“I didn’t tell you how pretty you look,” he said quietly near her ear.
“I’m a mess. There’s still clay under my fingernails,” Megan murmured uncomfortably. She’d insisted upon taking some time to rectify her appearance earlier, brushing out her hair and applying a little make-up along with a spritz of perfume. It’d been a hopeless cause, though. It’d take a half hour of solid scrubbing to get her nails completely clean, and she couldn’t do anything about the casual, form-fitting T-shirt she’d been wearing or her faded, low-riding jeans.
“Who’d a thought that clay under a woman’s fingernails was so sexy?” Christian mused. His smile widened when she threw him a ‘give me a break’ glance. He leaned down lower and spoke next to her ear. “And that strip of bare skin beneath your T-shirt is driving me crazy.”
She shivered. Christian’s deep, resonant voice was always a threat, but when he growled sweet, sexy things in her ear, Megan was a goner. She jumped when one long forefinger brushed over the sensitive, exposed skin above her jeans. The pad of his finger was callused, causing a thrill of friction where it glided. He felt her startle and spread his hand fully across her stomach and waist, as if to settle her nerves. The upper part of his forearm touched the bottom of her breasts, cradling them softly.
Megan was vaguely aware that Emilio had just introduced the band and that people were applauding. It didn’t stop her from letting her head fall back against Christian’s shoulder, from staring up into his heated gaze. Her mouth was moving to meet his halfway when someone spoke.
“Sorry, Lasher, but there’s no where else to sit. I figured it was better to interrupt now than in another thirty seconds, by the looks of how things were progressing. Emilio just shoved this bottle of wine in my hand and waved in your general direction. Famous hospitality. No wonder this place is such a dive,” a tall, imposing man muttered in a low-pitched grumble out of respect for the band that had just begun their set. He didn’t seem to mind Christian’s irritated scowl or Megan’s look of discomposure as she sat up straighter, knocking Christian’s arm from beneath her breasts.
The man set down the bottle of wine and then unlaced the stems of three glasses from his large, but surprisingly elegant looking fingers. She reached across the table and took his hand when he offered it.
“You must be the reason Christian has been so grouchy for the past few days,” he said in a deadpan tone.
She glanced at Christian. “I don’t think I can take responsibility for that,” she replied, feeling a little bewildered at the suggestion that she had the power to alter Christian’s moods. “I’m Megan Shreve. You must be Seth. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Seth surprised her by smiling. She stared at the difference it made in a face so rugged and hard, it looked like it had been carved from rock. The artist in her was fascinated by sharp contrasts in his visage. One second, he was cold, untouchable, too intimidating to be considered attractive. Then he smiled, and Megan realized with amazement that he wasn’t only handsome; Seth was gorgeous.
“If your source was Emilio, it’s all a damned pack of lies. I doubt your source was Christian, because he’s too jealous of me to talk about me much.”
Christian snorted in mild derision and picked up the wine bottle to pour. “I didn’t say much about you because I assumed you’d have a mouthful to say about yourself once you got here.” He handed Megan her wine politely before he shoved a filled glass over to Seth. Megan saw amusement dancing in his blue eyes. “Now, shut up about yourself and listen to the band for two seconds. It’s why I asked you out here early, and Shavac is about to have a go at it.”
Megan took a swallow of wine and blinked. Her glance over at Christian was quick and speculative. She didn’t want to admit how appealing it was too her that he had such a rough, untamed exterior and at the same time knew as much about fine wine as he did Walt Whitman. She’d never tasted wine so rich…or so potent.
She supposed that Shavac was the guitar player, because he was the main focus of the arrangement for the next few minutes. Megan was no judge of music, and she didn’t know anything about the blues, but she would have had to have been plain stupid not to appreciate the skill of the electric guitarist or the way the moody, mournful notes he created with such ease bypassed her verbal level of understanding and went straight to the heart of melancholy and longing.
“Well?” Christian prompted Seth after several songs.
Seth remained immobile, seemingly deep in thought. Megan understood that Christian was asking his friend’s opinion, but she couldn’t comprehend the amount of tension seething beneath the one word question. Why was Seth’s opinion about the blues guitarist’s performance so important? Unknowingly, her eyes turned anxiously to Seth’s stark profile.
“You’re right,” Seth finally said without an ounce of inflection. “But you know my style is completely different—“
“I can make it work. We can make it work. Just give it a chance,” Christian said.
Seth turned back to face them as a new set began. His gaze locked with Christian’s for a tense moment before he gave a small shrug.
“If you say so, I’ll trust your word. God knows I’ve put my faith in you before and it’s always worked out.”
A broad smile broke over Christian’s face.
Seth’s dark eyes briefly settled on Megan, and then flashed enigmatically at Christian. Christian turned to her, a concerned expression on his face. She was surprised when he brushed a tear off her cheek tenderly.
“Why are you crying, honey?” he asked, clearly bewildered.
Megan raised her hand to her cheek in equal amazement. “I-I didn’t know I was. I guess it was the music,” she said lamely. She swallowed down embarrassment as both men continued to study her with puzzled concern.
Had it been the music? She had been moved by it, but she honestly couldn’t say if it was that, or the unspoken undercurrents of emotion between Christian and Seth that had created her reaction. She licked her lips nervously. “I, uh, need to use the lady’s room.”
Christian stopped her with a firm hold on her upper arm. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
He finally let her go when she laughed and nodded her assurance, but he still looked doubtful.
Megan stared at herself in the bathroom mirror and mentally asked her reflection why she had reacted so strangely. Something about the two men’s communication in those moments—both spoken and unspoken—had moved her. Seth and Christian were obviously very close.
She’d washed away the remnants of her tears, but her cheeks were still flushed. Probably from the wine, she reasoned. Even though she’d only had three or four sips of it, that stuff was strong.
She felt calmer when she returned to the table. Harvest Moon had just finished up a set and announced that they were taking a brief break. Megan hesitated, and then walked staunchly forward when she realized that Emilio was sitting at the table, and that the three large men were in deep conversation. Emilio stopped talking abruptly when he saw her approach and a guilty expression flitted across his rounded features. Megan could well have believed Seth’s utterance of a moment ago when she took in the appearance of the other two men. Christian and Seth may not be blood brothers, but their deadpan expressions were identical when they looked up at her.