She bit her lip. "Don't hate me for it."
"Why don't you give me a list of your various lovers in the last eight years-in case I meet up with any of them at one of these fancy receptions."
She drew her lacy white shawl closer around her shoulders. "No list. No lovers."
"Oh, sure."
She said irritably, "I need to sit down, take off my shoes, have at least two lagers and a big plate of rindsgulasch with extra dumplings. Are you or are you not taking me to this club?"
He seized her by the elbow. "You must have had a lover-it was eight years, Lia!"
"I know how long it was. I was a single mother most of that time, remember?"
"There were lots of times when you were on the opposite side of the Atlantic from your daughter. Free to bed whom you pleased."
The music she'd played was still coursing through her veins. Lia said flatly, "I discovered passion with you and I wasn't about to settle for less."
He felt as though she'd just hit him hard in the chest with a double bass. "Is that true?"
"I try not to tell lies. Lager and dumplings, Seth."
Reeling, Seth tucked her arm through his and walked the last two blocks in silence. The club was crowded and noisy. Skillfully Seth threaded through the patrons to an empty table near the dance floor, got the waiter's attention and placed their order. "Shoes off yet?" he said economically.
"You bet. Do you believe me?"
"About the lovers? Yes."
"Good."
He'd have hated hearing the names of her lovers; equally, he'd hated being told there'd been none. Because it scared the pants off him to find out she'd been faithful to him for eight long years?
He was a yellow-bellied coward, Seth thought scathingly, watching as the waiter brought two tankards of beer and set them on the table, the froth overflowing. Lia raised hers and drank deep, the muscles moving in her throat as she swallowed.
Her exquisite, ivory-smooth throat.
She said edgily, "Is something wrong?"
"Did you fall in love with me in Paris?"
"No," she said. "But it was as far from casual as it could be. And not just because of Marise."
Wasn't the same true for him? But he'd gotten his life back on track, finally, and there it had remained ever since. Until he'd seen her in her turquoise suit swimming as gracefully as a dolphin in the sea.
Seth took a big slug of beer. "Have you ever fallen in love?"
"No," Lia said, her fingers tightening around the tankard. She wasn't going to start now by falling in love with Seth, either. She'd be out of her mind to do that. The man was as barricaded as a fortress.
"You've got your music-no room for a mere man alongside that."
"That's not true," she said sharply. "I love Marise with all my heart … why should a man be any different?"
Was he now going to be jealous of a seven-year-old child? With a sigh of exasperation Seth took another gulp of beer. "Let's change the subject."
"Better still, let's dance."
Discovering he craved action, too, Seth led her out onto the crowded floor, where to the raunchy blast of disco and the flash of strobes, they gyrated and swung. Her hair began to slip from its pins; her body, in the clinging satin of her gown, was unbearably sexy. He was going to end the evening in her bed, thought Seth. But this time, it would be a controlled decision with no postmortems.
He leaned closer to Lia, raising his voice. "Our food's arrived."
She gave him a brilliant smile, twirled and fell back into his arms. "Lead me to it."
Yeah, he thought. In bed, that's where we belong.
At their table, Lia tucked into her stew and dumplings, washing it down with liberal quantities of lager. "Luscious," she said, licking her fork. "I want dessert now. Apfelstrudel. Warm with whipped cream on top and a big glass of Riesling to go with it."
"A woman of immoderate appetites."
She leaned over and kissed him with sensuous pleasure. "Dumplings, lager and you."
"In that order?"
"Tonight."
"Is this how you always relax after a concert?"
She laughed. "I usually go back to my hotel room and pace the floor, agonizing over all the mistakes I made. This is much more fun."
Pink Floyd throbbed through the smoky air. "It ain't exactly Brahms."
"We could dance again."
Seth ordered dessert and a bottle of Riesling, and this time took Lia in his arms on the dance floor. They were the only couple in formal clothes in the entire club and he, too, was having fun.
Not a word his parents had understood.
The level of Riesling sank in the bottle, Lia drinking most of it. The wine loosened her tongue. She talked about the ups and downs of her career and the costs to her personal life; she described some of the hilarious contretemps of working with autocratic conductors and temperamental pianists; noticeably, she didn't talk about Marise. She also flagged the waiter and ordered a double crème de menthe, a choice that made Seth shudder. He, by now, was drinking coffee. One of them ought to stay sober, he thought, amused that she simply became wittier as her words began, very slightly, to slur. "Lia," he said finally, "I think I should take you back to your hotel. Ivor wouldn't approve of the lateness of the hour."
"I'm flying to Hamburg at noon."
"You and your hangover."
She blinked at him. "Am I drunk?"
"A reasonable facsimile thereof."
"Don't use such big words," she said querulously.
"Okay. You're pretty close to plastered."
"It's all your fault."
"Yeah?"
"I have no idea what to do about you."
"Welcome to the club," Seth said wryly.
She gave him a big smile. "You're really cute, though."
Lia, sober, would never use a word like cute. "Thank you," Seth said solemnly.
"But I sure don't like your family." She swallowed the last of the sticky green liqueur, licking the rim of the glass. "Every now and then it hits me, what your mother did. The pain she caused because she was afraid I'd sink my sharp little claws into her money … aren't you absolutely furious with her?"
"Yes," said Seth, not liking the way the conversation had turned.
"Yes," Lia mimicked. "Is that all you can say?"
"You think I'm totally unfeeling?" Seth said violently. "I can hardly bear to think about it. About you, alone with a new baby, thinking I didn't even care enough to pick up the phone-for God's sake, Lia, give me a break."
Lia looked at him owlishly. "I pushed a button there."
Seth scowled at her. "You're cut off. Black coffee from now on."
"Ugh-at this time of night?"
"In that case, it's time to leave."
She wrinkled her nose. "I'm in the mood to seduce you. 'Cause the only time I'm not confused is when we're in bed together."
"That goes for me, too."
"I love what we do in bed," she said chirpily.
Their neighbors at the next table were unabashedly listening. "So do I," said Seth.
"Why are we sitting here, then?"
Seth dealt with the bill and got up, tucking her shawl around her shoulders. She lurched to her feet. "Ouch," she said, "I wish they'd turn off the strobes, they're making me dizzy."
Seth, wisely, didn't suggest that lager, Riesling and crème de menthe might have some connection to dizziness. He put an arm firmly around Lia's waist, steered her toward the door and quickly flagged a taxi; she was in no shape to walk. In the back seat, she put her head on his shoulder and fell instantly asleep.
None of the malleable women he'd dated had ever drunk too much. Neither had they played their guts out in front of two thousand people; or made love with Lia's generosity and wild abandon.
By the time he got Lia to her hotel room, she was paper-pale. "I sh-shouldn't have had the crème de menthe," she muttered and headed for the bathroom. Seth turned down the bed, found her deliciously lacy nightgown under the pillow and briefly held it to his face. He wanted to see her wearing it; then strip it from her body. But tonight wasn't the night.
When she next made love with him, she was going to be wide-awake and fully aware of what she was doing.
He wrote her a quick note, propping it up on the bedside table. Then she emerged from the bathroom, sagged into his arms and said muzzily, "Your eyes are the same color as crème de menthe. Turn off the light and come to bed with me."