Page 5 of City of Liars

“Liv,” I said. “And in that case…yes.”

Setting his hand at the small of my back, he guided me through the crowd to the bar.

4

Liv

Theo bought me a glass of wine as promised, along with a tumbler of whiskey for himself. He sat next to me at the bar, exchanging pleasantries over the jazz blasting from the speakers. I kept waiting to find fault with him, but he was polite, without so much as a hint of a come-on. Despite his earlier comment about the dress, I started to think I’d misread his signals, especially when he got to his feet, glancing over at the piano.

“I should get back to it,” he said, brushing his dark hair out of his eyes.

“Oh, of course. I’m sorry...I didn’t mean to keep you.” I looked down at my glass, embarrassed. After Gray, I’d sworn off men, tonight’s disastrous date aside. I’d figured flirting would be like riding a bicycle—it’d come right back to me after a break—but my radar must be on the fritz. Which was too bad, because I was willing to make an exception to my no-men rule to get to know Theo a little better. After all, it wasn’t like I was going to marry the guy.

He gave a deep, amused chuckle, startling me. “You weren’t keeping me. I’m the one who’s sorry, abandoning a beautiful woman.” His fingers brushed the back of my hand, a light touch that sent electricity coursing through me. “I don’t usually do this, but...will you wait?”

Ah. So maybe my radar hadn’t been on the fritz after all.

“I don’t usually do this either,” I admitted. Even before I’d married Gray, I hadn’t been the pick-up-a-guy-in-a-bar type of girl. Gray and I had met at a party hosted by mutual friends. He’d come with another woman, someone he’d just started seeing; we’d hit it off, and two days later he called me, saying it was over with her, and would I like to meet for drinks?

I should’ve known then what kind of guy he was. But I’d been young, and dumb, and foolish enough to confuse infatuation with love. I wouldn’t make that same mistake again. For that reason as well as so many others, saying no to Theo’s question would be the practical thing to do, not to mention the way I’d been raised to behave. But I didn’t want to. What I wanted was to find out if he kissed as well as he sang. If his body lived up to its promise.

“I’ll wait,” I said, a frisson of excitement coursing through me. And I did, through one song after another, until he shut the lid of the piano, downed the dregs of his whiskey, and came to stand by my side as the last of the patrons spilled onto the sidewalk. The bartender, who had been loading the glasses into the dishwasher, gave the counter a cursory swipe. Then, at a pointed look from Theo, he followed the customers out the door.

He turned to look at me, dark eyebrows raised. “Alone at last.”

I opened my mouth to reply, starting to rethink my earlier assessment. Maybe I should leave, after all. He didn’t seem like a serial killer, or the type of guy who would assault a woman, but what did I know? Sure, he was hot as fire and he had a singing voice that made me want to pin him to a wall and have my way with him. Still⁠—

He cut off my musings by moving past me, close enough that his shirt brushed my arm. I caught my breath, inhaling his scent: soap and salt and an intoxicating, spicy aroma I couldn’t quite identify. I thought maybe it was just him. Stepping back, I fought the dangerous impulse to wrap my arms around his neck and press my lips to his.

Theo turned, wearing a wicked smile that made me wonder if everything I was thinking was stamped on my face, like my mother had always warned it was. “I hope you don’t mind,” he said, “but I need to clean up a little, since I tossed Jonas out early. Don’t want the opening crew to come in tomorrow afternoon to this mess.”

Puzzled, I regarded him. “For a piano player, you’ve got a diverse job description.”

“Comes with the territory.” He shrugged. “It won’t take long.”

I glanced around the room. It wasn’t that bad—glasses and napkins littering tables, chairs out of order, a jacket abandoned in a corner—but the idea of having something to do put me at ease. “I’ll help you,” I offered.

“But your dress.” He gestured at it, indicating its general unsuitability for cleaning endeavors. Then his gaze settled somewhere around my hips and held.

I cleared my throat. “It’s a slip dress, not a hoop skirt and corset. I think I can manage picking up a few glasses. If I find I’m hampered, I’ll let you know.”

His eyes flicked up to mine and he laughed, a deep chuckle that sent a rush of electricity through me. “Do you actually own a hoop skirt and corset?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I retorted, and he grinned.

“We’ll file that under ‘to be determined at a later date, if I’m so lucky.’ If you insist, Liv, I’d be grateful for your help. But first, here.” He ducked behind the counter, and when he straightened, the Beastie Boys’ Intergalactic filled the room. “Classic cleaning music. All right. Let’s get it done.”

One might think watching Mr. Dark and Sexy wield a broom would have lessened his appeal, but my libido—having spent nine years putting up with a man whose version of cleaning was flipping the comforter over to the other side when guests visited—had decided the opposite was true. I focused on tidying up, doing my best not to steal glimpses as he bent to load glasses into the dishwasher or stretched to put a bottle on the shelves above the bar, but I was fighting a losing battle. My only consolation was that most of the time, when I glanced over at him, he was looking right back at me.

Fifteen minutes later, the floor was mopped, the tables clean, the jacket stashed in the lost-and-found, and I was feeling a lot more comfortable than I had before. After all, I doubted the average serial killer rolled up his sleeves and rinsed dirty dishes in the sink before spiriting his victims off to his lair.

Turning off the music, Theo dried his hands on a towel and came out from behind the bar. “You ready?”

I opened my mouth to tell him I was. But the two glasses of Shiraz I’d drunk must’ve affected me more than I realized, because what came out instead was, “Before we go, will you play something for me?”

One of his black brows arched in surprise, but he smiled in acquiescence and crossed to the piano without hesitation, sliding onto the bench. “Got something particular in mind?”

Self-conscious, I shook my head. “You pick.”