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“You bad boy,” she scolded. “Where have you been? It’s been much too long.” Her accent was unrecognizable, a combination of nations that melded into something unique.
Elliot chuckled from deep in his chest. He looked deep into her eyes, lowered his voice. “Now, Gina, you know if I told you, I’d have to make you disappear.”
Gina tossed her head back on her long stem of a neck and laughed an almost musical melody. “You and your secret games.” She finally turned her attention to Ashley. “Welcome to Rhythms. Do not let this man charm you into doing anything naughty. He can be very persuasive.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Ashley said, not sure if the quickening in her stomach was from being let in on some private joke or the fact that Gina may have been a willing recipient of Elliot’s charms.
“I’ll show you to your table.” She took two menus from the stand and led them to the center of the club with a table in front of the stage.
Elliot helped Ashley into her seat.
“Nick is playing tonight,” Gina said, placing the menus in front of them. “You’re in luck. Maybe you can sit in on a set.”
Elliot chuckled and shook his head. “I’m too rusty to get up there with the boys. It’s been a while.” He leaned casually back in his chair, his thighs spread and his arm draped across the top of the seat.
“Your server will be along to get your drink order.” She focused on Ashley. “You should convince him to play tonight.” Gina squeezed his shoulder and gave him a quick wink before walking away.
Elliot lowered his head for a moment and shook it as he chuckled softly.
Ashley rested her forearms on the table and leaned forward. “So what is it that I should be convincing you to play?”
“Naw. Don’t even go there.” He waved off her question and almost looked embarrassed, his usual swagger momentarily gone.
“Why? Got something to hide?”
His gaze connected with hers. “No.”
“Do you play some kind of weird instrument?”
“No.”
“Tuba?”
“No,” he sputtered.
“Harp?”
“Very funny.”
“Banjo!”
He cracked a smile.
“I got it. The recorder!” Her eyes widened in delight.
Elliot laughed. “Not since I was about six,” he confessed.
“I knew it,” she teased and sat back, waiting expectantly.
“Trumpet,” he finally admitted.
She tipped her head to the side in appreciation. “Really? Wow. That’s Miles Davis’s instrument of choice.”
“So you know a little something about music. I should have figured as much with that collection you have at your place.”
She grinned. “One of my passions.” She paused. “So, how long has it been since you’ve played?”
He thought about the last time he performed. It was before his last assignment in Europe, which lasted nearly ten months, before everything got so dark and ugly and he couldn’t tell the good guys from the bad, right from wrong. He glanced away. “A while,” he said, his voice distant and detached, almost wistful, Ashley thought.
She watched his profile in the light and shadows of the club and the parade of emotions that loosened and tightened his jaw. “I hear it’s like bike riding. You never forget, you just have to get back on.”
He ran his tongue across his lips. His eyes settled on her mouth for a moment and Ashley felt a sudden pulse beat between her legs. She adjusted herself in the seat.
“That’s what you heard, huh? Just get back on?” His gaze bore into hers.
A warm flush rose up from the pit of her stomach and settled in the center of her chest. She drew in a breath. Her taunting challenges of only moments ago, having dissipated under his smoldering gaze and innuendo.
The waitress appeared to take their drink orders and the momentary spell was broken.
Elliot lifted his chin toward Ashley. “What would you like?”
You! Her body shouted, even as her mind remained in disagreement. I want to find out if everything is as hard as those biceps and thighs. She cleared her throat. “Hmm, apple martini, please. Frozen.”
The waitress nodded. “And you, sir?”
“Courvoisier on the rocks.”
“I’ll be right back with your drinks.”
The momentary reprieve gave Ashley the opportunity to pull herself together, take her eyes, mind and body off of Elliot and take in the surroundings.
The club gave off a feeling of back-in-the-day night spots of Harlem, dark, cozy, low music playing in the background, the smell of food wafting in the air.
“This place seems really nice,” she said. “I don’t know how I missed it.”
“Nick had been negotiating to get it opened for a while. The building was abandoned and in pretty bad shape from what he told me. And not in the choicest of neighborhoods at the time.”
“The neighborhood has definitely changed. There was a time when most folks wouldn’t come over here at night.”
Elliot nodded his agreement. “It’s like that all over the city, Harlem in particular.”
The waitress returned with their drinks and set them on the table. “Are you ready to order or do you need a few minutes?” She looked from one to the other.
“Any suggestions?” Ashley asked.
“The seared salmon is excellent,” she said. “Or if you prefer we have stuffed chicken breast, hot wings, crab cakes, salads…”
Ashley turned her attention to Elliot and lifted her brows in question.
“You can’t go wrong with the crab cakes,” he said.
Ashley nodded with a smile. “I’ll have the crab cakes and wild rice with a small side salad.”
“Make that two,” Elliot said.
“Great.” She collected the menus and walked off.
Just as they turned their attention toward each other, the contact was broken once again.
“E!”
A tall, dark and extremely handsome man came up and clapped Elliot on the back. Elliot looked up and his expression beamed with pleasure. He pushed back from his seat and stood and the two Adonises—one more gorgeous than the other—did that hearty man-hug thing.
“Wow, my brother, when did you get back in town and why didn’t you call me?”
Elliot chuckled deep in his gut. “Look, man I just got back day before yesterday. Getting my legs back under me.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he teased, throwing his arm around Elliot’s broad shoulder, and turned to Ashley. “And who is this beautiful lady?”
Elliot extended his hand toward Ashley. “Ashley Temple, this is Nick Hunter, the coowner of this joint.”
Nick cut him a look, then shot Ashley with a smile that could melt a glacier. “My pleasure.” He came around to Ashley’s side of the table and shook her hand. “Welcome to Rhythms.”
“Thank you. You have a great place.”
