Tame An Older Man

“You know, I just don’t think he’s right for Daisy,” Phoebe found herself saying. “He’s a workaholic. And he’s too old.”

“Too old?” Elise repeated.

“At least thirty-eight.”

Elise laughed. “So? Daisy’s thirty. What’s the big deal?”

Phoebe shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Trying to keep him for yourself, huh?” Elise teased.

“No!” Phoebe’s denial was quick and emphatic.

Elise looked at her curiously.

“You know I’m much too busy to even look at a man, but if I wasn’t, which I am, I certainly wouldn’t look at him. He works in television, and you know how I can’t stand to be around—”

Phoebe halted her tirade. Elise was grinning at her.

WYATT RAN DOWN the column of numbers one more time, tapping them into his calculator, but he got yet a third different total. How could he possibly concentrate with that damn mariachi music blaring from the courtyard?

He certainly hoped these weekend parties weren’t a regular event at Mesa Blue. How could his grandparents stand it?

Hell, he knew the answer to that question. If they weren’t on vacation, they’d be down in the thick of the party, probably starting a conga line. But his grandparents didn’t have to show up at a meeting Monday morning with a revised budget for “Heads Up.”

It wasn’t just the music that bugged him. It was the chatter. The laughter. All those people yukking it up. Half of them probably didn’t even know Elise and What’s-His-Name, they just came for the free food and free drinks.

Wyatt tried one more time to focus on his addition, but it was no use. The band’s lead singer was now doing a very bad Julio Iglesias impression. Someone had to put a stop to this.

He set down his ledger and calculator, slid into some loafers and started for his front door. He could have simply yelled off his balcony for the party-goers to keep it down, but that seemed a little déclassé, and his grandparents wouldn’t be pleased if he antagonized all their neighbors.

He would find Phoebe and discreetly request that either her so-called musicians put a sock in it, or he’d call the cops.

As he reached for the front doorknob, he looked down at himself. The jeans and T-shirt he’d exchanged for the ones he’d gotten wet at Phoebe’s were pretty disreputable. He toyed with the idea of changing—just so he wouldn’t call attention to himself—but he finally decided against it. He wasn’t planning on staying long enough for anyone to form an opinion about him.

When he stepped into the courtyard, the guests were so thick he could have stirred them with a stick. How would he ever find Phoebe in this mess? Then it occurred to him that he wouldn’t recognize Phoebe, anyway, unless she happened to be wearing guacamole from the buffet.

He searched the crowd, his gaze finally stopping on a pretty lady with dark red hair sitting alone at the end of the pool, her bare feet dangling in the water as she nursed a frothy drink.

She happened to look up just then, catching him watching her, and she smiled warmly. Since no one else paid the slightest attention to him, Wyatt decided to ask the woman to help him find Phoebe. He walked determinedly over to her.

“You’re Wyatt, right?” she said, before he could get a word out. “Have a seat.” She patted the concrete beside her.

He hadn’t intended to spend any time at the party. But the redhead looked lonely, so he joined her. “How’d you know who I am?” he asked.

“You look just like your grandfather. Well, like he probably did forty years ago. He’s a handsome man.”

“Thank you.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean…” She blushed prettily. “You probably think I’m flirting with you now.”

“Would that be so terrible?”

“No. I mean, yes, because I don’t usually flirt. Phoebe sent you over here, didn’t she?” the woman said miserably.

“Actually, your smile brought me over here.”

“Now who’s flirting?”

Maybe he was. Maybe that was because the redhead put him completely at ease. Though she was undeniably pretty, with that gorgeous auburn hair, he could tell right away there wasn’t a bit of chemistry between them. If they got to know each other at all, it would be as friends.

“I’m Daisy Redford. Phoebe said you weren’t coming.”

Daisy Redford! Alarm bells went off in Wyatt’s head. This was the one Phoebe had been praising earlier.

“Is Phoebe trying to set us up?” Wyatt asked point-blank.

Daisy’s eyes grew huge. She tried to sputter a denial, but she wasn’t a good liar. Finally she said in a small voice, “They just wanted me to meet you, Phoebe and Elise, that is.”

“Why?”

Daisy shrugged, looking supremely uncomfortable. “Why not?” Then she laughed. “It was a dumb idea. Setups hardly ever work. Phoebe set me up with this dentist…My friends are not going to be happy I foiled all their plans for you and me.”

