Maggie glanced toward the stage, telling herself she wasn’t looking for anyone in particular, even as she searched for long hair and intense eyes. She promptly assured herself that it wasn’t disappointment she felt when she couldn’t locate them.
Her gaze moved back to her friends. Jo and her new friend had joined Erika and her guy. They all danced and laughed.
Again Maggie smiled. Okay, maybe this time a touch of envy tightened her chest.
“Are you having fun?”
Maggie started, literally jerking in her seat at the voice so near her. Strange, that she could be so startled when the bar was already loud.
Then she saw who spoke to her. The musician. The one with the strange eyes. Now, close up, she could also add a great smile to his description. White teeth with the corners of his lips curled slightly, giving his grin a Cheshire-cat quality. And she’d been right, his speaking voice was indeed husky, like the rich, warm brush of heated velvet.
“Umm, yeah,” she managed to say, trying not to stare at his mouth. But when she moved her gaze, she was staring into his eyes, and that made her uncomfortable too. She opted to look at the button of his shirt. Except just above that button was a V of bare chest covered in faint whorls of dark chest hair.
She looked down at her hands.
“Can I get you a drink?”
She glanced up at him, half expecting that he was talking to someone else now, but his eyes were still locked on her. In the blue and red light cast by the neon beer signs behind the bar, the eyelashes of his left eye looked faintly purple. She blinked, sure she was seeing things. Either that or the wine from dinner hadn’t worn off as much as she’d thought.
“No, thank you,” she finally said, her gaze returning to the buttons of his shirt, the one below the top one, so she couldn’t see the chest.
“Stacy,” he called, gesturing to the bartender with the braids springing out of her head. Once he caught her attention, he nodded. She nodded back and bounced away. Apparently her braids really were antennae; he didn’t even have to speak to communicate with her.
“Are you visiting here?”
Maggie blinked up at him. Was he still talking to her? Surely her inability to speak had bored him by now.
“Yes. From Washington, D.C.”
He looked impressed. Then he tilted his head slightly as if he was studying her. The pose made his hair fall forward, framing his face.
Maggie had never been crazy about long-haired men. She never thought about it either way, really, but there was something breathtakingly beautiful about the contrast of his long, silky hair and the masculine line of his jaw. Her fingers twitched as the sudden urge to touch the shiny length jolted through her.
Oh yeah, the wine was still in her system. No doubt about it.
The bartender appeared with a bottle of something. “Here you go,” she said with a wide smile, then bounded away to take another patron’s order.
Ah, Maggie realized, he’d just been making small talk while he waited for his drink.
“It’s loud in here,” he said as he leaned forward, reaching past her to grab the bottle. She could feel him as if he’d brushed against her. His body seemed to fill the space between them—even though he didn’t come close to touching her.
She nodded, taking in a steadying breath. Why did this guy have her so shaken? He wasn’t flirting. He was just chatting. Why did she feel so flustered? Why couldn’t she play it cool like her friends did? After all, this guy was not feeling the same vibe she was. No way.
“Maybe you’d want to—”
The musician’s question was cut off as one of the other band members, a heavyset guy with very short hair and a black AC/DC T-shirt, came over and slapped him on the back. “Come on. Time to play, my friend.”
He nodded, then turned back to Maggie. “Are you going to hang around for the next set?”
She nodded, even as her lucid mind reminded her that she’d wanted to go back to the hotel minutes earlier. Somehow, her brain and body didn’t seem connected.
He smiled again. He did have a great smile.
“Good. I’ll talk to you after.”
Again she nodded automatically.
As soon as he headed back to the stage, Jo and Erika were at her side.
“What did he say to you?” Jo asked.
Maggie blinked, surprised they had even noticed the brief exchange. “He asked if we were staying for the next set.”
“Hell, yeah, we are,” Erika stated, glancing over her shoulder at him. Maggie did too. He was positioning himself in front of the microphone, long finger curling around the stand. He was looking at her.
Them. He must be looking at them. Probably realizing the cuties were her friends.
Then he smiled, and his eyes were definitely on her. Heat burned over her cheeks.
“Why does he want me to stay?” she pondered aloud.
Jo made a noise very close to disgust. “Because you are lovely and he wants to talk to you.”
Maggie cocked a dubious eyebrow. She knew she was smart and she knew she was passably pretty. She also knew she could be fun—even if it was hard to tell now, when she was overwhelmed by the general weirdness of this night. But she also knew she was not the type to attract a musician in a rock band.
They went for…she watched as the drummer was dragged away from a gaggle of busty, beautiful women by one of the other band members.
They were attracted to women like that.
Especially a musician who looked like the one who’d talked to her. He really was gorgeous. That could be the wine and warm beer talking, but she didn’t think so.
“He must say that to everyone,” she decided. He was probably just a friendly guy.
“He didn’t say it to me,” Erika said.
“Or me,” Jo added.
Maggie frowned. “What do I do?”
“You stay.” Jo nodded at her as if the suggestion was a done deal.
And Maggie supposed it was. After all, she was too curious a person not to see why he wanted her to stay. Yeah, right, and that was the only reason.
Chapter 4
“What is he doing?” Erika asked, frowning at the stage.
Maggie didn’t respond. She just watched as the musician, who she’d waited for like a groupie, fiddled with some of the sound equipment, oblivious to her, still seated at the bar. They’d finished playing nearly fifteen minutes ago, and he hadn’t approached her.
“I think maybe we should go. I feel stupid just waiting here,” Maggie said, keeping her voice even, trying to hide her humiliation.
What had she been thinking? That he’d really intended to talk to her again? After all, this was New Orleans. He’d probably had twenty conversations tonight just like the one they’d shared.
She glanced around the dim, run-down barroom, looked at the thinning crowd. She was the only one who’d waited. Even the tipsy group of wild women who’d worked all night to get the band’s attention, especially his attention, had left after the band stopped playing.
Maggie