Kara Lennox - Tame An Older Man

"You don't know any country songs," Wyatt argued.

"I'll fake it," she said. "Don't all country songs sound the same, anyway?"

She chose a song by Patsy Cline, and, as it turned out, she knew it. She had a voice like a down-and-dirty angel, and she set the place on fire.

She set Wyatt on fire, especially the way she looked at him when she sang, caressing the microphone. Mmm, mmm.

She got a standing ovation and the host asked her for an encore, but she declined. "That is the only country song I know," she said. Then she put an arm around Wyatt. "But I'll bet my friend here can do a mean Clint Black."

Wyatt nearly choked on his beer. He was as tone-deaf as a fire hydrant. "No, no thanks," he said hastily. "I think it's about time we call it a night, Miss Patsy, don't you?"

She smiled demurely. "Okay."

The minute they made it outside, they dissolved into laughter once again. "You should have seen your face," Phoebe said, "when I suggested you do Clint Black."

"You conned me! You're a closet kicker music fan!"

"No, no, it's just that I learned that one song in my voice training class."

"You sounded pretty good. Why'd you give it up?"

"I just told you, I don't know any more country songs."

"No, I mean, why'd you give up the whole acting-performing thing? You're obviously seething with talent."

She sobered. "Thank you, but it takes more than talent. You have to have ambition and persistence and connections and luck, too. I quickly found out there are lots of women with looks and talent in L.A."

He threw his arm around her shoulders. "Well, I'm just as glad you gave it up. I don't like sharing you with the world. You can sing to me anytime, though."

"A private concert, huh? That'll cost you."

"I already bought you two drinks. You're not holding out for dinner, too, are you?" he teased.

She slipped her arm around his waist and snuggled close. "Let's go home."

Their taste in nightclubs might have clashed, Phoebe mused, but their goals for the rest of the evening dovetailed perfectly. They kissed on the elevator on the way up to the third floor, and again in the hallway in front of Wyatt's front door, and again when they got inside.

Clothes fell by the wayside. They left a trail of shirts, pants and underthings from the entryway all the way to Wyatt's bedroom, stopping to kiss every few steps. By the time they reached the bed they were both gloriously nude.

Wyatt started to switch on a bedside lamp, but Phoebe stopped him. "I like it dark."

"I want to see you."

Phoebe felt inexplicably modest. As a model she'd developed a thick skin when it came to comments about her body. She'd gotten used to shedding her clothes at a moment's notice, sometimes in a communal dressing room.

But when it came to the bedroom, she was downright shy.

"Maybe next time."

"I'll hold you to it."

She was gratified to know there would be a next time. The more time she spent with Wyatt, the more she appreciated what he was-a strong, mature, virile man who wasn't afraid to try new things, and who wasn't afraid to admit when he'd made a mistake. He held strong opinions and had firmly drawn tastes, but there was always room for compromise.

As he tenderly pulled her with him onto the bed, her heart swelled with a new and different feeling, something unique. She hesitated to name it but it felt wonderful.

He made love to her slowly, with subtlety and finesse, qualities completely lacking in other lovers she'd had. She relished the gentle pace, letting her pleasure build slowly, without that urge to take everything as fast as she could get it because otherwise she might not get it at all. Wyatt, she knew, would never leave her wanting.

Afterward, they lay in bed for a long time, talking softly.

"I'm sure we have lots of other things in common," Wyatt said.

"You mean besides this?" She stroked his belly, then fondled him. "And a loathing for country music, of course."

"How about sports?"

"Hmm, I like swimming. And I always thought tennis would be fun."

"I like swimming. We could go to the beach."

"I like pools," she said. "The ocean scares me."

"What about hockey?"

"To play or watch?"

"Watch."

"Um, I've never tried. But I'm willing. I understand Frannie and Bill go to games. And James, Elise's fiancé, has season tickets."

"I like your friends."

Phoebe hated to end the closeness they'd achieved, but she had to. She yawned and slowly pulled herself out of Wyatt's embrace. "I have to go, you know. Before Mama sends the National Guard after me."

"You think she doesn't trust me?" Wyatt asked, all innocence.

"Would you trust you?"

He laughed. "No."

"She liked you," Phoebe said as she swung her legs over the side of the bed. "But then, she likes any guy who's polite, clean cut, and well dressed." She couldn't quite make herself stand up. In a total lapse of self-discipline, she draped herself over Wyatt, leaning her head against his chest. "Actually, it's a good thing she knows I've got my hooks in you. It could save you."

"From what?"

"From my mother throwing herself at you. She pretty much does that with any unattached man between thirty-five and sixty-five who has all his teeth and no prison record."

He chuckled, the low vibration tickling Phoebe's ear where it rested against his chest. "If you're so dead set against your mother's manhunting activities, maybe you should set a better example for her."

"I did not hunt you down. You just… happened."

"I wasn't talking about me. I'm talking about those college boys."

Phoebe stiffened. Maybe she'd misunderstood. Hadn't she already cleared up his misconception about her activities at the college? "I told you, I'm not trolling the university for a husband."

"Oh, I know. You've made your position on marriage very clear."

Was there just a tinge of disapproval in his voice? she wondered.

"But just because you're not interested in a ring," he continued, "doesn't mean you don't need companionship."

Phoebe's blood began to simmer. How dare he assume- But before she could tell him where to stick his theories about her need for companionship , he went on.

"You know, a mature lover has a lot more to offer than one of those college whelps."

"For instance?" she asked sharply.

"Financial stability, which means I can take you out someplace nice once in a while, instead of buying you a sub sandwich. A nice car instead of an old junker. Clearly defined expectations. And no acne or adolescent angst. I got over the abandonment issues a long time ago."

Phoebe sat up suddenly, all her warm feelings for Wyatt dissipating. He must not think much of her to believe she would weigh the pros and cons of bedding her boss versus a college classmate.

"Phoebe, what's wrong?"

"I have to go."

He sat up, too. "No, wait. I shouldn't have said all that. I was just teasing. I didn't mean to make light of what just happened. But you have to admit, we can't keep kidding ourselves. We've got something special going here, and though it might be damn inconvenient for both of us, I think we should work with it. That's all I meant."

Phoebe searched for and found her panties and dragged them on. How could she tell him it wasn't the light mood that offended her. After all, there was something a little bit funny about their predicament-wanting each other so badly they just threw aside their oh-so-soberly negotiated, nonsexual friendship.

What did upset her were his assumptions. She had told him flat out that she had no romantic interest in college boys, but apparently he just couldn't wrap his mind around any other reason she might head for the university every day after work.