“You don’t look like the kind of girl who needs a setup,” Wyatt said. “And that’s an honest observation. I’m not flirting.”

“Nice of you to say. So what made you decide to show up after you told Phoebe you couldn’t come?” Daisy asked, not sounding quite so shy. Apparently he’d put her at ease, too, now that they’d set aside any romantic potential between them.

“I was going to complain about the noise,” Wyatt admitted.

“The band is kind of loud,” Daisy agreed. “I’ll come with you to talk to Phoebe, if you want.” She started to pull her feet out of the pool, but Wyatt stopped her.

“No, no, that’s not necessary. I’ve changed my mind. I won’t get any more work done tonight, and I’m here now, so I might as well enjoy myself. Where is our hostess, anyway?”

But he saw her then—with that fall of straight blond hair, she was impossible to miss. She stood near the bar with another woman, laughing with the bartender, whom Wyatt recognized as the guy who took care of Mesa Blue’s pool.

Without a green face, she was the most enchanting creature he’d ever seen. Not at all frog-like.

“I guess you spotted her,” Daisy said, giving him a knowing look.

Chapter Three

Wyatt closed his mouth. He’d been gaping at Phoebe like a lovesick schoolboy worshipping the head cheerleader from afar.

“She’s pretty hard to miss,” Daisy said. “I can’t understand why she didn’t get snapped up to star in some blockbuster movie when she was in Hollywood.”

“She’s an actress?” Wyatt asked, horrified. Somehow, his grandparents had neglected to tell him that part.

“Oh, yeah, don’t you recognize her? Vanessa Vance. From ‘Skin Deep.’” When Wyatt made no acknowledgment, she added, “You know, that nighttime soap a few years ago?”

“I, um, don’t usually watch soaps.”

“You didn’t miss much. The show was horrible. The only thing good about it was Phoebe. Then they went and killed off her character, the ratings tanked, and it got canceled.”

“She’s an actress,” he repeated. He could almost feel a wall going up around him. Lord save him from wanna-be movie stars and has-been starlets.

Phoebe had to know what he did for a living. His grandparents would have told her. So why wasn’t she all over him, trying to get on TV? A little national exposure on “Heads Up” could revive a stalled acting career.

“She’s not acting now,” Daisy said. “She’s st—” Daisy abruptly stopped. “She does beauty makeovers at the Sunrise Spa. But if you ask me, her talents are wasted there. She’s a lot smarter than that.”

The words actress and smart did not belong in the same discussion, Wyatt mused. Maybe Phoebe hadn’t hit him up yet. But she would. He could only surmise that she had some more elaborate scheme for getting to him. Something that would work better than throwing cat food onto his balcony.

STANDING NEAR the bar chatting with Elise, Phoebe savored the last few drops of her frozen margarita. She wanted another one because it was a warm evening, but she had a lot of studying to do tomorrow and couldn’t afford to wake up even slightly hungover. Since she seldom drank alcohol, it wouldn’t take much to give her a fuzzy head in the morning.

“Can I have a cola, Jeff, please?” she asked.

Jeff winked. “Sure thing, gorgeous. What’ll you give me in return?”

Phoebe snorted. Jeff was all of twenty-two and an inveterate flirt. But he was harmless. She suspected if she ever responded to his blatant come-ons, he’d run for the hills.

“I guess I better get back to my hostessly duties,” she said to Elise, as Jeff handed her the cola.

“And I better find my fiancé. I worked hard enough to get him. It’d be a shame to lose him now.”

They were about to turn and head for their various destinations when a man came up behind Elise and put his hands over her eyes. “Guess who?”

It took Phoebe a moment to realize this was Chance, Elise’s brother. He’d called earlier in the week to say he couldn’t come.

“Chance! What are you doing here?” Elise turned and hugged her brother. He looked especially handsome tonight, Phoebe thought, in casual khakis and a pale green knit shirt. She adored a man who dressed well. He put Wyatt and his old T-shirt to shame.

Then why was it her thoughts turned so frequently to how that T-shirt had molded to the planes of Wyatt’s chest, and the way his faded jeans had hugged his butt?

“My meeting got canceled,” Chance said. “Hi, Phoebe. I hope it’s okay that I showed up without warning.”

“No problem.”

“Hey, Elise,” he said, voice lowered, “who’s that gorgeous woman sitting with her feet in the pool?”

Elise looked in the direction Chance indicated, but she saw no one. “Who?”

