An Irresistible Temptation Read online

  “Hey there!”

  She jumped, brought out of her Chopin reverie by a loud but friendly voice. However, she didn’t get up—she couldn’t bear to take her fingers from the keys. She looked at the man who appeared at her side, wearing a sharp-looking suit.

  “Well, don’t stop,” he said, leaning on the piano. “Obviously, you know what you’re doing.”

  Sophie nodded. Yes, at least here, with these 85 keys, she did.

  “I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist.”

  “That’s all right. Stay as long as you like, until eleven that is,” he winked at her. “Then this place’ll start to fill up. Say, what’s your name?”

  “Miss Malloy. Sophie Malloy.”

  He leaned closer and she could tell immediately that he was interested in her person. That was nothing new. And her feeling nothing in return, that wasn’t new either.

  “I’m Freddie Vern. I manage the bar and the dining room.”

  She smiled. She was sure that was an important job, particularly by the way he said it with pride.

  “How wonderful for you,” Sophie said. He seemed pleased with that response. Should she ask him if he wanted a pianist? She knew what Carling would say. Get on with it. So she did.

  “Your piano looks a little dusty.”

  He nodded. “We haven’t had a player for a while. And I’m not certain it matters, profit-wise.”

  “Maybe you didn’t have the right . . . player.” She preferred the word pianist but she could certainly adapt.

  “Come to think of it, the last one was ugly, short, and bald. And played like he was using his feet. Didn’t exactly draw a crowd.” Now his flirting was unmistakable as he rested his hand on his chin and gazed at her openly. “Any suggestions, Miss Malloy?”

  “Well, I do believe I know a talented pianist who is neither short, nor bald.”

  “And definitely not ugly,” he added, treating her to another wink.

  “Thank you, Mr. Vern.”

  “Please, call me Freddie. And would this talented player be interested in our humble establishment?”

  “For the right remuneration. Yes, she would.”

  He chuckled. “Why don’t you come to my office and we’ll talk more. I have a feeling you could charm my customers into staying for a few more drinks.”

  “In such a lovely hotel as The Grand,” Sophie said, standing up to find she was looking at him eye to eye, “why wouldn’t they?”

  *****

  Dear Charlotte and dearest brother, Reed, for I know you share everything including my letters,

  I will write separately to Mama. I have found employment playing the piano for a fine establishment. While not a professional symphony or opera house, as I’d hoped, it is a revered institution, with well-behaved, upstanding patrons. They are also generous tippers.

  She crossed the last line out as it sounded crass, though she’d been particularly pleased at the end of her first evening to discover that the jar Freddie had set out for her was stuffed full of bills. The pay was poor but now, as the days had turned to weeks, she understood that she could, in fact, pay for her room and all her monthly necessities on the wages plus the tips, if she were careful with her money. Still, she saw no reason to let her brother, a distinguished Boston attorney, know that his sister was working in a bar.

  She sighed and grabbed another piece of stationary to begin again, but her mind drifted off, as it did often to Riley. It had been weeks since she’d seen him, going on two months now, but she hadn’t forgotten a thing about how he looked . . . or how he tasted or his warm vanilla scent. More importantly, she hadn’t forgotten how he made her feel.

  Freddie Vern had tried on more than one occasion to get her to agree to a dinner or even a walk. She had turned him down as kindly as she could. She didn’t feel any spark, and she simply didn’t have the patience to pretend.

  Letter finished and mailed, she stopped in to see Carling at The Palace. Sophie could usually find her positioned near Egbert Hull’s concierge station in the large room they called the “office.” Here a host of attachés worked, all dark-skinned men from the east, hired specifically by The Palace and whose one job was to make guests supremely happy. Among the attachés, Carling was the sole female. She wore the same jacket as the rest of them, though she had a matching skirt instead of the crisp, pressed trousers of the men.

  Many of the guests preferred having the lively young woman help them out with sightseeing or dining information.

