other option.

Feeling shaken at how entirely she was swept
away by him, even with this simplest of joinings, Sophie nodded. “I
need to sleep,” she said, mumbling through tender lips.

He stroked her face. “I have no classes
tomorrow, but I have rounds until late afternoon. But I’ll be
there, in the front row, tomorrow night.”

“Will you?”

“Of course, and the next, and every night
after that when you’re playing.”

“Ridiculous man,” she said, but she was
pleased. “You’ll go broke.”

“Can I take you to dinner again tomorrow
night?”

She smiled, and then she repeated his words,
“You’re here. And I’m here. And neither of us is attached.”

“Well, then Sophie Malloy, until tomorrow.”
He moved rapidly down the stairs, walking backward a few steps
along the sidewalk to watch her until she waved and started to
close the door. She heard him let out a loud whooping sound and she
might have imagined it, but she thought he yelled, “Purple!”

*****

Back in his own apartment, Riley lay on his
bed, legs crossed, hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling.
He was not a drinking man or he might have a bottle of whisky
beside him, about half finished. Sleep evaded him and in his mind,
he was reliving the evening.

In the audience that night, waiting for the
curtain to go up, his heart had been pounding so loudly he was sure
the man next to him was going to complain. Then suddenly, Sophie
was at the piano and looking so damned beautiful in her pale dress
with her hair swept up that he couldn’t breathe.
She belonged to
him
—he wanted to stand up and shout it out to everyone in the
concert hall.

From the first notes, however, it was as
though she played every listener’s heartstrings right along with
the piano keys. His mouth had opened in wonder at her talent and
he’d looked around him to see the audience all equally gripped by
the majesty and magic of her talent. She didn’t belong only to him,
he realized. Her gift was so big, it belonged to the world.

And he was going to be a country doctor in
Spring City, which was in no way a real city, not by any stretch of
the imagination. He groaned and closed his eyes, blocking out the
cracked ceiling overhead. It seemed to be mimicking his heart. With
his eyes closed, the haunting strains of Beethoven’s
Allegretto,
the symphony’s final piece, played in his head,
as it had on his walk home from Sophie’s apartment. Unfortunately,
it reminded him of a funeral dirge.

When he’d passed the street that led to the
County-City Hospital, he’d stopped and after a moment, he’d walked
all the way there, though it was out of his way. He stared at the
impressive building, but he was thinking of Doc’s cozy office. This
hospital building would be as out of place in Spring as . . . as
Sophie Malloy, the concert pianist.

He rolled over and punched his pillow,
causing a down feather to waft in the air and land on his mattress.
He couldn’t deny the ecstasy he’d felt at having her in his arms
again, how nearly impossible it had been to leave her at her door.
He ought to be elated at having her back in his life, unmarried as
they both were, but with every passing moment, his joy seemed to
leak from him like a wounded patient losing blood. Now, he was
feeling merely defeated.

In a matter of weeks, he would be a doctor,
living back in Spring City. In a matter of weeks! It was ridiculous
to consider her leaving the stage, denying herself and her
audience. Inconceivable!

For the life of him, try as he might, he
couldn’t picture his life in Colorado with Sophie at his side. He
could offer her his whole heart, with no holding back, and all the
love a man could give a woman. But he couldn’t give her the future
she deserved. And he was damned sure he wasn’t going to steal it
from her by asking her to be his wife.

Except for midday rehearsals, which were
filled with excited chatter after the previous night’s success,
Sophie thought the day dragged on endlessly. She wanted nothing
more than to be back on the stage. Not only did she love
performing, she loved knowing Riley would be in the audience to
enjoy it and to meet her at the end. And though The Palace was a
busy place on a Saturday night, Egbert and Carling both had managed
the evening off and were coming to her show, as well. It made her
happiness complete.

“I love Wagner,” Otto said. “Tonight will be
even better.”

“Better than Beethoven?” Septimus asked. He
stopped Sophie, who was walking backstage where they sat drinking
tea. “What do you think?”

“I would never presume to make such a
judgment. If your bass—”

“Double bass,” Septimus interrupted.

“Very well,” Sophie amended, “if your
double bass
isn’t tuned correctly, say tuned in fifths
instead of fourths,” Septimus shuddered at the thought, “or if Otto
loses his trumpet altogether,” both men chuckled, “then perhaps, we
will think last night was better. Other than that, I believe we
will give our audience a consistently superb performance every time
we play.”

“Glad to know you don’t suffer any qualms,
girly,” Otto said and laughed. “If only I could be so arrogant, but
I’m third chair, after all.”

“Nonsense,” Sophie said. “It’s not arrogance,
nor conceit, for that matter. It’s self-assurance and more than
that, it’s confidence in our ensemble. We are in this together. So
that had better be tea you’re drinking and you better be ready when
Henry says, ‘curtain.’”

“Yes, ma’am,” Septimus said. “You hear that
Otto. We better be ready. You better do your vomiting now and get
it over with.”

“Don’t tease him,” Sophie said, softening.
“You’ll be brilliant, and if you need to empty your stomach to play
like a saint, then so be it.” She marched off, determined to get a
little peace and to prepare her brain for a difficult solo that
would come before intermission.

