He knew her voice touched everyone. He wasn’t an emotional man and yet somehow, like the other times he was with her, close to her, she tapped into some emotion buried so deep he hadn’t known it was there. The sound slipped into one’s body and eased aches or compounded them depending on what she was feeling as she sang the lyrics. She wove a magical web around them all. Mostly, he was certain, around him.
The second song was pure Seychelle. It was a song designed to bring peace and happiness to others. Savage never took his eyes from her. He felt her energy, her compassion and her need to help others, to lift them up when they were down. He saw the various expressions cross her face as her gaze touched on individuals in the crowd. That golden net began to climb the wall and over the ceiling, sliding down to touch this person or that.
The crowd was mesmerized by her. Stunned by her. That magic in her voice captivated them, but as Savage continued to scrutinize her every expression, her every move, he noticed she flinched occasionally, or hunched in just for a single second.
Puzzled, he tried to figure out what it was he was missing, and it was something very important. She turned her head, and he felt the instant impact of her eyes. She didn’t smile, but her expression softened. His heart twisted. His head had been pounding all day and the loud noises in the bar hadn’t helped. He almost missed the way a frown flitted across her face and she looked just a little strained for that split second, and then she looked away. His headache was gone.
Awareness rushed into him. He swore softly under his breath. He should have guessed. There was an exchange taking place, just as Libby said Seychelle would do, and he didn’t like it. It was one thing to sing, but to start healing aches and pains in an entire crowd? Hell no. That was one thing he was putting a stop to.
Then, suddenly, she nearly faltered. She didn’t miss a beat, but knowing her as he did, and knowing the band members, he was alerted instantly. At first he was afraid she’d taken on some illness that was so harmful it was destroying her, but it didn’t seem to be that at all. To Savage, she was an open book, and she looked hurt—not physically but emotionally hurt. Upset. Devastated. So much so that every alarm he had went off.
* * *
Seychelle had never heard a band as good as the one playing. They were incredible. She couldn’t believe they had invited her to sing with them. The crowd was great, the energy uplifting. Most of the people in the bar were there to have fun. Ailments were minor for once, and when she finally allowed herself to look at Savage, he was totally focused on her—very happy to see her. She’d been worried he might have changed his mind after a month.
It was silly to be so nervous over that when he’d come to her cottage nearly every single night and left her roses. He’d sent Alena with delicious meals she couldn’t eat but was grateful for. He’d made certain his Torpedo Ink brothers had watched over her. Savage wasn’t a man to do all that if he didn’t want her. It was just that she was so confused over what their relationship really was. What it could be. What he wanted from her and what she could give him.
If felt good to be able to take away his headache. It was a small thing, but she liked being able to help him. She had missed him so much. It had felt as if she was living a half life without him. She’d taken her time, really thought a lot before she’d decided to come to him. She didn’t know exactly what his lifestyle entailed or if she could handle it, but if he was willing to teach her and not have other women in his life . . . Maybe. She just didn’t know. She just knew she was willing to chance finding out more. He was worth it. Sharing his life was worth it.
Looking at him, seeing his eyes so blue, looking like twin blue flames burning over her, claiming her, made her feel as if she belonged. She’d missed having that. She’d been adrift without him. She sang to him. Gave him joy. Gave him her happiness. Lifted the spirits of everyone in the bar.
A jarring note slipped into her web of silken fairy tales. A dark thread of truth to unravel her dreams. Lust. Craving. Twisted greed. Her gaze found that thread and followed it. The woman was dancing in front of the band, but she was dancing for one man—Savage. Her eyes were on him, carnal desire stark on her face. She was shaking her dark hair all around so that it shimmied under the lights. Seychelle recognized her immediately. She was broadcasting her thoughts loudly in time with the pulsing music, her pelvis thrusting suggestively toward Savage. She was with another woman, and that woman was staring at Savage as well, her expression almost as lecherous as her friend’s.