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I moved along the security barricade, photographing striking shots of the performance.

My lens loved Deacon, framing his silhouette against the white strobe lights as he bent backward with his saxophone, becoming one with his instrument.

When his eyes found mine, he shifted his stance towards my position in the stockade.

He was playing for me.

I kept clicking for a few more frames, capturing the intensity in his gaze, then I let the camera fall to my chest.

We locked eyes as I lost myself in him and his artistry, in the seduction of his body as he mesmerized me.

During a brief break between songs, Deacon leaned over and whispered to Jude.

His bandmate and leader gave a knowing nod, stepped back, and handed him the floor.

Deacon took the mic, his voice gravelly and timbred through the speakers.

‘This next piece is one I pulled out of thin air years ago, on a fated night. I composed it for a stunning woman who still leaves me breathless,’ he rasped, his eyes locking onto mine across the room. ‘It’s called Stars in Her Eyes.’

My heart jolted as emotion pulsed through me.

His chords took me back to the day we first met, undoing me, freakin’ dismantling my defenses until hot tears filled my eyes.

Chapter 28

DEACON

The reverb of eighty thousand screaming fans rattled the ground beneath me as I navigated the maze of the Madison Square Garden backstage corridors.

I bumped into Mason at the doors to the green room.

‘Awesome show, buddy,’ Mason said, clapping me on the shoulder. ‘Your playing tonight was off the charts.’

‘Thanks, man,’ I replied, grabbing a cold bottle of water from a hospitality cart as it passed.

Angel stalked past, grinning. ‘That crowd in section one-hundred-and-eight was wilding out during your sax solo, man. Utter lunacy.’

‘They set the pace,’ I rumbled, wiping my brow with a towel. ‘I just rode the wave, my guy.’

Sweat soaked my collar, the residual electricity from the final encore pumping through my veins like hot fuel.

I glanced around, my heart lurching as Ana stepped out of the backstage corridor, where she’d been taking photos, her camera in one hand and her hair falling in loose curls around her shoulders.

Our eyes locked as desire slammed into me, heightened by the wild adrenaline from the show, hell, from playing to her.

With a curl of my lips, I set my instrument case on the ground and prowled toward her.

She let out a soft gasp as I tugged her arm, led her to a darkened alcove outside the green room, and pushed her to the wall.

My body and arms caged her.

Her eyes lifted to mine and widened with sudden heat as I reached out, my palm anchoring on the brickwork beside her head.

She stared up at me, mouth parted, chest heaving as the magnetic pull between us exploded.

I couldn’t fight it for another second.

‘Got me wild each time I saw you tonight; you had every string in me vibrating like a freakin’ symphony,’ I shared.