  “It’s understandable, isn’t it?” Carling speculated one evening over a glass of wine at one of the hotels’ bars. “Anyone’s gonna prefer me to humorless Egbert and the rest of his gnarly staff, especially now, when we’ve got more single women travelling than ever before.”

  Sophie could tell that Carling actually liked Egbert immensely by the way she talked about him incessantly.

  “Aw, he’s not so bad,” Carling admitted one evening, “not when you get to know him.”

  “He seems to be a hard worker,” Sophie put in.

  “Yeah, but a bit prissy,” Carling said, “and he seems to think he’s better than most.”

  “Maybe he thinks his job is a bit beneath him. Didn’t you say he’d been to university?”

  Sophie knew her mother and brother would be mortified that she’d been to the finest music schools in Boston and Europe and was playing piano for tips.

  “He is awfully smart,” Carling agreed. “Sometimes, if we get a quiet moment, I bring him a cup of tea and we talk. He knows a lot about a lot, and he doesn’t seem to mind when I ask him questions.”

  “Maybe you could find out if he has aspirations for something more,” Sophie suggested.

  “Well, I might,” Carling said, and Sophie thought maybe her friend didn’t know the word aspirations, but then she added, “I’m happy with my job, though, and having him working here, too. If he followed his dreams or what have you, I might never see him again.”

  Sophie smiled at the wistful statement. She’d been right about Carling’s feelings for Mr. Hull. She wasn’t going to interfere, but she did think it would be a shame if Egbert liked Carling, too, and didn’t declare for her.

  “Maybe you could ask him to join us for one of our get-togethers.”

  Carling looked gobsmacked. “What? Ask Egbert to have a drink with us? Are you mad?”

  Sophie laughed at her expression. “Think on it. It might be fun. Anyway, dear, I’ll see you later.” She left with one backward glance to Carling that showed the girl was musing on the idea at any rate.

  She walked along the single block that separated The Palace from The Grand. There was talk of a bridge to connect the second floors of each hotel. Sophie hoped they did it. She decided it would not only look very sophisticated but people could cross from one to the other without getting damp, which she was starting to do because of the heavy fog that day. She ducked into the bar, hurriedly hung up her coat and hat in the closet Freddie had shown her for staff belongings and approached the bartender.

  “Please, Percy, may I have a glass of water?”

  He didn’t guffaw at her, after the first time. Now, he just accepted her strange ways. “Water,” he chuckled. “Here you go, Miss Malloy. It’s a good strong one.” And he set the glass on the bar before giving his moustache a twirl on either side.

  She sat down at the piano and took a sip then placed her glass up on the piano on the opposite side from her tip jar. She couldn’t explain to anyone that it was truly hard work, playing for hours, especially as she played “real” music, not that saloon stuff that she’d heard coming out of Ada’s in Spring City or any number of drinking establishments in San Francisco.

  Sophie played classical music and the customers loved it. Some had heard about her and started to come to hear her play. Freddie told her of the compliments he’d received on her behalf. And she was bemused to receive applause after each song, proving that the people in the bar were actually listening and not ignoring her as background noise. A
ll in all, she was quite satisfied with her audience over the past few weeks.

  She stretched her fingers out and curled them in a few times. And then she considered what she felt like playing. At some point, she knew she would have to avail herself of some sheet music. She’d only memorized so much, and even then, sometimes she cut a long piece short or threw in one of her own works. No one minded or noticed.

  Something lively today, she decided. Something vivacissimo. She began a Scarlatti sonata and let everything fall away. Nothing penetrated her musical castle as she’d come to think of it. As she played, she built it up, note by note, stone by stone. She’d first used it to keep the heartbreak over Phillip at bay, and now it kept the loneliness and the longing for Riley waiting outside the drawbridge until her final piece each night.

  Occasionally, she would smile and nod her thanks, as a patron came forward to put money in the jar, though she never spoke while playing and rarely heard the noise around her. But out of the blue, she heard Riley’s voice; it entirely breached her musical fortress, and her fingers faltered as she looked up to see him, dressed for the city.

