Public Secrets

her nerves—or Sweeney, smoking lazily a few tables over. “I’ve never been here before. I like it.”
“Well, it can’t be what you’re used to, but most of the other places, it’s hard to talk or to be alone. I wanted to do both with you.”
Her fingers knotted together again. “I didn’t have a chance to tell you how good you were tonight. You’ll be looking for your own opening act soon.”
“Thanks. That means a lot.” He laid a hand on hers, gently stroking his thumb over her knuckles. “We were a little stiff on the opening set, but we’ll loosen up.”
“How long have you been playing?”
“Since I was ten. I guess I can thank your father.”
“Oh? Why?”
“I had a cousin, he did some road work for Devastation when I was a kid and snuck me into a concert. Brian McAvoy. He just blew me away. As soon as I could save up, I bought a secondhand guitar.” He grinned. Her hand was firmly lodged in his now. “The rest is history.”
“I’ve never heard that story.”
“I guess I’ve never told anyone else.” He shrugged restlessly. “It’s a little embarrassing.”

“No.” Enchanted, she moved closer to him. “It’s touching. That’s just the kind of story that endears someone like you to fans.”
He looked at her, his eyes dark gold in the dim light. “I’m not thinking about fans right now. Emma—”
“Would you like a drink?”
Emma tore her gaze away from Drew’s to blink at the cocktail waitress. “Oh, a mineral water.”
Drew’s brow lifted, but he didn’t comment. “Guinness.” He continued to look at Emma, continued to toy with her fingers. “You must have heard your fill about musicians,” he murmured. “I’d rather hear about you.”
“There’s not that much to tell.”
“I think you’re wrong. I want to know everything there is to know about Emma McAvoy.” He lifted her hand to his lips. “Everything.”
She spent the evening in a haze, with the sultry music the perfect backdrop. He seemed to hang on her every word. And touching, always touching her—his hand on hers, or brushing through her hair, skimming along her arm. They never moved from their shadowy corner, never glanced at the other couples huddled at tables.
They left the club to walk along the Thames in the breezy moonlight. It was late, much too late, but it didn’t seem to matter what time it was. She could smell the river, and the cool spring flowers. Emma thought of gallant knights when Drew stripped off his jacket and spread it over her shoulders.
“Are you cold?”
“No.” She drew in a deep breath and shook her head. “It feels wonderful. I never remember, until I come back, how much I love London.”
“I’ve lived here all my life.” Walking slowly, he watched the starlight play on the dark surface of the river. He wanted to see other rivers, other cities, and knew his time was coming. “Have you ever thought of moving back here, to live?”
“No, I haven’t. Not really.”
“Maybe you will.” He stopped her, gentle hands on her shoulders. “I keep wondering if you’re real. Every time I look at you, it’s as if you’re something I dreamed up.” His fingers tensed as he pulled her closer. The quick, unexpected strength, the sudden intensity of his eyes, his voice, made her mouth go dry. “I don’t want you to vanish.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she murmured.
Her heart scrambled as he lowered his head toward hers. She felt the warmth of his mouth, light, and so tender. He drew away, an inch only, then slowly, watching her eyes, pressed his mouth to hers again.
Sweet, so sweet, she thought. So kind. Accepting, she skimmed her hands up his back and let him lead her. With a master’s touch he stroked his lips over her face, then brought them back to hers for one long, last caress.
“I’d better get you home.” His voice was thick, unsteady. “Emma.” As if he couldn’t keep from touching her, he ran his hands up and down her arms. “I want to see you again, like this. Is that all right?”
She laid her head on his shoulder. “That’s absolutely all right.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

S HE SPENT ALL her free time with Drew over the next weeks. Midnight suppers for two, long walks in the starlight, a stolen hour in the afternoon. There was something more exciting, more intimate, more desperate about the hours they spent together, because they were so few.
In Paris she introduced him to Marianne. They met at a little café on Boulevard St.-Germain where