Tame An Older Man

Where was she? he fumed. Out with one of her college beaux?

He knew his anger was unreasonable. He had no claim to Phoebe, just as she had none on him. He could pick up the phone right now and call that cute brunette who worked at the deli where he often had lunch. She'd thoughtfully included her phone number with his hoagie sandwich earlier this week.

But the brunette held little appeal. It was blond hair he thought of now-long, straight, white-gold silk he could swim in.

He went to bed with a boring book, hoping it would dull him to sleep.

* * *

Phoebe dressed with more than usual care for her Saturday date with Wyatt. She wanted to look her best-she wanted to look hot. But she didn't want to look like a teenager. So she tried on one outfit after another, while her mother gave her a running commentary.

'What about this?' Phoebe asked as she stood in front of the mirror in red hip-hugger jeans, platform clogs and a ribbed halter top.

'Beautiful,' Olga said. 'If you want to look like a teen hooker. All you need is a ring in your navel.'

She didn't tell her mother she'd actually had her navel pierced when she lived in L.A. She'd done it for Joel. After they broke up, she decided it didn't suit her and quit wearing the ring. She still had a tiny scar.

Next she tried on a pair of baggy pants and an oversize T-shirt.

'Lovely,' Olga said. 'Except no one can tell you're a girl. Don't you have something in between? Gawd, not those overalls,' she said quickly, when Phoebe reached for a lilac pair. Phoebe hid a secret smile, remembering how she'd wanted to peel off her overalls during her first confrontation with Wyatt.

She finally settled on snug black pants, a crop top that showed only a narrow strip of skin at her waist, and flat-heeled boots. She wouldn't set the fashion world on fire, but she wouldn't scare Wyatt.

He knocked on her door promptly at ten. He'd sounded a little dubious when she'd suggested that time, but when she'd explained that The Pit, the club she wanted to take him to, didn't really get going until midnight, he'd agreed. She liked that about him: his flexibility. Joel had always wanted to be right.

She opened the door, taking a moment to appreciate the visual impact. He wore a pair of starched khakis, a forest-green shirt, polished loafers-and a tie. A grown-up preppie. Apparently he'd taken more than a little care with his wardrobe, because even at work he didn't wear a tie.

He spent no small amount of time studying her before finally smiling in approval. 'Hi.'

'Hi, yourself. Come in and meet my mother.'

'Gee, I haven't been through this ritual since high school.'

She touched his forearm in a small gesture of reassurance. Olga would approve.

Olga stepped out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishcloth, as Phoebe led Wyatt into the living room.

'Oh, hello,' she said, as if her appearance hadn't been calculated down to the last second. 'You must be Wyatt.'

'Hello, Ms. Phelps.' Wyatt extended his hand to her, and she shook it a bit awkwardly. 'I'm looking forward to having you on the show.'

'I'm looking forward to being there,' she cooed, batting her eyelashes. 'My, Phoebe said you were handsome, but she didn't tell the half of it.'

Phoebe rolled her eyes. When Olga turned on the full force of her feminine charm, it was a thing to be feared. But Wyatt just rolled right along with it.

'And Phoebe didn't tell me how pretty you are. Your photo doesn't do you justice.'

Olga patted her blond, puffy hair and batted her false eyelashes. 'Oh, how you do go on. '

Phoebe decided she'd better get Wyatt out of there before they were hip-deep in treacle. 'We'd better get going.'

'You won't keep her out too late, will you, Wyatt?' Olga admonished.

'Mama, I haven't had a curfew since I was seventeen. Do not wait up for me.'

'Of course not, dear,' Olga said complacently, but Phoebe knew her mother would sleep with one ear open.

As soon as she was alone with Wyatt, she let out a pent-up breath. 'She makes me crazy.'

'She seems perfectly charming and delightful to me.'

'You're not her daughter. Wyatt…' she began, as they stepped onto the elevator. 'You look great.'

'You look hot. I hope I don't have to fight off other guys.'

Phoebe hoped not, too. Usually when she went to a club-and she didn't do it very often anymore-she spent a good deal of time fending off unwanted male attention. There was something about yards of blond hair that raised testosterone levels. Yet she was too vain to cut it off. Though she'd turned her back on Hollywood and claimed disdain for a world that valued looks and sex appeal above everything, she nevertheless made the most of her own physical assets.

Something to ponder.

She settled into the butter-soft leather interior of Wyatt's Jaguar and gave him directions to The Pit, as he effortlessly guided the powerful machine through light traffic.

The streets grew more congested as they approached downtown. Tucked away in the back streets lived a party district that came alive only after dark. Funky restaurants, off-beat clubs and tattoo parlors lined the narrow streets.

'I never even knew this neighborhood was here,' Wyatt said as he pulled his car into a vacant lot that had been transformed into parking. A guy with about six rings in his ear collected five dollars from Wyatt, promising security.

Wyatt looked dubious, but he paid the guy, pulled into his assigned spot and cut the engine.

Phoebe laid a hand on his arm. 'Before we go, could you do one thing?'

'What?'

'Lose the tie.'

Chapter 11

Wyatt paused a beat, then chuckled as he complied with Phoebe's request. 'I guess this isn't quite the symphony, is it.'

'Do you go to the symphony?'

'Not since I've been in Phoenix, but I used to go hear the Chicago Pops all the time. I even had season tickets. Do you like classical music?'

'I'm not sure,' Phoebe said uneasily. 'I've never really listened to it.'

'We can fix that. If you're any kind of music lover, you have to at least appreciate the masters, even if you don't become a huge fan. Mozart, Bach, Beethoven-they're at the root of every piece of music we've listened to since their time.'

'Uh-huh,' Phoebe said, and Wyatt couldn't tell if she didn't believe him or was simply bored by the topic. He realized maybe he was sounding like a pompous jerk. Women didn't go out on dates to be lectured to.

They got out of the car. Phoebe didn't wait for him to open her door, thank God. He liked her self-sufficiency, her independence. It was those qualities that were going to make this relationship work. A clinging vine would want his undivided attention seven days a week, and he simply didn't have that to give.

Although, he thought, the way Phoebe looks tonight, I wouldn't mind seeing her twenty-four-seven. He'd gone out with attractive women before-some of them even beautiful. But he'd never succumbed to that purely male indulgence of believing his own worth was being measured by the physical appeal of the woman on his arm.

Until tonight.

As they approached the club, foot traffic got heavier, and Phoebe took his arm so they could stay together.