A Better Reason to Fall in Love (9 page)

“Is there a difference?” Naomi asked in a whisper as Jagger Brodie’s gravelly voice began to weave some kind of mesmerizing spell over the audience—over Tabby. She was overly warm—felt as if her breathing was shallow and uneven.

Tabby couldn’t speak. It seemed no one in the room could speak. Not that anyone should during someone’s performance, but this was different. As Jagger Brodie continued to play and sing “Yellow Moon,” it was as if the very essence in the room changed—changed to something hypnotic. The man sitting on the stool on the raised platform at the other end of the restaurant held every person in the room absolutely spellbound.

Tabby swallowed. She was actually salivating! She chalked it up as a carryover from the spicy food she’d only just finished, but secretly she knew that wasn’t it.

“What?” Emmy whispered, “He’s not cool enough in a business suit? He has to dress up all sexy-rock-star-like and sing too?”

But Tabby couldn’t respond. She was too stunned, too hypnotized by the fact that Jagger Brodie was sitting there, playing an incredible guitar lick—and singing!

Tabby studied him—the way he closed his eyes when he seemed to be straining for the high notes. He wasn’t straining; she knew he wasn’t because he hit them too easily to need to strain. The appearance of drama simply added to the mood he was creating. She shook her head again as she studied his silver-tipped cowboy boots, the way his shirt hung untucked and so deceptively casual. Even his hair was different—a little mussed, as if he’d just run his fingers through it, careless of the tousled result.

Absolute elation mingled with a weird sort of disappointment in Tabby’s stomach. Part of her was entirely wowed at the fact Jagger Brodie was a singer-slash-musician—a blues and jazz singer-slash-musician. Yet another part of her was disappointed to find he was even more handsome, cool, and desirable than he’d already been. She glanced around the room, studying the faces of the women who sat in awed silence watching Jagger perform. Yep, she wasn’t the only one salivating and fighting off goose bumps.

The song ended, and the crowd of restaurant patrons erupted into whistles and applauding.

“Thank you,” Jagger mumbled into the mike. “Thank you very much. You’re too good to me, I promise you…and I’ll thank Mr. Aaron Neville for that. Aaron Neville’s ‘Yellow Moon,’ ladies and gentleman.”

“Un-stinking-believable,” Emmy mumbled.

“You know,” Jagger began, adjusting the microphone stand, “when I was kid, I was playing in this little garage band with my friends.” Tabby watched as Jagger hit one guitar string and tuned it a bit by twisting a tuning peg. “I mean,” he continued, “we were literally playing in a garage—my friend’s garage, my friend Corey’s garage. Corey’s dad built that garage himself,” Jagger said, grinning. “Corey’s dad did everything in that garage, including the electrical…and apparently there were some problems. I plugged into my amp one day and frizzzz—electrocution.”

Someone from the audience called, “Dude! Are you serious?”

Jagger’s smile broadened, and he nodded. “Yep. The outlet I was using…it wasn’t properly grounded. I ended up in the hospital.” Jagger held up his right hand. “Burned the skin off three of my fingers…clear down to the muscle in places.”

The audience moaned with expressed sympathy, and Tabby winced.

“It’s okay, though,” Jagger said, tuning another string. “The doctors stripped a little skin off my butt, grafted it to my fingers, and it was all good.” He strummed—picked a few notes. “Of course, ever since then…I’ve always been a little behind in my playing.”

The audience laughed—including Naomi, Emmy, and Jocelyn—and Jagger smiled.

He chuckled into the microphone and said, “So I appreciate your listening. And here’s one you might know. It’s called ‘Pretty Baby Sister.’”

The audience applauded and whistled as Jagger Brodie began a smooth blues riff.

“Unbelievable!” Emmy breathed. “Seriously…can you believe it?” she asked, looking to Tabby.

All at once, Tabby could believe it! After all, Jagger Brodie was so entirely surreal in every respect—so much more something a woman’s imagination would concoct as the subject of unconscious fantasy—that it actually made sense. So she could believe he was a blues singer and guitarist. Why was she surprised?

“Actually…yeah,” she answered. “I kind of can believe it.”

Tabby watched as Jagger Brodie performed, studied his absolutely too cool appearance, listened to his raspy, extraordinarily Jonny Lang–type voice.

“
Stop and talk awhile, baby…give me the time of day
,” Jagger sang, his gravelly voice causing every face in the room to smile, every head to nod with approval. “
I ain’t no playin’ Casanova…my heart won’t never stray. Your big sister messed me…she sure gave me a spill. But you’re so pretty, baby sister…you give me a kickin’ thrill. So, stop and talk awhile, baby…baby sister, say you will. Mm…mmmm…mm…mm
.”

The goose bumps covering Tabby’s arms and legs were so thick—the fascinating shiver traveling through her body was so thorough—she couldn’t help but sigh.

“Don’t worry about looking at him later, Tabs,” Emmy suggested. She smiled, leaned back in her chair, and studied Jagger Brodie. “Just enjoy looking at him now.”

