“Why did you?” he asked.
She looked down at his chest, then back at his eyes. “It was because of the house,” she finally answered. “I found out the day after the wedding that you were the person who’d bought it. If I’d seen you that day, I probably would have run you down with my truck. That’s just how livid I was.”
“I had no idea you were trying to buy the house.”
“I know you didn’t,” she said. “I had no right to blame you, but I did anyway.”
“Phylicia, how did you end up losing the house?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Don’t. Not right now. Tonight has been too perfect. I don’t want to mess it up.”
“But—”
She placed her fingers on his lips, silencing him. They felt warm against her skin, almost as warm as his eyes, which were so heated they nearly singed her. The raw desire so evident in his penetrating stare set her blood ablaze.
She wanted this man. She’d wanted him from the moment she met him. And it was more than obvious that he wanted her, too.
“You’re not very good at hiding what you’re thinking,” Phil murmured.
“I’m not trying to hide it,” he returned, his voice rough with lust.
She moved closer to him and rested her head against his broad chest. As they swayed back and forth to the bluesy sound of the trumpeter’s song, she couldn’t help but imagine doing this a thousand times more. She felt at home in his embrace, as if he were a missing puzzle piece that she hadn’t realized fit until she’d stepped into it.
“Thank you for tonight,” she murmured against his chest. She tilted her head up slightly, just long enough to send him a grateful glance. “It’s been so long since I’ve been out dancing. I really needed this.”
“You’re welcome,” he said. “We can do it again, and again, and again. Until you’re good and satisfied.”
They were no longer talking about dancing. Goosebumps broke out across Phil’s skin. Her nipples pebbled, pulling tighter with each brush against Jamal’s solid chest.
The trumpeter’s ballad waned with a final, haunting note. When she pulled away to applaud the musicians, her body mourned the loss of feeling Jamal against her. They returned to their table, which had remained unoccupied with the small Wednesday night crowd.
“Wow, it’s almost midnight,” she commented. Phil had resisted checking the time, not wanting the night to come to an end.
“It’s a good thing midnight is considered still early in this town,” he said.
“Even when I have to get up at six in the morning?” She sent him a sly grin. “My boss might get upset if I show up late or fall asleep on the job tomorrow.”
Jamal chuckled. “I think he’ll cut you some slack.”
“Probably because he’s planning to sleep in himself?” she asked.
“If I can sleep at all. I think I’ll be reliving tonight in my head for many nights to come.”
And wasn’tthatjust the thing to say to send shivers down her spine?
“You may have a degree in architecture, but I think you minored in being a sweet talker,” Phil joked.
“Actually, I minored in music,” he returned.
Her brow lifted. “So it’s not just a hobby.”
He shook his head.
“Are you as good as that guy?” she asked, nodding toward the saxophonist on stage.
Jamal looked over his shoulder. “Only one way for you to find out,” he said. He pushed up from the chair. “I’ll be right back.”
“Wha—” Phil stared at his back as he exited the club. Several minutes later, he returned, saxophone case in hand. “Oh my goodness,” she said.
