“Did you have enough time to learn it?”
“One listen is enough for me.”
That wasn’t an exaggeration. I’d never met someone like Archie, who could listen to a song once and know it for life.
“We’re slowing it down, though, right?” he asked, dropping the heat pack in his pocket and flexing his fingers.
“Yeah. Slow them all down a bit. They’re almost all too poppy for this kind of event.”
I took the arm he offered me so I could get back into my shoes, then drained my tea, rolled my shoulders, and studied the list one more time before handing it back to him.
“Ready?” I asked.
As an answer, Archie just exhaled hard.
Yeah, I knew the feeling.
Except I wasn’t dreading it like I’d been earlier.
I waited to hear the soft sounds of Archie playing the piano before I moved into the room.
Frank’s usual crowd was gathered: a few local businessmen whom he was forever sucking up to. Only one gave me the slimy vibes like Frank did: a tall guy with linebacker shoulders and a hangover waist, bushy reddish-blond hair, and an atrocious mustache that always seemed to hold the remnants of his last meal inside.
There were two unfamiliar faces, both of whom turned to rake their gazes over me as I came in.
But I only had eyes for one man.
Milo was leaned back against the bar, his fresh drink in his hand, his gaze lazily sliding over me. But in a way that made me feel appreciated instead of objectified.
When his gaze made it to my face, he lifted his drink in a small salute and took a sip.
My belly flipped.
My pulse skipped.
I didn’t remember the last time I felt such a sudden and overwhelming urge to be with a man. But I wanted nothing more than to grab him by the tie and walk him like a dog out into the back hall and have him screw me up against the wall.
It was those thoughts that added a sexy rasp to my voice as I got to the stage and started my set.
Milo made his way over to the poker table, choosing the one beside Frank because, I suspected, it gave him the best view of me.
It wasn’t long, though, before the game started to require some of his focus.
As much as I’d been enjoying his hungry eyes on me, I was glad for the chance to observe him when he couldn’t see me.
And I was observing, all right.
I noticed the way his fingers fanned his cards, how his lips puffed cigar rings, how his keen gaze flicked between the other players, how he gave nothing of his hand away as he played.
So the whole table erupted in shock when he bluffed everyone out, laid down a nothing hand, and took the pot.
It was hot.
He was hot.
I, in turn, was hot. And bothered.
So when I started to sing about taking it easy on my curves, a heaping dollop of sensuality slipped into my voice. Enough to make Milo’s gaze finally leave his hand and slide to me.