There was no more whispering then. They just all sat at their table, staring at Jagger Brodie with awed admiration.

Tabby was tempted to pinch herself to make certain she really hadn’t ingested some hallucinogen. Jagger Brodie—singing the blues in a blues and jazz restaurant and club? It had to be a hallucination.

Tabby shook her head in wonder as Jagger ripped into a mean blues guitar riff. Everyone had a life outside the office—even she did. Still, in a million years she would never have guessed that drop-dead gorgeous Jagger Brodie, sales and marketing analyst, was secretly a sexy R & B artist.

“
Pretty, pretty, pretty, baby
,” Jagger growled into the microphone, “
I wanna take you home…I ain’t no lyin’ Casanova…I ain’t never gonna roam. Your big sister, she was like some lethal pill…but you’re so pretty, baby sister…let me taste your kissin’ skills. So stop and kiss awhile, baby…baby sister, say you will. Mm…mmmm…mm…mm.
”

With one final, intricate guitar riff, Jagger moaned an “
Mmmm
,” into the mike, and the song ended.

Emmy giggled. “The Derrière-inator? And what did you call him today, Tabs? His Royal Hineyness? Skin grafts on his fingers? The whole Derrière-inator has a whole new meaning now!”

As if he’d been watching them and knew just when to appear, Rhett appeared, hunkered down beside their table, and said, “I hope you ladies had a good time.” He nodded toward Jagger, who had begun another piece. “If you like my cousin there,” Rhett whispered, “he’ll be back tonight. He’ll have his band with him too. It’ll be a great show.”

“You know,” Emmy began, a smile of sudden mischief spreading across her face, “Tabby and I were looking for something fun to do tonight. What time does your cousin start playing?”

As Tabby turned the key in the ignition of her car, she giggled.

Emmy and Jocelyn laughed, Naomi scolded them, and Tabby smiled. She couldn’t wait to get back to the office! No doubt Jagger Brodie would be returning from lunch later than she and her friends, and she was interested to see how he’d look. Would he be clothed in his usual business suit attire once more? Would his hair be combed? Would he casually walk in like he’d just been down the street to grab a hamburger for lunch—instead of moonlighting as a gorgeous blues singer?

Tabby’s musings about what Jagger Brodie’s appearance would be when he returned to the office were answered nearly an hour after she and the girls had returned from their lunch at Sweet Genevieve’s. Jagger Brodie arrived at the office professionally attired in a dark business suit, white dress shirt, and blue tie. His hair was neatly styled once more, and no one in the office would have had any reason to suspect he’d been out singing the blues during an extended lunch break.

Tabby smiled as she watched him saunter across the main floor to his office.

“So, Mr. Brodie…you’ve got a secret identity, huh?” she whispered to herself. “Do you have X-ray vision too?”

Tabby was too lost in her thoughts of Jagger Brodie—too lost in the image she was manipulating on her computer monitor—to realize someone had walked up behind her.

“Excuse me.”

Tabby startled, squealed, and nearly leapt out of her chair at the unexpected greeting. Whirling around, she felt a blush rise to her cheeks as she saw the Derrière-inator himself standing behind her. He held an ad proof in his hand. Tabby recognized it as one she’d worked on the day before.

“Well, could you change it back to your original concept, please?” he asked. “I saw your original workup, and I liked the green better.”

Tabby’s smile broadened. “Me too,” she said. “I’ll do it right away.”

“Thank you,” he said. He smiled and turned, sauntering back to his office.

Tabby bit her lip with utter delight. Jagger Brodie had the final say on any ad that was to be run anywhere, and he liked her original workup better than the one including the changes the advertising department had demanded.

“Jagger Brodie,” Tabby whispered to herself as she watched him close his office door behind him. “Business man, blues singer, and champion of frustrated graphic designers.”

A quiet giggle of delight escaped Tabby’s throat as she pulled up the ad’s file. She couldn’t wait for the workday to end—couldn’t wait to get back to Sweet Genevieve’s to watch and listen to Jagger Brodie perform. She’d make sure she and Emmy sat as far back as possible, of course. No need for the Derrière-inator to think she was stalking him.

Tabby began to hum to herself as she worked to make the change to the ad Jagger had brought to her. She didn’t even realize she was humming “Yellow Moon”—didn’t see Jagger Brodie leave his office again—didn’t see him pause a moment in striding past her—didn’t see him glance at her, frown with puzzlement, and then move on. Nope. She didn’t see him. She was too busy endeavoring to please him with her ad design.

CHAPTER FIVE

The atmosphere of Sweet Genevieve’s was bathed in even more ambiance at night than it had been during the day. Tiny white lights twinkled along the ceiling beams and in the Spanish moss, giving the interior an even more surreal flavor. The delicious, familiar aromas of Tabasco and fish, black pepper and fish fry, soothed Tabby’s senses just as they had earlier. She felt her heartbeat increase its rhythm and wondered how she would manage to wait an entire hour to see Jagger Brodie perform again.