“You heard me.” While giving me a hip bump, her eyes go wide and she gasps again. “Wait—was that song about the two of you?”
“It’s his song; you’d have to ask him.” I laugh as if asking him is a ridiculous suggestion, but knowing Jane, I might as well have issued a dare. Backpedaling would basically be an admission, and I have no desire to be next week’s topic of hot gossip around town.
Her gaze follows me as I wipe my way down the bar, putting a buffer between us. I can almost see the wheels turning in her head. I have to start hiring less perceptive employees.
Grüsh ends up playing five more songs before finally denying the full-to-capacity crowd’s repeated “just one more” begging. Disappointment rolls through the audience like a crushing wave when he rises from the stool and leaves the stage.
If I hadn’t been thoroughly distracted earlier, I would’ve asked him how he wanted to handle things after his spontaneous performance. Too late now, and I couldn’t get to him if I tried.
Fans are six deep on every side of him as he inches his way toward the bar, but he doesn’t seem bothered. He signs everything they hand him—including some hands and arms—and pauses for pictures with everyone who asks.
“Want to disappear?” I ask when he reaches me.
“Sounds good.” Holding the guitar in one hand, he raises the other in a signing-off wave, then follows me down the short hall to my office.
The space feels as if it shrinks when he closes the door behind us, and not only because Grüsh’s seven-foot-tall, solidly muscled body takes up significant space. It’s always been this way when we’re alone together.
“You can slip out through service door down the hall. I just need to grab the keys.” I move toward my desk, but he stops me with a hand on my wrist, staring down at me with those intense, dark eyes I’ve gotten lost in more times than I can count.
“What did you think of the song?”
“It’s beautiful. It…hit the right notes,” I say, copying the words he used on the stage when he addressed the audience, even though I know he was talking to me.
“Good.” He nods, tugging me closer. “I know you have to get back out there to the packed house, but I’d like to hang around until you close so we can talk.”
Before he leaves town, probably. A more peaceful goodbye than our previous one.
“Okay. You can wait in here, or you can go upstairs to the room where we had Ogram and Hope’s party.”
“That’s not what comes to mind when I think of that room.” Still holding my wrist, his thumb sweeps over my skin.
In the years he’s been gone, it’s been hard to think of anything except the last conversation we had in that room. Now, though, all the other memories rush forward, and with them, a flurry of sparks that converges between my squeezed-together thighs.
He notices, of course. Hiding my physical responses from Grüsh has always been impossible. Catching my scent, his nostrils flare and he dips his head toward my upturned one.
I hold my breath, certain he’s about to kiss me, and totallyuncertainhow I want to react.
He stops short, our faces close enough to feel his warm breath mixing with mine. “See you up there.” Then he releases my wrist, steps away, and exits the room, leaving the door open, literally and figuratively.
Chapter Eight
GRÜSH
It’s nearly midnight when I hear footsteps coming up the stairs. I rise from the banquette as she enters the room and join her near the small upstairs bar where she leans while releasing a long sigh.
“Busy night?”
“The busiest Sunday open-mic night ever. I thought the crowd would clear out after you left, but a good chunk of them hung around until closing time. We fielded a lot of questions about whether you’d be going back on to play more songs tonight, and it would seem our consistent and repeated ‘no’ wasn’t believed, probably because nobody saw you exit the premises.”
“I would’ve played more if it benefited you.”
“Your spontaneous appearance benefited the bar abundantly, thank you. The servers and bartenders too, even though they were run off their feet because I didn’t have adequate staff scheduled to handle a full house. They weren’t complaining when they counted their tips, though. They wanted to thank you personally, of course, but I sent them home andpromised to pass along their gratitude.” One eyebrow rises as a smirk curves her lips. “Pretty sure Jane would’ve liked me to pass along her panties too, but you’ll have to wait until you’re onstage during your next tour for some of those.”
“As I told you earlier, I only want one woman’s panties.” Stepping closer, I place one hand on the bar’s edge. Not actually caging her there, but making the intention known. “And that woman is you.”
“That’s because you’re here and dancing last night was a reminder of our chemistry.” She places a finger against my lips when I open my mouth to respond. “And I’m okay with that, with us enjoying each other until you leave town.”
Is she right, and that’s what I’m feeling? Chemistry and nostalgia? A potent combination. It’d make sense. But I’d be lying to myself if I tried to believe that’s all this is.