Chance blinked a couple of times, as if his eyes were playing tricks on him. “She was there a minute ago. If I find her, will you introduce us?”

Elise gave him a playful tap on the arm. “You are not allowed to hit on any woman who’s a friend of mine. You’ll just break her heart, and then she’ll blame it on me.”

“Okay, okay! Jeez.”

Chance rubbed his arm, though Phoebe suspected Elise couldn’t possibly do him any damage, even if she tried. He had pretty good muscles for a lawyer.

“I’ll make my own introductions.” With a mischievous smile, he sauntered off, apparently intent on finding the object of his lust.

Elise rolled her eyes. “He’s hopeless.”

“But he’s cute. Why don’t we introduce him to Daisy?” Phoebe suggested.

Elise shook her head. “He is definitely not father material. Anyway, looks like Daisy’s otherwise occupied.” She nodded toward the buffet table. “Phoebe, who’s that she’s talking to?”

Phoebe peered at her friend, so easy to spot with that auburn hair shining in the light of the torches they’d set up for the party. Daisy was engaged in cozy conversation with a man. And not just any man.

“Holy cow, that’s Wyatt Madison.”

“You’re kidding,” Elise said. “I thought he wasn’t coming.”

“He said he wasn’t. What’s he doing here?”

“Enjoying himself, it looks like,” Elise said. “And look at Daisy. She’s laughing.”

“Holy cow.”

“What’s wrong with you?” Elise said. “This is exactly what we wanted! Maybe he’s the perfect one for Daisy.”

“He’s too old for her,” Phoebe said. “Now that I see them together, they just don’t look good. You know, as a couple.”

“Phoebe!” Elise objected.

“Maybe we shouldn’t have thrust them together,” Phoebe went on. “What if—”

“We didn’t ‘thrust them together.’ They found each other. Chill, Phoebes.”

“I think Chance would be a better bet. He’s gorgeous, nice, gainfully employed—”

“Don’t even start. I love Chance with all my heart, but he’s a cad in the worst sense of the word. Daisy’s looking for a husband, remember? A potential father for her potential baby. The last thing she needs is a guy who thinks wife is a four-letter word.”

“It is a four-letter word.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Well, I still think he’d be better than Wyatt Mad—” Phoebe stopped mid-name, then blinked her eyes a couple of times to clear them. Surely after one margarita she couldn’t be hallucinating.

“What’s wrong?” Elise asked.

“Daisy and Wyatt. They’re gone.” The buffet table, where they’d been huddling a few moments earlier, was now empty.

“Hmm. They certainly are. Maybe they hit it off, and they’ve gone somewhere a bit more private.”

“Bite your tongue.”

“Phoebe!”

“What do we really know about Wyatt Madison? What his grandparents have told us, and they’re partial. He’s in the entertainment industry, and that’s a strike against him. You have no idea what kind of wolves work in television. He could be an ax murderer!”

Elise just gave her a long-suffering look. “I was just kidding before when I suggested you wanted to keep Wyatt for yourself. But you keep this up, I’ll start to believe you really do want him.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. Besides, that would be almost incestuous. The Madisons think of me as their daughter, and they raised Wyatt as their own son—”

“You’re making excuses.”

Phoebe would have argued more, but Elise’s fiancé, James Dillon, approached them. Or rather, he approached Elise. Phoebe doubted he even saw her there. He was so completely in love with Elise, he only had eyes for her.

“I’ve been looking all over for you,” he chastised gently, kissing her on the cheek.

Phoebe quietly sighed. Watching Elise and James fall in love had been fun. Elise had never been so happy. James was absolute proof that good men did exist. Still, in Phoebe’s experience, they were few and far between.

Phoebe’s mother had always told her she had everything she needed to land herself a good husband—drop-dead good looks and a body that wouldn’t quit. Phoebe hadn’t found her mother’s advice to be true. After the Hollywood fiasco, she had stopped thinking about husbands, and men in general. She was creating her own future, one in which she wouldn’t have to depend on her sex appeal to bring her success. Nor would she have to depend on another person—husband, boss, casting director, agent, plastic surgeon, whoever.

“You are way too gorgeous to be standing around by yourself,” Jeff said. “Wanta blow this joint and go make our own action?”

Phoebe smiled. “You have to work and I’m the hostess. I can’t disappear. Otherwise, I’d jump at such an attractive invitation.”