*****

When the curtain came down on the San
Francisco Symphony’s second-ever performance, they received a
standing ovation. Sophie knew she wanted to do this for the rest of
her life. She couldn’t help her dreamy smile, not even hours later,
sitting with her three ardent admirers, having crab stew at Gobey’s
Saloon.

“Sophie!”

“Hm,” she murmured, reliving the last bars of
the last piece of music when she’d experienced a cramp in her right
hand and had played through it.

“Sophie, have you heard a word I said?”
Carling put down her spoon, exasperated.

Riley stroked her arm, sending shivers
through her, and she came back to them.

“I’m sorry, it’s hard to shake off the
concert. I know that it’s over, but I still feel as though I have
to work through the pieces.”

“Carling wanted to know if you’d ever get to
play your own music,” Egbert said. He had stood up with the rest of
the audience, clapping in amazement as it was his first time not
only to hear Sophie play, but his first time at a concert.

Sophie glanced at Riley, thinking of when
he’d heard her own composition back in Spring City. She’d written
nothing since then.

“I would need to write a whole concerto, and
I’m far from that. Plus, I think I ought to be well-known first, so
people will pay to see me.”

“They paid at The Grand,” Carling
offered.

“They paid for their drinks,” Sophie said
with laughter in her voice.

“They came back for you,” Riley insisted. “I
know I did,” he added under his breath so she alone could hear.

She’d heard the whole story from Carling, how
Riley had come looking for her. Frankly, she was glad that she’d
already left with Philip. Without her trip back home, she’d be
lost, lost without Henry and his symphony. She couldn’t imagine her
life in San Francisco if she’d returned to no more than her job at
The Grand’s bar.

“We’re going to look at some land for sale in
Sonoma,” Carling said, obviously trying to keep a conversation
going with the four of them, even though Riley was quietly staring
at Sophie, and Sophie was now staring back at him. But this brought
her back to reality.

“This time of year? And so close to
Thanksgiving?”

“It’s not celebrated as widely here as I’ve
heard it is in New England,” Egbert said.

Sophie frowned and looked at Riley who raised
his eyebrows and shrugged.

“We never celebrated it in Spring City much,”
he admitted.

“The large hotels put on a big meal in their
dining rooms,” Carling said, “usually a roast beef dinner.”

Sophie clucked. “But what about the raffle on
Thanksgiving eve and the shooting match and the turkey and pigeon
pie. And the pumpkin pie?”

Carling wrinkled up her nose. “Pumpkin
pie?”

Sophie reached across the table and grabbed
Carling’s hand. “My God! Don’t tell me you’ve never had it? And
what about costumes?”

“You mean, like dressing up?” Riley asked.
“Sophie, we don’t do that out here.”

“Fine, no costumes, but I will make you all a
Thanksgiving meal. We shall meet at my apartment and I’ll get some
extra chairs and . . . we’ll invite Freddie, too, and of course,
all the symphony members from back east. Henry and Arthur will
definitely want turkey and pie.”

“I haven’t seen inside your apartment,” Riley
said, making sure Egbert and Carling heard that, “but I imagine
you’ll need somewhere bigger if you’re having all those
people.”

“Maybe one of the dining rooms at The
Palace,” Carling said, looking at Egbert, who shook his head
wildly.

“Okay, then,” Sophie said, “I’ll ask Freddie
about The Ladies Grill dining room. It’ll probably be closed on
Thanksgiving anyway.”

She drifted away into planning mode, wishing
she had her mother and sisters to help her. But Carling would have
to do in a pinch, though she had no idea if her friend could make
anything other than tea and fish stew.

“There she goes again, her mind floating
off,” Carling said, as Sophie tapped her chin thoughtfully.

“I think we should retire,” Riley said. “Our
pianist here needs her sleep.”

*****

Riley unlocked the foyer door for her again
and with his hand on the small of her back, he escorted her inside.
This time, she let him come upstairs to her door on the first
floor, a cheerful honeyed oak door on which she’d hung a sprig of
dried flowers. He smiled at the homey touch.

“Are you free tomorrow?” he asked.

She responded with a wry smile.

“I mean in the morning, before the concert
and before rehearsal,” he clarified. “When does it start?”

“Two o’clock.”

“I have no classes, no clinic, no rounds
tomorrow. I’m free.” And he wanted to spend all his time with
her.

She leaned back against the door. “What do
you have in mind?”

He couldn’t help the slow grin that spread
over his face. “I can’t tell you what I have in my mind. You might
slap me.”

“Riley!” But she laughed.

“How about a stroll, then?” God, he wanted to
court this woman, to experience everything new with her, and to see
her smile at him every day the rest of his life. When he was with
her, that seemed possible. “I know you’ve lived here a while now,
but you can’t have seen everything.”

“No, of course I haven’t. Not at all. I want
to be like Miska Hauser. I read his book on the train.”

He shrugged helplessly. He had no idea who
she was talking about, but he loved to watch her mouth as she
spoke.

“He’s a violinist and a composer. But you
must know, he wrote all about his travels here in San Francisco.”
She chuckled at his nonplussed expression. “Never mind Hauser. What
time can we start?”

He was transfixed by her upturned mouth. He
wanted to kiss her. Maybe she’d open her apartment door and let him
in.
Was she as desperate to hold him as he was her?