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A slow, wicked grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, lighting up those impossible eyes.
‘My bad. I tend to take up space.’
No kidding, I thought, my heart hammering. You’re engulfing the whole room.
‘After you,’ he said, stepping back, though his gaze never left mine. ‘Enjoy your evening.’
I appreciated his old-fashioned chivalry as he dipped his head and gestured for me to pass.
Most men hit on me at this juncture, but he kept his eyes on my face, not wandering down my body.
Refreshing.
I slipped past him, noting the battered leather instrument case in his right hand.
I squeezed into a cracked vinyl booth in the back, still keeping my eyes on him.
The crowd erupted in applause and whistles as he moved toward the small stage beside another man carrying an acoustic guitar.
His companion was rangy, with wild, black tresses falling to his broad shoulders.
Muscled as well, he wore a midnight vest showing off his stunning ink.
However, my gaze soon slid back to the emerald-and-gold-eyed man.
He set his case on the podium, unlatched it, lifted out a brass instrument, and threw on the strap, holding the polished tenor saxophone as if it were an extension of his sinewy arms.
Stepping to the microphone, his lush lips curled into a wry smile as the place went wild.
His energy, gravitas, and confidence had me staring, unable to look away.
His gold-honey skin caught the amber stage lights, muscles rippling through a black tank top that revealed the clean definition of his shoulders and chest.
Slim silver chains hung from his neck, and a red-and-pink tribal scarf draped over his tee, looking gorgeous on him.
Intricate, inky tattoos wrapped around his right arm, disappearing into a leather cuff at his wrist.
He also wore dusky denim pants, a colorful scarf, and military boots, perhaps Saint Laurent, Rick Owens Black Geths, or Moncler.
As a stylish woman, I appreciated his flair.
He was beautiful.
I wasn’t the only one who thought so; a few women in the audience did too, screaming his name.
‘Deacon! We love you.’
His name suited him.
I liked it.
He shook his head, as if humbled by the attention, waiting until his fans quieted down.
‘Thank you for coming out tonight. This is a new set that Angel and I have been working on. It’s called Midnight Blues.’
His deep rumble sent more spidery arcs of need through me as his eyes swept the room.
They locked on mine for one suspended beat.
