Mastroddi's Magic

Excerpt:
New York City vibrated with the pulsing beat of electric energy the evening Claire Conway and her friends made their way to McCann’s Tavern. The night sky shone bright as a myriad of neon signs lit New York’s popular mid-town section. Packed with people, the sidewalks offered very little space as visitors and residents of the greatest city in the world rushed by.

Claire and her friends made their way through the crowd milling at the entrance to McCann’s. She glanced at her watch—eleven p.m. She heard the sound of a raucous crowd as rock music blared, making her sensitive, classically trained ears hurt.

“I know that look, Claire Conway,” her friend Beth grabbed her arm. “You’re not handing me any excuses—just come in and have a drink with us, that’s all. You need to get out once and awhile, my friend.”

Claire glanced at Beth, a fellow musician, a petite bundle of energy. “It’s late, and I really think—” Claire started to protest.

“Uh-uh,” Beth chided as she took hold of Claire’s free arm. “No stalling. You’re coming with us.” Claire held onto Beth, afraid to let go, as they entered the noisy tavern, making their way through the throng of people near the bar.

“McCann’s is hoppin’ tonight!” Claire’s friend Sara shouted over the boisterous crowd. The popular tavern and hangout stood three-deep near the bar. Claire screwed up her face as she heard Janis Joplin screech and belt out a verse of ‘Piece of My Heart.’

Danielle, Claire’s tall, reed-thin friend grinned. “I love Joplin. At least they play classic rock here.”

To Claire’s way of thinking, that was the only ‘classic’ thing about McCann’s.

“There’s a table over there in the back!” Beth shouted to the rest of their small party. Claire and her friends made a beeline for the empty table. Claire felt cramped by the boisterous, noisy crowd, her heart skipping several beats as she held her precious violin tight to her side. The yeasty smell of beer wafted by her nostrils.

Stupid, she thought, this is so stupid. I should be home in bed, I’ve got to get up early and…

That’s when she spotted him. He stood at least a head taller than everyone else in the place as he leaned negligently against an ancient Wurlitzer jukebox. The man’s hot, intensely blue eyes locked with hers, sending her pulse skittering out of control. She brought her violin case up to her chest as the crowd thickened around her.

She followed on Beth’s heels, feeling the man’s eyes on her back.
When they finally made it to the table, Claire settled into a chair, placing the Mastroddi on the floor, tucking it between her feet. When she glanced over at the tall man again, he was engrossed in conversation. She watched as he leaned down, pushing back the brim of his Stetson to hear something a woman said, her lips close to his ear. He grinned, a slow, sexy smile. When he finished his conversation, he adjusted his hat, his eyes connecting with Claire’s again. This time, he nodded and winked in her direction.

Claire quickly averted her gaze, turning her attention back to her companions.

“Oh Claire, he’s sexy!” Beth told her.

“Beth really, I—” Great, just great. They had seen him watching her, and if she knew her matchmaking friends, they’d have her engaged to him before the night ended.

“And he’s got his eyes on you, my friend.” Beth’s face held mischief while she tucked a strand of her long dark hair behind one ear. She popped some peanuts from a nearby dish in her mouth.

The waiter’s presence saved Claire from their teasing banter. She gave him her drink order and cast a sideways glance toward the man in the Stetson. “He looks totally ridiculous,” she sniffed. “A Stetson.
Where does he think he is? Texas?”

“Well, maybe that’s where he’s from,” her friend Danielle said, a thoughtful look on her face. “He’s probably a tourist. Although, I—”

“What?” Beth asked. “What were you going to say?”

Danielle shrugged. “It’s just that he seems familiar.”

Folding her arms across her breasts Claire stated. “I suppose you know lots of men from Texas.”

Danielle gave her a wicked grin. “If they all looked like him, I’d like to know lots of men from Texas.”

That brought a round of laughter from the assembled group—except for Claire. Danielle’s comment about him looking familiar began a niggling, vague feeling of recognition in Claire’s mind. She snuck a peak at him again.

Jet-black hair peaked out from beneath the Stetson. Heat pooled low in her belly and shot straight down into the juncture between her legs as she watched him sip his drink, the corded muscles of his throat working up and down. He had a mouth that Claire could only describe as… beautiful. His lips curved over the rim of the glass, and Claire imagined them trailing kisses over her body. The air around her became unbearably warm when she thought about his beautiful mouth making love to her—his lips would trail across her face and throat, down to her collarbone, and settle between her breasts…

Her mouth was bone dry, making her wish for a cold drink.