  Chapter Nine

  Blocking Sophie’s clear view of him, Eliza stood, poised at the entrance. Whatever he’d said to her, Eliza now turned to answer before she scanned the room and locked eyes with Sophie’s horrified gaze. Why hadn’t she put her head down? But Eliza looked right through, and, except for the briefest of hesitations in her glance, apparently pretended not to see her. She murmured something to Riley and they left the bar.

  Sophie realized she’d stopped playing because suddenly, she could hear the din of voices and glassware clinking, where normally, she heard nothing but the music. She had no idea how she’d heard Riley over the crowd. Her heart was racing—had she just seen Mr. and Mrs. Riley Dalcourt?

  “Something wrong, lass?” she heard Percy say behind her. She shook her head and started to play again, not even caring what it was, so long as her fingers kept moving.

  Finally, it was her dinner break. As part of their agreement, Freddie allowed her to take a meal in their dining room each evening, without charge. Tonight, she had no appetite, but instead, wanted to escape the bar for ten minutes. She craved fresh air, hoping it would clear her head of what still seemed an unlikely apparition: Riley in a hat very unlike what he wore in Colorado and a clean dark suit; Eliza in a grey dress, perhaps traveling clothes. Maybe they’d only just arrived. Maybe they were on their honeymoon.

  They’d pledged their troth and joined as man and wife; they could now enjoy themselves in the marriage bed. She could imagine his lips on Eliza’s skin, his hands undressing her. She hurried to The Palace and ran right through the courtyard, passed through the large glass doors, heading for the employees-only office. She dashed to Egbert’s desk, with its imperious clock perched on a grand structure behind it, with all sorts of drawers and cubbies. He was stuffing mail into a cubby and turned at her footsteps.

  “Is Carling nearby?”

  Egbert frowned. “Miss Malloy, she is working, and her duty demands—”

  “Please, Mr. Hull . . . Egbert, I need to speak with her.”

  He sighed. “You may try The Tapestry Room. She may still be showing it to a prospective renter. Do you know where it is?”

  “Yes,” she said, “thank you.” Ignoring the curious look on his face, she turned and left. The Tapestry Room, she murmured to herself. It sounded as lovely as it was. Carling had taken her on a private tour of the hotel and they’d stopped in to the exquisitely furnished private dining area that wealthy San Franciscans rented for what they considered small dinner parties. She practically ran to one of the five richly carpeted staircases, eschewing the nine elevators as being too slow. She needed to talk to Carling. Now.

  “Sophie?”

  She felt all the blood drain out of her head at the sound of Riley’s voice, uncertain and loud in the echoing space. Too late to discuss this turn of events with the sole friend she had in the city, Sophie gripped the banister.

  “Sophie!” His voice was certain now. She turned around and inwardly cursed herself, for the sight of him literally made her knees go weak.

  “Riley,” she said, acknowledging him with a tilt of her head, as if they were the most casual of acquaintances.

  He took a couple hurried steps toward her, and, for a moment, she feared he was going to catch her up in a hug, and then he slowed down.

  “I can’t believe it’s you. My God. What are you doing here?” he asked, looking flummoxed.

  She couldn’t tell if he was happy or just shocked. “I . . . I live here.”

  “In San Francisco?” A grin spread over his face, ushering in his enchanting dimple. Oh, Lord, don’t let him smile like that at me.

  “I take it congratulations are in order,” Sophie offered.

  He frowned.

  She rushed on, “I saw you and Eliza earlier. I assume you’re staying here at The Palace?”

  “You saw us, where?”

  She ignored his question. “So, is she here, now, at The Palace?” She regretted the fact that her voice was rising, but she couldn’t seem to breathe deeply.

  “Yes, well, Eliza’s father wanted her to have the best. She’s upstairs, but I—”

  “I have to go . . . back to work.” Carling had shown Sophie some of the rooms. They were elegant and had beautiful beds. Instantly, that’s all she could picture: Riley and Eliza in one of them tonight. Sophie certainly didn’t want to hear about it. She started to step around him but he grabbed her arm.

