Tame An Older Man

“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.”