“What are you thinking, my friend?” Beth grinned. “You have the dreamiest look on your face.”

“I’m thinking you have a very vivid imagination,” Claire grumbled.
“No, sweetie, I think you do,” Beth shot back. “Mr. Texas looks good enough to eat.”

That brought another round of laughter from everyone.

Claire glanced at him again and watched as he scanned the selections on the front of the Wurlitzer, his hands on either side of the large jukebox. He lifted a booted foot and rested it against the lower edge as he surveyed the selections.

The waiter appeared and set Claire’s glass of wine in front of her. She took a healthy sip then glanced at her friends. They burst into laughter.

“We’ve done it, girls, we’ve finally got our Claire interested in something other than her violin,” Beth giggled.

“I’ll say,” Danielle countered. She lifted her drink in salute toward Claire.

“And she’s picked a fine specimen of a man to do it with,” came Sara’s pronouncement. “We’re proud of you, sweetie.” She took a generous sip of her drink and grinned.

Claire took another two gulps of her wine, the crisp Riesling soothing her parched throat. She took another cooling sip, opening the top two buttons of her blouse, pushing the collar aside. Sweat trickled between her breasts. The people-packed tavern offered very little in the way of moving air.

“That gorgeous stud is looking your way again,” Beth said in a hushed tone.

Claire rolled her eyes and sipped the wine, her head buzzing in response. She grabbed some peanuts from the bowl, shoving them into her mouth, hoping to dilute the effects of the alcohol.

“Maybe we should order some food,” Claire murmured.

“Let’s have him for dinner,” Beth giggled, looking at Mr. Texas.

“I’ll bet he’s yummy,” Sara countered.

Claire sighed and took another sip of her drink. From beneath lowered lashes, she caught sight of him again. Suddenly, the pulsing beat of the rock music echoing through McCann’s changed. Claire heard the twang of a guitar, the nasal sound of a voice belting out the music she hated most: country music.

She took the last sip of her wine. Sara signaled the waiter and ordered another round of drinks.

“It figures,” Claire muttered. “He’s just got to play that awful stuff.” A look of pure distaste marred Claire’s otherwise serene features. Again, the twang of the guitar set her teeth on edge.

When she lifted her glass to her lips once more, she saw Mr. Texas Stud grinning. This time, his smile held challenge. The blare of the music cut straight through the buzzing in her head.

“I’ve had enough.” Claire smoothed the folds of her skirt as she stood. Her legs felt wobbly. “He can stare, he can wink, he can do whatever else he wants, but not that.”

“Not what?” Beth tugged on her Claire’s hand. “Sit down, Claire, you look—”

Claire shrugged out of Beth’s grasp and marched over to the man. She pushed through the crowd, drawing curious stares as she made her way toward Mr. Texas. The closer she got, the louder the country tune became, the twang of the guitar echoing in her head as a woman sang about her weepin,’ cheatin,’ heart.

Claire ground her teeth together in frustration

Holding her hands tight to her sides, she didn’t know what she wanted to do most at that moment, use them to cover her ears and blot out the nasally twang of the guitar, or do Mr. Texas violence. Now, his grinned seemed downright… insolent.

Fueled by temper and wine, Claire pushed past the milling crowd and inched her way toward him. He turned away, and spoke to his redheaded female friend. She, however, tugged on his sleeve and gestured toward an advancing Claire. He turned to face her, his grin widening.

“Evenin’, ma’am.” He tipped his Stetson.

Her insides turned to mush as her hormones leaped into overdrive. He had to be the most beautiful man she’d ever seen—beautiful yet rugged. She looked down at his hands. He had long, elegant fingers and for just a second, Claire thought they resembled musician’s hands.

The close, warm quarters and her proximity to him brought his scent wafting by her nostrils. No man had a right to smell that good, she thought as she inhaled his rich, lemony, musky aroma, barely perceptible along with the telltale scent of leather.

“Come to join our party, ma’am?” His deep drawl shot straight through her, down to her toes. She felt them tingle.