Chapter 8
The sultry sounds coming from the jazz quartet filtered through the cozy bar, creating an intimacy that was hard to ignore. As they danced, Phil concentrated on the muscles beneath her fingers as she held on to Jamal’s solid back.
She couldn’t remember the last time a man had looked at her with the same intensity as Jamal was looking at her right now. He ran a hand down her spine, stopping just above her waist. She was tempted to take that hand and move it lower until his warm palm cradled her backside.
Instead, she put her arms around Jamal’s neck and rested her head on his shoulder.
“You feel amazing,” Phil said on a sigh.
His body went rigid. When she peered up at him, his eyes were heavy with heat. “I can’t put into words how it feels to have you against me, Phylicia. I’ve been dreaming about this ever since Mya and Corey’s wedding.”
So had she. He had taken top billing in her nightly fantasies even before the wedding. It had only intensified after the hours they’d spent together that night.
In a hushed whisper, he asked, “What did I do wrong?”
“What do you mean?”
“We had such a good time that night, and then nothing. Why did I become public enemy number one?”
Contrition heated her face. “I owe you an apology for the way I treated you,” she said. “It was unfair.”
“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’t that just 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.
Jamal bypassed their table and headed for the stage. He spoke with the man who sat on a stool at the base of the stage, nodded, then looked back at her, flashing a smile as he climbed the steps and stepped up to the lone microphone.
“I don’t mean to usurp anyone’s time here on stage,” he said, “but this happens to be a pretty special night. I hope the crowd doesn’t mind if I serenade my date with a special song, just for her.”
“Oh my goodness,” Phil whispered again. She glanced around her, self-conscious as several of the people in the club sent smiles her way.
She should kick his ass for this. But honestly, who had ever done something so sweet?
When the first notes drifted from Jamal’s sax, Phil forgot about the people surrounding them. He played with passion, the perfect notes weaving their way around her.
His eyes were closed as he leaned over his instrument and stroked the brass keys. Every so often he’d look up at her, a smile lighting his eyes. Tremors of awareness traveled along her spine, as if the pads of his fingers were moving up and down her skin instead of the saxophone.
When Jamal drew out the last note, applause drifted around the half-filled club. He accepted the praise with a nod and thanked the musicians for allowing him to encroach on their space.
Phil stood and gently applauded him when he returned to the table.
“So?” he asked when he reclaimed his seat. “Was I any good?”
“I can’t even joke about it. You were amazing.”
“Thank you,” he said.
“Really, I wasn’t expecting that. You don’t just dabble in music. You’re good enough to be featured here or at any of the other jazz clubs around the city.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Jamal said with true modesty, “but I do love it. I always have. Music has always been my escape.”
She tilted her head to the side and studied him for several beats. “What have you had to escape from?” she asked.
“Not tonight,” he said, using the words she’d used earlier. “Let’s save that conversation for another time.”
“Fair enough,” Phil said. She felt the same way. The night had been too magical to mar it with unpleasant thoughts.
But, unfortunately, it was time to bring their magical night to an end.
“It really is time to head back,” she said in a mournful tone. “We have an hour’s drive ahead of us.”
“We can stay in the city,” he said.
Phil’s eyes widened at the suggestion.
“In separate rooms,” he added. “If that’s what you want.”
What she wanted and what she would agree to were two totally different things. She wanted to take him by the hand and lead him to the nearest hotel room, but she’d allowed her body to rule her once before, and she was still paying for it.
“I think we should head back to Gauthier. We both have a long day ahead of us.”
His disappointment was blatantly obvious, but to his credit, Jamal didn’t push, nor did he sulk, which was what Kevin would have done. Ever the gentleman, he paid their tab and, with his hand on the small of her back, guided her out of the club.
“Thank you,” Phil said as he held the door to his truck open for her.
“Thank you,” he returned, wedging his body inside the truck cab and buckling her into the seat. “It’s been a while since I played my saxophone for anyone but myself. Thanks for giving me the opportunity.”
He leaned forward and pressed a swift, hot kiss against her lips, then closed the door. Phil’s eyes tracked him as he rounded the front, opened the door, and climbed into the truck.
“It was okay that I did that, right?” he asked.
“The kiss?”
He nodded.
After a pause, she said, “It’s okay.”
He looked over at her. “Is it okay if I do it again?”
A smile curved up the sides of Phil’s mouth. She unbuckled the seat belt and scooted over to his side. Then she wrapped her hand around Jamal’s neck and tilted his head toward her.
“Just remember, if I’m too tired to work tomorrow, you’ll have to answer to my boss.”
“I think he’ll understand,” he said as he dipped his head and captured her lips in a much slower, much deeper kiss.
A soft sigh escaped her throat as Jamal’s tongue eased into her mouth, exploring with a relaxed familiarity that shouldn’t have been possible after so few kisses, yet seemed…right. As if his mouth belonged there, connected to hers.
Phil snaked her free hand up his chest, fanning her fingers out against his solid, warm muscles. She pressed herself more firmly against him and rubbed her knee against the prominent bulge in his lap.
Jamal tore his mouth from hers and let out a loud groan.
“Okay, maybe we should stop before we get in trouble,” he said.
She really wasn’t in the mood to stop, but Phil knew he was right. Anyone could pass the car and see them going at it like a couple of teenagers. Her days of making out in cars were behind her. She was a grown woman with her own house. They could make out there.
Actually, they could do a lot more than make out.
“You’re right,” she said. “I think you should take me home.”
His one-handed grip on the steering wheel tightened to the point that Jamal figured he’d leave indentations in the hard plastic.
They were nearing Phylicia’s place, and if it were an option, he’d give up his house, his car, and most of the money in his bank account for the chance to follow her inside.