“You’re a musician?” he asked.
Min nodded. “A soprano.” Liam’s tongue flicked across his top lip as if he could taste that word, consume it the way he wanted to consume her. Her eyes tracked the movement. “You?”
He drew himself upright to his full, impressive height, and began leading her in the dance again. “I’m a conductor.”
She stifled a groan and he wondered if she was picturing it –his suit jacket pulling across his biceps when he waved his baton, the arch of his eyebrow signaling his musicians, how he commanded entire rooms with just his presence. How he would leadherperformance from the podium, conducting her so that it felt like he was making love to her, so that they’d stumble from the stage flushed and aching for each other. She had to be fantastic, he justknewit – that rich voice and that breathy laugh – she had to be divine.
“You have a good ear,” he said.
Min shrugged. “I sing that aria. It was pretty obvious she was behind.”
“Not to everyone,” he said, meeting her eyes. “But you’re right. She was a half beat behind. And on the last high note –“
“A quarter tone flat.” He stopped again, wonder and pride blooming behind his rib cage. “It’s probably just nerves. I’m pretty sure this is her debut,” Min said, giving the soprano the benefit of the doubt and trying to brush aside the whole matter, as if she was afraid again that she’d somehow offended him by being so discerning. As if that would anger him instead of making his pulse race and his cock jolt with need.
“And when mightyourdebut be?” he asked slowly, his words deliberate and measured, an effort to put the brakes on the way his body demanded he throw this woman over his shoulder and find an empty corner where he could make her his. She deserved better than the caveman routine, and certainly better than a quick fuck in a storage closet.
Min laughed, a bitter sound, as though he’d asked a ridiculous question, and Liam’s eyes narrowed again. This lack of confidence wouldn’t do. Was she as talented as he thought she must be? Or was he imposing on her a fantasy, a hope that she might truly be his equal in this?
He had to know.
“I have an idea,” he said with a wink, taking Min’s hand and leading her towards the stairs that would take them out of the opera house.
“What about the rest of the opera?” she asked.
Liam scoffed and waved his free hand dismissively. “The soprano is a half beat behind and can’t tune her high notes. What more do you need to see?”
Just before he pushed open the double doors that led out onto the plaza, Min pulled back, dragging her heels and dropping his hand. He stopped, flexing and clenching his fist at the lack of her touch. He waited, watching the thoughts flit behind her eyes. She might not want to go with him. It certainly wouldn’t be surprising if she preferred not to go off into the night with a stranger in New York City of all places. He would be devastated, but he couldn’t blame her. It would be the smart move, the practical one, but he had no interest in being practical just then. Nothing about the way his heart pounded, the way he felt he would burst out of his skin if he couldn’t touch her again, waspractical.
“Where are we going?” Min asked.
Liam pointed through the glass doors, across the plaza, to a bar across the street, its windows lit up in neon pink and orange. “To celebrate your birthday with musicians who stay in tune.”
Min laughed – an easy, musical sound – and the pressure in his chest released. He waited for her to agree, his eyebrow raised in anticipation of her answer. He knew she should refuse him, and yet he hoped. He hoped that she felt the way her body called to his, the way they slotted together like maybe there were parts of themselves missing that they’d never known weren’t there before.
The smile spreading slowly across her face made her eyes gleam, and he knew he had her.
Min took his hand again. “Then what are we waiting for?” she said.
He could have kissed her because she was right – what were they waiting for? But he held back, not wanting to scare her off when he’d only just convinced her to come with him.
“There’s my girl,” he said, settling for a squeeze of her hand as he led her outside and across the plaza.
Chapter Three
His girl.
Min had just met this man and already he was dancing with her in a crowded room, holding her hand in public, calling her his. Already he’d made her feel more desirable than Aidan ever had – than any man ever had.His girl.Oh, how she wanted to be his girl.
The bar was unlike any she’d ever been in before. Dark red velvet and satin upholstered the booths and hung in curtains around a makeshift stage at the back of the room. Café tables with plain black chairs faced the platform. A keyboard and microphone sat in the center of the stage while cases for cellos, violins, trumpets, flutes, and countless other instruments lined the back wall. The front of the bar was completely covered in rhinestones and the walls were painted with caricatures of famous Broadway stars and classical musicians, many of them signed by their subjects.
The room was full, but not crowded, and Liam easily found them a table towards the back. They watched as an older gentleman took the stage. He retrieved a trumpet from its case and, after an experimental note or two, began playing the mournful first act trumpet solo fromCarmen.
“What is this place?” Min asked.
Liam smiled. “Mario’s. It’s basically an open mic bar, but for classical music and musical theater.”
A woman in a sequined blue dress and Marilyn Monroe wig approached the table. “What can I get you folks to drink?” she asked.
