Beale Street Blues

Seated in her normal spot, Darling squeezed her eyes shut to close out the corny flirtations of the velvet-clad singer, and let the sad lyrics of the down-home Delta blues slink across her body and mind. The singer longed for the return of his lover, as she’d wished so many nights for hers. It was stupid, she knew it. He’d abandoned her.

The beat of the music dragged her body with it. Slowly, her feet tapped and her shoulders swayed. As the singer sang to his mystery lover, she remembered the touch of her own. His mouth against hers. The sensation of his hands to her breasts. The feel of his fingers as he dragged them along the length of her legs.

How could I still want someone who didn’t want a damn thing to do with me?

She stepped onto the dance floor and allowed the vocalist to sing only to her. Her body followed the baseline of the music. She didn’t care what the people watching her thought.

Her eyes sprang open at the feel of a hand on her arm. Eyes the color of the deepest emeralds asked her permission, wordlessly. She placed her hand on his waist allowing him to pull her closer. A mixture of amber and persimmon filled her senses as he tightened his hold. One hand rested on the small of her back, while the other lay on her hip, guiding her to his rhythm.

Too much time had passed since she’d felt the warmth and strength of a man, especially a man like this one. She glanced up to find him watching.

His eyes locked on hers and he smiled.

The confidence in his smile and the warmth of his touch sparked a flame inside her. She couldn’t resist reaching up to rake her fingers through the salt and pepper curls at his temple.

He closed his eyes at the touch of her hand. When he opened them, his gaze was too intense to hold.

She allowed herself to be lost in the fantasy of the man and the music. But when the music ended, regretfully, they would go to their separate corners.

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