The Gunny & The Jazz Singer (Birchwood Falls #1) Read Free Page B

anticipatory
pleasure.
    The song ended, and all she could
focus on was him. Suddenly closer to the stage, he'd slipped down the side of
the room and enveloped himself in a nearby dark alcove, never releasing her
from his compelling gaze.
    She felt an overwhelming frisson of
something like fear. This had never happened before. She'd never had this
primal reaction to a man. But then she'd never even seen a man who looked this
raw. He was big and dark, his huge muscles bulging beneath the sleeves of his
T-shirt. Jeans hugged him like a second skin. She could almost feel the wet
flat of his tongue circling her…
    Then she froze. She was so wrapped
up in the man she hadn't noticed Butch Wilcox standing right beside him. Were
they together? Was the hunk a cop too? Her heart did a little flip-flop. Any
fantasy about the neighbor guy would have to be abandoned if he turned out to
be anything like Butch Wilcox.
    Oh
God. Silence. Flicking a glance at the audience, it was as if they'd caught
the interplay between the stranger and her. Face flaming, she felt sweat pop
out on her upper lip. Get it together,
girl!
    He hadn't moved. Didn't give her
any help. She was on her own. Summoning her long-practiced stage presence, she
towed a tall stool toward the baby grand, her knees too rubbery to stand.
Settling herself and leaning her elbow on the piano, she dove into the next
number and sang the Al Green lyrics…
    "You're my one desire…"
    Being this "full of fire" for a stranger was a precarious
development. It got worse. Singing about raging fires and getting next to him
was not helping any. Finishing the last chorus brought her own silence and the
audience's stomping and applause. The stomping would be from her friends. She
bowed her head, supposing it to be dramatic, but the truth was if she glanced
up it would be at the man. If he was still there.
    Get
a damn grip! Show some professionalism.
    With her own exhortation, she lifted
her chin and aimed a smile at Moira and Davy. Thank God for their support.
Smiling more broadly, she included the rest of the audience, her eyes skipping
over the dark corner. Except—too late. It was empty.
    Disgruntled that she'd so
completely lost her composure, she pulled herself together and blew kisses at
the audience, murmured a husky thank-you into the mic and exited the stage. She
had to get to the little corner in the back that was her dressing room, if you
could call it that. The cramped bathroom used by male and female employees
alike had the only walls.
    She put everything she had in her
into the next set. Performing was her life's dream, and she'd be damned if she'd
let some man distract her. No one was going to ruin this for her.
    She'd gone on a couple of dates
with Butch but wasn't serious about him. Since he didn't excite her, she
recollected past boyfriends to inspire the lyrics of the rest of the songs.
Anything to keep the neighbor hunk out of her mind. She didn't even know his
name, so how could she sing the blues about him?
    After singing the final song and
changing into jeans and a blouse, she joined her friends at their table. Moira
handed her a glass of icy champagne. As Phoebe sipped slowly, the bubbles
popped in her mouth, and she focused only on that pleasure. Now that she could
relax, she wondered if he were still here. For some reason she thought she
could feel his presence, and it was odd to have that sensation about a man she
didn't know.
    "Congratulations, Phoebs. You
were great as usual."
    "Thanks, Davy."
    "You seemed to be looking at
someone. Were you? Or looking for someone?"
    She took a sip to avoid answering
until she knew what she wanted to admit.
    Davy continued. "There was a
gorgeous guy standing down near the end of the bar. He's the one I'd be singing
to if I had the pipes. Too bad he was with that asshole Wilcox."
    "I saw them too," Moira
added, narrowing her eyes at Phoebe.
    She sucked in a quick breath and hoped
the dark bar would conceal her flushing cheeks. Moira