Page 5 of Griffin Undone
But tonight, those silver eyes…
As the soft cocoon of the music faded into the clink and rattle of glasses in the bar, the rough buzz of voices from too many conversations in the large room, I struggled with the need to return—but not to the music, not this time. I wanted to return to those eyes. Those molten-metal eyes that mesmerized and menaced like a cobra’s. Beautiful. Deadly. I wanted to get lost in them and, at the same time, run far, far away from their daunting depths.
The man himself held exactly the same vibe as his eyes, and caused the same reaction. Glancing up from beneath my lashes, I surveyed the long line of his muscular body, taking in the coiled power evident despite the fact that he hadn’t moved beyond turning his head away from me. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear he wasn’t even breathing. I didn’t want my gaze to linger on the strong arms crossed over his chest, but it did anyway, trying to detect the rise and fall of his pecs, then moving on to the hint of a tattoo peeking around the side of his neck. The harsh angle of his jaw was shaved clean, the stubbled hair on his head cut so close I couldn’t tell if it truly matched his silver eyes or if that was just a trick of the dim light. He didn’t look old enough for silver hair, maybe thirties, if that. A few years older than me. But still…
I would never know. The man was power personified; I could feel it even without his focus turned on me. And if I knew anything, it was that I didn’t even register on a power scale. Whoever the man was, he had more important prey than a nobody like me. I’d be a fool to think otherwise.
It appeared as if he’d moved on in his hunt anyway. As I watched him watch the room, I wasn’t sure if what I was feeling was disappointment or relief. But one thing I did know: I would never be able to forget the breathless need I’d felt during those long seconds when his eyes had held mine captive.
I was definitely a fool.
I stood and scooted out from between the piano and its bench. The edges of both digging into my legs distracted me from the wrench of separation, the way the piano Lenny kept in perfect tune called me back to it every night. I could play any musical instrument, could create rhythms and rhymes that took the breath of those who heard them. Music soothed me, held me, kept me company; it sought me out, where others couldn’t comprehend its needs. The music wanted me. And it made the night—and my solitary existence—a little less lonely.
But now it was time to go. The music would have to wait for another night.
Downtown Nashville was full of bars, most of them honky-tonks. Lenny’s was one of only a few—though definitely not the nicest—jazz bars near the heart of country music’s hometown. At least here I could play in peace without beer bottles being thrown at my head, and the mellower the music, the more the regulars stayed and drank, which Lenny liked. So he invited me back, night after night. This was a regular gig, but Lenny had never officially hired me. It was a measure of my sometimes desperate need for the music, the connection, and—okay, I could admit it, at least to myself—some small bit of human acknowledgment, that despite the blasé attitude of my boss, I kept coming back.
Every damn night.
Not like I had a connection to anything, or anyone, else.
Walking through the bar proved it. No hellos, good nights, or thanks for the music; just the occasional poking elbow or body blocking my path. I smiled at the regulars, but their gazes slid across my face and kept going as if I wasn’t here. I could draw the audience in with only the sound of the piano or my voice and the will for them to listen, but my body, my face…well, it was as if I were literally invisible. Like a force field surrounded me that deflected all attention.
My entire life had been this way. I accepted it, or told myself I did, at least. I focused on my music and swallowed the need for anything else. Better to be resigned than to beat my head against the proverbial wall—or an actual one, which I’d been tempted to do a time or two.
“Beautiful,” a deep voice murmured at my elbow, drawing my attention despite the noise in the room. “You have an exceptional gift.”
I stopped abruptly to look at the man overflowing the chair he occupied. His sheer size dwarfed me despite the fact that he was seated and I wasn’t. Five-four didn’t carry a lot of presence, and besides, this was me we were talking about—I didn’t carry much presence anyway. Except for tonight, apparently. This was the second man who’d seemed to notice me. “What?”
Brilliant response. One of the man’s cheeks scrunched as if, beneath his thick beard, a grin had appeared. It didn’t reach his eerie yellow eyes.
I hadn’t known irises came in that color.
“I said, you have a gift, Katherine.”
Everything inside me jolted in alarm. “How do you know my name?”
One massive shoulder shrugged, the only answer he gave me. Tension tightened my muscles. Awkward silence followed.
“Well…” Did I thank him? He’d complimented me—a rare enough occurrence that it threw me off—but the other… He didn’t help, either, staring up at me with something in those strange eyes that spurred a desperate need to rush home and bathe. In scalding water. For a very long time.
Okay, forget polite. I murmured something even I didn’t understand and hurried toward the bar. A gravelly chuckle trailed behind me, scraping deep into my nerves.
I needed to go. Now.
Unfortunately the customers weren’t the only ones that didn’t notice me. I took up my usual position at the far corner of the bar, the same spot I occupied at the end of every night, and waited for my boss to see me and bring my pay. Sometimes that wait stretched out interminably, but not tonight. After a few minutes of drumming my fingers against the polished wood, I called Lenny’s name.
Lenny finally lumbered over, brows heavy above his faded eyes, his hand already moving to his pocket, thank goodness. He withdrew a wad of bills and began meticulously counting. His usual, “Done already?” came as he pulled the bills away from the stack and extended them to me across the bar.
“Yes, Lenny,” I said, exactly like every other night.
Lenny’s eagle eye was already focused back on the bartenders, watching their interactions with the customers. “Any tips?”
How could there be tips? I was hidden in the back corner of the freaking room. “No, Lenny.”
He didn’t even raise a bushy brow at the rare sarcasm coating my response. I glanced into the mirror lining the wall behind him. Was it something about my looks? My hair was red, but that made women exotic, didn’t it? Not inconspicuous. Maybe it was because I was small. Or young. I looked younger than twenty-four. Was that it?
Two men noticed you tonight, Kat. Whatever it is, maybe it’s changing.
