Page 2 of Courting Envy
**
It was the same bar we always went to after a performance after the theater. Anyone in the know could have found me there, though thankfully, most folks waited until it was their turn.
I loved being the center of attention when I was on stage, but afterwards? All I wanted to do was drink and find someone to take to bed with me, to burn out all the intensity of the performance, sate my body in the same way my heart had been.
The whole venue reeked of money, and while I wasn’t as rich by halves as those around me, the lush silk of my dress suggested that I still belonged. Soft notes of music played at an ambient level, though my brain was currently trying to figure out where I’d heard this piece before.
“Rava?”
“Sorry,” I said, dragging my attention back to the small group. Darren had a stiff smile on his face, the older gentleman and his definitely much younger wife were looking at me expectantly. He had brought his adult son this time, though I had a feeling he was older than the new wife, as if hoping I might take a shine to him.
It wasn’t going to happen.
“I’m sorry,” I said apologetically, “my mind can wander after these shows. What was the question?”
“We were just wondering if you would be adding some new songs to your performances,” the wife said.
A bristle ran through me, but I forced my body to stay soft, relaxed. “I’ve been working on a few pieces, and I think they’ll be ready for my next series of events.” I gave them a generous smile, inwardly cursing the reminder that I hadn’t written anything new in months. No one else cared. They came to see me sing the songs they loved, to be transported by my voice; sometimes a new song prevented that, kept them locked in their seats as they adjusted to the piece.
Marco, my manager, chose that exact moment to pipe up. “You’ve not run any of them past me yet.”
Damn. Him.
I turned to Marco with a tight smile. “Soon. You know I like to have them perfect first.”
A movement behind his shoulder drew my attention. The man from the audience. He raised a drink to me in silent toast and then took a sip, his eyes staying locked on me the whole time.
Now, he was interesting.
I picked my clutch up from the table and pushed my seat back. “I’m so sorry. I’ve just seen an old friend and I really must go and say hello.” I didn’t wait for approval from Darren or Marco, and ignored the shrill noise that the wife emitted, turning my attention to the corner of the room where this beautiful man stood, waiting for me.
Because I could tell he was waiting. Somehow, he’d happened into the same bar as me, and he was taking his shot.
He was welcome to. He was infinitely more enticing than spending another minute with the stifling group behind me.
I made sure to walk at a normal pace; couldn’t have him thinking that he was my salvation in any way. My hips swayed seductively. I could feel eyes on me, and then eyes on him, knew there would be men and women envious that he got to be near me and they did not. That jealousy warmed my skin.
When I had crossed half the room, I veered slightly, heading towards the bar. I caught the flash of confusion across my target's face before he smoothed out the expression and moved forward to meet me.
“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked. His voice was low, a rumble that tickled my insides.
“Vodka martini, no olives,” I said to the waiting barman. “He’s paying.” It was only then that I turned towards my potential lover. No, not potential, I realized, now that I was viewing him up close.
He was exquisite. His skin was practically flawless, his green eyes as bright and clear as emeralds, and he had thick, dark lashes that grazed his skin when he blinked.
I was doomed.
I could see the flush of desire on his cheeks, knew that mine would show the same. There was a smile on his lips that went all the way to his eyes, as if he knew I played a game and yet he was certain he would win.
And maybe he would. I’d let him win tonight, because that was the prize I longed for.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“It was literally in lights when you came to my show, and you don’t remember?” I raised an eyebrow. This was a new approach.
“I want to hear you say it. It’s so impersonal in writing. And your voice…” He didn’t need to say more. My voice was divine.
“Rava Sinclair. And you are?”
