Tito’s Lounge, located in the lower level of a three-story building, was already filled with patrons anxious to see the night’s live performer. As they approached, the buzz of conversation spilled from the open door and filled the air outside the cozy space.
Celeste preceded him into the lounge, and he took the opportunity to rest his hand against the small of her back, as if to guide her through the door. Truth be told, he’d wanted to find an excuse to touch her. Warmth suffused his palm, and he kept his hand in place, as if it belonged there. He enjoyed the curve of her back through the gold dress, and he wondered what it would be like if he touched her bare skin.
She glanced at him. They stood almost eye to eye. Her thick eyebrows looked like they’d been carefully applied with the expert stroke of a painter’s brush. Her lips parted and closed, as if she were about to say something but changed her mind. He knew she felt the same awareness. It hovered between them.
He watched as her lashes lowered toward her high cheekbones in a demure fashion. As if she were bashful and didn’t know how hot she was. As if she didn’t know she was wearing the hell out of that little gold strapless dress, which, combined with those red heels with the ankle strap, made it look as if her legs went on for miles.
“All the tables in the main area are already reserved,” the host said. “But you’re welcome to relax in the back. You won’t see the musicians, but you can still hear the music.”
Roarke turned his attention to Celeste to make sure she was fine with the arrangement, and she nodded. The host guided them into the partially enclosed lounge, which consisted of leather couches along three walls and a few coffee tables directly in front of them. Red rosebud-shaped candleholders made of glass sat on each table. The flickering light of the small candles inside each one formed a luminescent glow that bounced off the crimson-painted walls.
Black-and-white sketches of jazz greats like Dizzy Gillespie, Thelonious Monk, and Louis Armstrong hung on the walls. Exposed pipes on the low ceiling gave the place a rustic look. Only one other couple sat in the lounge, on the opposite side of the room from where Celeste and Roarke lowered themselves. The couple was huddled together and talking softly.
“This is nice, Roarke. Much more my style than Avery’s.”
The husky inflection of her voice made him want to ask her all kinds of questions just to hear her talk. His name sounded like an invitation on her lips, and he wondered what it would sound like when she sobbed it on her back with him buried inside her.
He couldn’t remember having such an intense, immediate attraction to a woman before. In his effort to earn tenure, he’d been busy, with no time to do any serious dating, particularly in the last couple of years. In addition to his teaching requirements, he’d stayed occupied with research, writing, and filling his service requirements. With that chapter closed, he would be able to relax and enjoy the fruits of his labor.
Ready to jump back into the driver’s seat and control the direction his life took, the idea of settling down retained a prominent place in his mind. At thirty-three years old, thoughts of marriage and starting a family plagued him. It didn’t help his younger sister was getting married in a week.
“It’s one of those hidden gems you selfishly hope other people don’t discover.”
She sat with her long legs crossed over each other at the knees. With her height, she could have been a model. On second thought, no. Other than small breasts, she didn’t have a model’s shape. No way a body so thick and curvy could fit into a size-one dress without busting the seams.
They ordered drinks and a couple of appetizers, and Roarke settled back against the seat. They chatted for some time, even after the band took the stage in the next room. He felt at ease with Celeste, and conversation flowed without effort between them.