Nick straightened and tugged in a deep breath. “It took some work,” he said with obvious pleasure, “but we did it.” He turned back to Elliot. “You guys have everything you need?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Elliot said.
“Tonight is on the house. A welcome-back gift,” he said to Elliot, “and a welcome, too,” he said to Ashley. He started backing up. “Gotta get ready for my set. You know you’re playing tonight so get your lips together.”
“Man, come on,” Elliot said.
“Forget it. Not taking no for an answer.” He walked off, grinning.
Elliot flopped back against the cushion of the chair. Ashley giggled.
“The only way out is to leave now. And I have no intention on missing out on those crab cakes.” She folded her arms beneath her breasts and challenged him with her steady gaze.
A slow smile crept across his mouth. “Must be some kind of conspiracy,” he groused good-naturedly, hiding his soul by lowering his lids over his dark eyes.
“How long have you been playing trumpet?”
“Since high school. Played in the school band.”
“You!” she said, delight shining in her eyes and lifting her voice.
He chuckled. “Yeah, go figure. My folks thought it would keep me out of trouble.”
“Did it?”
He shrugged. “Not according to them.”
“I can imagine you must have been a handful.”
His voice lowered, his eyes lifted and settled on her face. “Can you?”
Something hot and sweet moved around in the center of her chest. Slowly she ran her tongue across her mouth, tried to swallow and couldn’t. She reached for her drink and took a short sip.
“Well?”
Her brows rose. “Well, what?”
“You said you can imagine me being a handful. I asked you if you could.”
“Oh—” she glanced at the table “—You give the impression that you would do all the things that little boys do.”
He eased closer across the table. “And what do you imagine us little boys doing?”
Her eyes crinkled with laughter. “Chasing dogs, tugging little girls’ ponytails.”
He slowly spun his glass on the table. “When little boys grow up they stop tugging ponytails and chasing puppies. They’d rather—”
Before he could finish, their food arrived and the lights dimmed on the stage as the band took their places.
“Welcome to Rhythms!” Nick said, taking the microphone. The room erupted into applause. “We have a full night of entertainment for you, and I want you to put your hands together for my man Elliot Morgan who will be joining us tonight on trumpet.”
Ashley applauded with all the others, her hands clapping high above her head. “Whoo-hooo,” she shouted, laughing heartily.
He wagged a warning finger at her that only made her laugh harder.
The band began with an original composition then segued to several standards, which all had the rapt audience bobbing their head and popping their fingers. From her perfect position at the table, Ashley could watch Elliot’s every move, catch every nuance and expression. What she saw was a man who was comfortable in his own skin, who could easily transition from gentleman to lethal weapon in the blink of an eye, thoughtful, funny, talented and heartbreakingly sexy all rolled up into one fine package. It could be so easy for her to succumb to his obvious charms, but the reality was they were partners in the investigation of a serious crime. Taking it beyond business was inappropriate, not to mention that he simply rubbed her the wrong way.
Her musings were interrupted when Nick took the mic and announced to the crowd that Elliot would be joining them for the rest of their set. Whoops and hollers of approval, along with the house spotlight followed Elliot’s reluctant progression from his seat to his place on the stage, where Sammy handed him his instrument of choice. “We’ve been keeping it warm for ya,” Sammy whispered, as Elliot removed his trumpet from the case.
For a moment he looked at it with a mixture of awe and reverence. He’d left it in Nick’s care when he took off months ago for Europe. A smile moved slowly across his mouth as the gold valves glistened against the muted light almost like a beacon.
Elliot lifted the trumpet out of the case, reached for a reed and fixed it to the lip of the instrument. Slowly he brought it to his mouth, shut his eyes and blew out several notes to test the quality, range and his rusty skills. Satisfied, he turned to Nick and gave him a short nod of his head.
Nick eased into Miles Davis’s “The Man with the Horn,” and Elliot picked up on the melody as if he’d never been away from his trumpet.
Ashley was mesmerized by this new Elliot that was on the stage. He was a chameleon, ever changing. The moment she thought she had him pegged, he’d switch up on her, leaving her to question her instincts.
He finished out the set with the band to jubilant applause before hopping down off stage and returning to his table. Ashley was still applauding, a smile beaming across her face.
“You were fantastic!” she enthused, grabbing his hand before she could stop herself.
The spontaneous moment stunned them both. Elliot’s gaze fell to the hand that covered his. Embarrassed, she pulled her hand away but not before Elliot caught it. He looked into her eyes as his fingers grazed hers.
“So you liked it?” he said, his voice low and intimate. He ran his thumb across her knuckles.
Ashley’s pulse throbbed. “I don’t know why you doubted yourself,” she managed to say. “You were right at home up there.”
“Didn’t want to make a total fool of myself,” he half joked, “especially with you watching.”
“Can I get you anything else from the bar?” the waitress said, snapping the line of tension between them. She picked up the empty plates and looked from one to the other.
Ashley took the reprieve to ease her hand out of Elliot’s warm grasp. “I’m fine, thanks.”
Elliot lifted his half-empty glass. “I’ll have another.”
“Right away.”
Elliot leaned back in his chair and appraised Ashley from beneath lowered lashes.
“What?” she finally said, after his stare began to make her uncomfortable.
He gave a slow, short shake of his head. “Can’t quite figure you out.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Don’t get twisted out of shape. I’m just saying I can’t figure you out.”
“Funny, I thought the same thing about you.”
The corner of his mouth jerked up into a grin. “Really?”
“It wasn’t a compliment,” she lightly teased.
He leaned forward. “It’s late. I should get you home.”
His sudden change in demeanor caught her off guard. Barely seconds ago he was practically in her lap and now he was ready to dismiss her like the final class of the day. She flicked a brow, and picked up her purse from the table.
“Ready when you are.” She stood.
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