“What are we playing tonight?” the drummer asked. “For the love of Pete, let’s not go all melancholy and sad like you usually do.”

“I can’t help it. It’s my Irish heritage. Be glad I don’t make you play ‘Danny Boy.’” Conor slipped the guitar strap over his head and settled the instrument against his hip. “I’m in a Black Keys sort of mood.”

“Now you’re talking.” The drummer rested his sticks across his thigh. “Whenever you’re ready.”

As Conor picked up the first few notes, the bar went quiet. The melody was bluesy and, yes, melancholy, and his tone was surprisingly pleasant. He leaned into the microphone and closed his eyes, his body still except for the motions of his hands on the instrument. The rest of the room faded away until she could see only him. Emotion rolled through his voice, picking up strength as he hit the end of the first chorus.

As he sang about his blinded, broken heart, something melted inside of Louisa. The heat built to a slow simmer that thickened her blood. The band kicked in and the pace picked up, but those first two verses had done her in. Conor opened his eyes. His gaze locked with hers. For a few seconds, raw need poured from him. He blinked away, but her heart recognized he’d been holding back on her, as much as she’d been holding back from him.

And the way that she suddenly craved everything he had to offer made her hands shake when she reached for her soda.

The final notes of the song faded. He lifted the guitar strap from around his neck and handed the instrument back to another member of the band. Back-slapping and camaraderie from the other musicians followed.

Louisa lifted her glass and drank. Icy liquid slid down her throat but failed to cool the rest of her body. His emotional performance had left her both disconcerted and aroused. But in her defense, he’d definitely cheated. What girl could resist a man with a guitar? “Well, that just wasn’t fair.”

“You are not the first woman to say that.”

Louisa jumped.

Jayne was standing next to her, a tray balanced on her hip. “Do you want another Diet Coke?”

“No, thank you.” Louisa dabbed at her mouth with her napkin. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

Conor was working his way through the small crowd, but everyone stopped him. More than one woman slid a hand down his arm to get his attention as he passed.

Jayne laughed. “It’s OK.”

“Do they all have to touch him?”

“That’s nothing.” Jayne set the tray on the table. “Years ago they practically threw their panties at him when he’d sing.”

“Thank goodness they’re just pawing at him, then.” Was that lick of heat in her belly jealousy? Yes, it was.