Jeff shrugged. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

PHOEBE AWOKE the next morning feeling unsettled and not very well rested. Then she realized why. Daisy and Wyatt had disappeared last night, and she hadn’t seen either of them for the rest of the evening.

Daisy was very vulnerable. Recently her doctor had told her that if she ever wanted to have children, she needed to do it now, before her endometriosis rendered her infertile. Daisy did want children, very much. But she refused to have a baby without a husband. She’d been a “love child” herself, and no kid of hers was growing up without a father.

Now Daisy was so focused on the idea of finding Mr. Right and settling down that her usually keen powers of discernment might be impaired. If Wyatt had taken advantage of Daisy’s clouded judgment, Phoebe would string him up by his toes!

Phoebe hopped in the shower to clear the fuzz from her mind, threw on a pair of overalls and a purple ribbed shirt, then grabbed the phone and dialed Daisy’s number.

No answer. Even the answering machine didn’t pick up. That was a bad sign.

Phoebe went out into the hallway and walked slowly past Wyatt’s door. His newspaper was out in the hallway, uncollected. Another bad sign.

She stopped right in front of the door. Then she pressed her ear against it. Nothing, darn it. Then again, the walls and doors at Mesa Blue were extraordinarily well insulated.

Just then the door jerked open, and Phoebe pitched forward. A strong pair of arms prevented her from falling flat on her face.

“Good morning to you, too,” Wyatt said, setting her back on her feet.

“Oh, uh…” Think, Phoebe! And she’d better come up with an excuse real fast. But somehow, she couldn’t think of anything but those strong arms catching her.

Wyatt bent down and retrieved the paper. He wore only a pair of running shorts—no shirt, no shoes.

“I came to borrow some, um, coffee,” Phoebe finally said. “I’m all out, and I really need the caffeine.”

He smiled as if he didn’t believe her for an instant. “I don’t drink coffee, and my grandparents don’t have any, either.”

Phoebe tried to nonchalantly peer past him into the apartment for any sign of Daisy. But Wyatt seemed intent on blocking her view with his annoyingly well-muscled chest, making it hard to look at anything else.

“I have orange juice,” he offered.

“No, thanks. Sorry to bother you.”

Phoebe fled. She didn’t know what else to do in the face of all that overwhelming maleness. She didn’t look back, she just scurried into her own apartment and slammed the door.

Damn! What an awful time for her hormones to act up. Living in L.A., after a few of those will-you-respect-me-in-the-morning liaisons, she’d gotten disgusted with herself and made it a blanket policy to just say no. She’d virtually shut down her sexual responses to men.

It had been years since she’d even thought about getting involved with a man, and she liked it that way. Her track record was abysmal when it came to romance, anyway. The few relationships she’d ventured into had never progressed past shallow and physical. Men she’d dated had just never wanted to know anything about her except her erogenous zones.

Now, when she least needed it, her body had reawakened. To Wyatt Madison, of all people. Was Elise right? Had she been against Daisy and Wyatt getting together because she wanted to save Wyatt for herself?

No, she told herself firmly. Maybe Wyatt wasn’t an ax murderer, and maybe he had nice grandparents, but that didn’t mean he could seduce Daisy on their first meeting and get away with it. Phoebe had to find out what really happened last night and be prepared for damage control with Daisy.

Fortified with new resolve and a new plan, she headed down to Frannie’s apartment. She would spy on Wyatt’s balcony from Frannie’s patio. There was a good chance that if he had an overnight guest, the two of them would sit out on the balcony to read the paper, drink their orange juice, and enjoy the marvelous spring weather amongst Helen’s potted forest of green.

But Frannie wasn’t home, either. Was she with Bill, maybe?

Phoebe was not to be dissuaded. She marched back up to the third floor, and after hesitating only a moment to ask herself, Are you crazy? she knocked on Wyatt’s door.

He answered after a few moments, still in the same fetching costume. This time he stood there, a bottle of orange juice in his hand, a section of paper folded under his arm.

He stared at her, perplexed. And maybe a little irritated. “Yes?”

“Where is she?”

Now he just looked confused. “Who?”

“You know who. Daisy.”

“Daisy,” he repeated.

“The redhead? Green dress?” Phoebe figured maybe he’d forgotten to ask Daisy’s name.

“I don’t know where she is,” he finally said. “Have you tried her apartment?” He opened the door wider, indicating Phoebe should come all the way in.