  “Sophie—”

  “I have to go.” He was so close and his hand on her arm was like a fire brand.

  “Please, Sophie. I can’t let you disappear again. Sarah wouldn’t tell me where you went.”

  She paused. She couldn’t live in San Francisco and not see him, could she? Was she that strong?

  “I . . .,” she looked up into his soft brown eyes and melted. “I work at The Grand, next door. I’m the . . . piano player,” she confessed. Wrenching her arm free from his grip, she walked away without looking back. But she knew he would come.

  *****

  Less than twenty minutes later, he was there. She felt him before she saw him. He sat down at a table against the wall, ordered two drinks and when they were placed in front of him, he walked over to the piano.

  “Will you join me for a drink?”

  “I’m working,” she said, without looking up. What would Freddie think if he walked in to his bar to find her sitting with a man?

  “When do you get a break? I’ll wait.”

  Christ! How was she supposed to focus on playing, with Riley seated a few feet away? If she had a drink with him, he’d go back to Eliza at The Palace.

  “I’ll be over in a minute,” she told him and finished up the piece, though she was fairly certain she’d flubbed the ending and missed out an entire measure. Riley and a few others clapped anyway.

  She curled and uncurled her fingers and went over to his table.

  “That was lovely,” he said as she sat down.

  “It was not.” Sophie felt immensely resentful. All her hard work at not thinking about him and at putting the image of his tawny eyes, sensual lips, and saucy smile out of her mind was undone in an instant.

  “Where’s Eliza?” she heard herself snap.

  “In her room, getting freshened up.”

  She had looked perfectly fresh earlier, Sophie thought. “I think she saw me earlier.”

  Riley nodded and sipped his drink. “That’s why she hustled me out of here so quickly, I guess.”

  “Did you tell her . . . that we kissed, I mean?”

  “Yup.”

  “Oh, God,” Sophie muttered, lowering her head into her hands. She’d be branded a harlot in the entire state of Colorado and now in California, too.

  He reached across and touched her arm, causing Sophie to jerk her head up, the feel of his warm hand both welcome and disconcerting.

  “I didn’t have to
offer the information, actually. When you skedaddled from Spring the way you did, Eliza came right out and asked what was up. Particularly after she heard me pressing Sarah for information. Eliza’s a smart woman and I guess she saw something between us.”

  Something between them. Eliza had been right. And was she already Riley’s wife?

  “So, why are you sitting here with me . . . on your honeymoon?” She could barely get the last word out.

  Riley looked stunned. “Oh, Sophie, is that what you think? We didn’t get married yet.”

  Sophie couldn’t deny the immediate sense of relief.

  “You must really believe I’m a cad, if you think that I’d be on my honeymoon and having a drink with you. I tried to tell you at The Palace, but you ran off so fast. Eliza’s staying there, but I’m not. I’ve got my old rooms that I’ve had ever since I started medical school.”

  “She came away with you unmarried and unchaperoned?”

  Riley shrugged. “She told her father we’d be in separate accommodations and it’s true. Who else does she have to explain herself to?”

  “But why not just get married?” Even Sophie was getting tired of their games and she’d been witness only to the tail end of over two years of pussyfooting around.

  “She didn’t want to. She wanted to see San Francisco; that’s all. Also, she’s still a bit sore about you.”

  “And now she knows I’m here.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck and then downed his drink. “She didn’t mention it. I guess she didn’t think I’d run into you standing in the lobby of The Palace. But it’s probably going to eat at her. Even though we have a solid agreement, she doesn’t want to be made a fool of. I can’t blame her. If she were publicly eyeing another man while engaged to me, I’d feel betrayed.” He looked thoughtful. “Why were you in the lobby?”

  “My friend works at The Palace,” Sophie said. No need to tell him she’d gone half-crazy at seeing him and needed some counsel. “How long is Eliza staying?”