All the while, though, I felt his gaze on me. I was acutely aware of each shift he made, the way his hand flexed around his glass of whiskey, how the liquid glistened on his lips after he took a sip.
As I sang the last few notes of a song about kissing, all I could think about was walking over to him, dropping onto his lap, and tasting the liquor on his lips.
The familiar chorus of soft applause met my ears as I shot the room a smile and blew a couple of kisses.
I didn’t even get a step away from the mic when a shadow fell over me.
Then there he was.
At the edge of the stage, offering me a hand to help me down. Even though it was hardly more than a step.
My hand slid into his.
I felt the sizzle of it all the way up my arm.
“Thank you.”
“Have dinner with me.”
It wasn’t the first time a guest had asked me out.
It was the first time I actually considered it.
“I’m afraid I—”
“Monroe.”
I barely resisted the urge to growl at the sound of Frank’s voice.
My eyes slid closed, and I exhaled hard before turning to look at him.
“Yes, Frank?” I asked, my smile tight.
His gaze went three places: my boobs, my face, then where my hand was still sitting in the stranger’s.
“Who’s your friend?” he asked, trying to square his shoulders to have more presence. It was no use. Not when he was standing next to a guy like this handsome stranger.
“That’s a good question,” I said with a genuine smile for the man.
“Milo,” he said, addressing me. Then, looking to Frank, “Milo Grant.”
“Frank Martin,” Frank said, thrusting out a hand so Milo had no choice but to release my hand to shake his. But he didn’t do it without first bringing it to his lips for a kiss that I swear I felt in my knees. “And this is the incomparable Monroe London.”
It was a stage name. Well, the last name, at least. My first name genuinely was Monroe. But London had a ring to it that Langston didn’t quite accomplish.
“I was just asking Miss London to join me for dinner,” Milo said, dark eyes going to me again.
“I’m afraid she can’t,” Frank said.
“To Café 72,” Milo added.
That got Frank’s attention.
Hell, it got my attention.
Because Café 72 was the most exclusive restaurant in town. Meaning, yeah, the most expensive. And Frank really liked surrounding himself with the kind of people who would invite a complete stranger to dinner there.
“Unfortunately, Monroe has to stay here tonight. I have a private event she is singing at.”