She did, intending to conduct a thorough search. Daisy would probably be really mad at her for being so nosy, but someone had to watch out for the woman.

“She’s not home,” Phoebe said, looking all around. No sign of an overnight guest. No discarded clothing lying around on the living room floor. No breakfast place setting for two at the dining room table.

She turned to face Wyatt. “You were hitting on her at the party last night. You didn’t even pay your respects to the hostess, which you should have after you told me you weren’t coming. But you didn’t waste any time cornering poor Daisy and whisking her off someplace.”

“Poor Daisy?” he repeated incredulously.

“She’s very vulnerable right now,” Phoebe persisted. “She doesn’t need some wolf twice her age overwhelming her with promises he has no intention of keeping.”

Wyatt narrowed his eyes. “Twice her age? Not unless she’s nineteen. Exactly how old do you think I am?”

Phoebe took a deep breath. “All right, the age reference was out of line. I didn’t hear you denying you’re a wolf, though.”

“Phoebe, look at me. Look me in the eye, because I want to be sure you’re listening.”

She didn’t want to. Those velvety gray eyes of his saw too much. But she did. Bless it, he was too darn good-looking for anyone’s peace of mind, least of all hers.

He took a step closer, until she could feel his body heat. “I did not hit on your friend Daisy. I did not whisk her off anyplace. And though I don’t like to gossip, I will tell you that I did see her leave the party—with some guy.”

“Who?” The single word dripped with suspicion.

“I have no idea. I don’t know anyone here.”

“What did he look like?”

Wyatt shrugged, stepping back and giving them both some much-needed breathing room.

“How should I know? I don’t pay that much attention to how guys look.”

“Just women,” Phoebe couldn’t resist adding.

“Why would you think that?” Wyatt said, sounding genuinely perplexed. He flopped down onto the sofa and started straightening the newspaper that was strewn about. “Did my grandparents tell you I was some sort of lecher?”

“No, no, they’ve never had anything but nice things to say about you.”

“Then what? I’ve never done anything since I moved here except keep to myself!”

“Well, you work in television,” Phoebe said, knowing she sounded lame.

“And that makes me out to nail every female I meet?”

“I’m just going by my personal experience.”

Wyatt didn’t seem to know what to make of that. He didn’t look at her, just kept stacking sections of newspaper together neatly.

“Okay,” Phoebe finally said, “maybe I jumped to conclusions a little.”

“A little?” He pushed the newspapers aside and leaned back, stretching his arms above his head. “I can assure you, the last thing on my mind right now is adding notches to my bedpost. I have a new job, the kind of opportunity that comes along once in a lifetime, and I have maybe a few weeks at most to prove myself. If the show succeeds, the world is my oyster. If it tanks, I’m back to producing local cooking shows and public service announcements. I spend every waking moment worrying about that damn show.”

Phoebe studied Wyatt, really studied him. Suddenly he didn’t seem like every other schmoozy show-business guy she’d known. He cared about his work. In fact, it appeared he actually worked, rather than taking long expense-account lunches and talking on his cell phone.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t know what I was thinking, or why I said those things.” Temporary insanity, maybe.

He smiled at her, though she couldn’t imagine why. He should have just thrown her out into the hall on her ear.

“The truth is, Phoebe, I have no use for women right now. But if I did…if I were going to hit on anybody living at Mesa Blue, it would be you. Daisy is pretty, but leggy blondes are more to my taste.”

Phoebe’s heart slammed into her chest. Had she actually been thinking charitable thoughts about him only moments ago? Had she actually apologized for thinking he was a wolf? He was grinning at her, a grin that would put any wolf at the zoo to shame.

“Thanks just the same,” Phoebe said coolly. “As it turns out, I have no use for men at this point in my life. So that works out well, doesn’t it?”

Wyatt nodded. “Very convenient.”

Something else was going on here, Phoebe thought. He was watching her, as if he expected her to pull a rabbit out of her ear or something.

“So I should just go, I guess.”

“Seems we’ve said all there is to say.”

“Well, goodbye, then.”

“Goodbye.” He picked up a section of newspaper and started reading.

The nerve!

Phoebe finally managed to drag herself out the front door, marveling at her reluctance. She tried to convince herself she’d merely wanted to come up with a zinger of an exit line. But by the time she made it back to her apartment, she had to admit something awful: she’d been tempted by Wyatt’s come-on. She’d been a heartbeat away from meeting his flirtation with one of her own.