An Irresistible Temptation Page 19

  “When I left you at The Grand.”

  She stared at him and he stared back. She couldn’t help but relive their last encounter, and Sophie felt her cheeks grow hot. He raised one of her hands to his lips and kissed it, then the other. She thought that it was a good idea they were in a public dining room. Besides, she still had questions.

  “What happened with Eliza?”

  “Her father died and all she wanted was to be free.”

  “How convenient for you.”

  She didn’t mean to sound catty, did she? But she felt it, nonetheless.

  Riley frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “You would have gone through with it and married her, no matter how we felt about each other, right?” No matter how much I loved you. She pulled her hands out of his grasp. “So it’s convenient that she let you go.”

  He skewered her with his gaze. “To be precise, I let her go. I told Eliza I couldn’t marry her.”

  “Oh,” Sophie said in a small voice.

  “She gave us her approval, in her way.”

  Sophie tried to imagine how that conversation took place.

  “Does Eliza know?” She blushed again. “What we did, I mean?”

  “No, but she could tell how I felt about you. How I still feel about you.” He picked up his glass of wine, then set it down without drinking it. “Sophie, can you forgive me?”

  She was startled. “Forgive you? Whatever for?”

  “I should never have let things happen as they did. If any other man had treated you such, I would shoot him.”

  “Then I guess we’re both fortunate that it was you.”

  He shook his head at her attempt at humor. “What happened with Wainright? Last I heard, you were heading east, ready to get a big, fat diamond and a marriage license.”

  “It sounds as though you spoke with Carling.”

  “The day after you left.”

  She gasped. “Oh my God.”

  Finally, he did smile. “That’s how I felt. I thought I’d lost you by only a day. Can you imagine? And since you were heading all the way to Massachusetts with the man, I figured you must love him.” He paused, looking at her intently; obviously the question was still on his mind.

  “I didn’t, and I don’t,” she said quietly. She watched him accept her words and relax.

  “If Carling hadn’t made it sound as though you were about to march down the aisle, Sophie, I would have come after you.”

  “Carling was trying to protect me.”

  “I know, but she could have told you two months ago that I’d come looking for you.”

  “Did you tell her about Eliza and that you’d broken off your engagement?”

  “No.” He looked sheepish. “I was standing in The Palace and I had an audience.”

  “Then she was right not to interfere. She didn’t want to see me with a broken heart.” Again.

  They finished their meal on safer territory, talking about the last classes he was completing before graduation as well as his clinical work, and she told him stories of the crazy musicians that made up the orchestra.

  When she was feeling truly exhausted and had lost the surge of energy from the performance, he escorted her home.

  “Better than Russian Hill,” he said, walking her up the steps of a massive mansion on Gough street. Opposite was Jefferson Square Park, with its palm trees and open space.

  “You haven’t seen inside yet,” she blurted out, then realized that sounded as though she were inviting him in. “I feel safer here anyway,” she added, thinking she might start talking nonsense with him so close.

  “I definitely think it’s a step up.” He took her key and opened the door to the common entryway. He hesitated, as did she. Then he chuckled.

  “What?” she asked.

  “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 Allegret
to, 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.

  Chapter Twenty

  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?

  “I’ll be here, on your step, at nine,” he said. He had to escape now or he’d pounce. If he touched her, they’d end up in bed, and where would that leave her when he graduated in less than a month? He knew where. Alone, here in San Francisco, with the impression that he’d used her. Again.

  He turned to go.

  “Riley,” she said.

  He froze, his eyes fixed straight ahead of him, not looking at her.

  “Riley,” she repeated, more softly and he turned.