“Well. If you insist.” He stood with an easy grin, his eyes on mine.
And for some reason, it felt like he was doing this for me—
to wow me like I’d asked him to. My cheeks warmed.
The people hooted and shouted encouragement.
Killian held up his arms. “All right, all right, you cattle wranglers! Let’s be civilized here,” he said, then hopped on stage.
Sunny gave him the mike, her shoulders relaxed now. “Good. I would’ve hated it if I had to sing in front of you.”
“Do ‘Nowhere’!” somebody said from behind me.
“The machine won’t let you cancel a song about to start,” the bartender said. “But you can erase the rest of the entry and put that one in for next.” Then he turned to Killian. “You ready?”
“Yup.”
Sue came back with three beers. “Hot damn. We’re in for a treat,” she said, her eyes on the stage.
I took my drink and watched Killian get ready. I’d never been to a concert—or a karaoke night—so I had no idea what to expect. But even I could tell Killian somehow already owned not only the stage but the whole bar. He just commanded attention, his bright blue gaze shining on everyone there to see him perform.
He began singing, his voice slightly husky. Unlike Eric, who’d been loud but not necessarily good, Killian was hitting the notes, and there was a charge to the way he sang—a power that made your nerve endings come alive and your blood to pulse a little faster in your veins.
When he reached the chorus, everyone was singing with him. He even pointed the mike at the crowd, which had gone crazy. Since I didn’t know the words, I merely clapped and enjoyed the show.
The last note died, and the crowd erupted. “‘Nowhere’! ‘Nowhere’!” they shouted in unison.
I laughed at their reaction. I’d expected “bravo” or “encore,” not “‘Nowhere.’” They must be eager for more. And to be honest, I was too. I wanted to see him sing his own song.
“Come on, Killian! ‘Nowhere’!” the bartender shouted.
Killian laughed, his eyes bright and full of joy, then he nodded.
An elaborate guitar and drum started, and he belted out the song I’d heard only a couple of times on YouTube.
Hearing the recording—even with the music video—was nothing like watching him sing live. There was a raw power and charge to his voice that no recording equipment could capture. And it flowed out over the crowd—over me—unrestrained. He was a musician, a hypnotist, and I couldn’t look away. He shone like a supernova as he performed for the small crowd in a small bar in small town, Virginia. It felt like he was singing only for me, his eyes only on me, and I finally understood why rock stars were called rock stars.
Everyone, including me, got to their feet and swayed to the music. It was as though in this moment, nothing else existed. My heart pounded, my body hot. All thought seemed to have vanished except for the joy his music was pouring into me at the moment.
Our eyes met, and an electric jolt went through me. And with that came an understanding and admiration—he was taking people away from their mundane life and making them feel alive. People were listening to him for this, this experience, just like people bought my books to escape for a while.
Something hot and sweet and unfamiliar welled in my chest. I almost couldn’t draw in enough air, sweat misting over my skin even though all I was doing was standing and immersing myself in his mesmerizing voice.
When the song ended, the crowd erupted again. Killian grinned at them, then at me, his eyes bright.
The excitement from his performance still sizzled through me. I smiled at him, wanting him to see how his music affected me.
Somebody handed Killian a glass of water and a piece of paper. He took a sip, then read it. His eyebrows quirked up, and I wondered what it said. Better not be a phone number.
Whoa, wait. Where did that hot, angry thought come from? We weren’t dating, were we? Just because we’d spent a lot of time together recently and he’d helped me with a snake didn’t mean…
But that searing, ugly feeling was definitely jealousy.
Before I could think about my reaction, Killian said, “Okay, so apparently today is Sam and Fiona’s anniversary.”
“Yeah, Sam and Fiona!” came a shout.
“Congrats!”