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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.

Absurd!

She wiggled her toes. The odd tingling sensation didn't stop.

Frustrated, she folded her arms across her chest. “I'd appreciate it if you would cease that awful noise.” There, she thought, that should do it. Mr. Texas Stud was in for it now.

Instead of stark fear, his face turned thoughtful then he seemed… confused.

“Beggin' your pardon, ma'am.” He tipped his hat in her direction. “I'm not quite sure what you were aimin' at.”

Claire glanced at his redheaded friend who suddenly didn't seem so little. Ms. Red came up to his shoulder. She tugged on his sleeve. “I think she means the music Cli… I mean, Kyle.”

“Yes, I mean that awful music. Shut it off, now.”

Seconds went by. He tipped back his head and began to laugh, a rich, deep, robust chuckle.

Claire's face flamed in response.

“Well, don't that beat all? The little lady here wants me to shut off the music.”

Claire's jaw tightened against the sound of his continued laughter. When she looked at him next, he had tears in his eyes.

He wiped them away with the pad of his thumb. “God almighty, where in hell is that ‘off' button anyway?” That brought peals of laughter from his companions.

Claire inched closer. They stood toe-to-toe. “Your taste in music is matched only by your hideous manners. Now play some decent music that everyone can enjoy.”

He placed a hand over his mouth, but Claire saw the corners of his lips curl upward into a grin. “And uh, what exactly should we play? What would suit the little lady's taste?”

“Why don't you play something with real meaning? A classic.” Claire surveyed the selections on the jukebox. As always, precious little in the way of classic music leaped out. “There,” she pointed to the screen. “Sara Brightman. At least she's singing something with a classic feel—‘Time to Say Goodbye.' She's singing it with Andrea Bocelli and—”

She gazed at his face. Instead of derision, she saw a look that she could only describe as appreciation, and oddly enough, something akin to awe. As his face softened and the words of the country tune drifted by her ears, something inside her gave way. The wall surrounding her heart crumbled.

The woman sang, her lilting voice filled with longing and…pain.

She felt tears well in her eyes.

Damn!

“Shut that off now,” she commanded, unable to bear the pain the song churned within her. She hated the way Mr. Texas seemed to be looking straight into her shattered heart.

He put down his drink on the ledge near the Wurlitzer. Then he reached out and pulled her into his arms.

“Let go of me!” She pushed him, but he gave no quarter. Claire glanced back toward her friends, hoping her companions would see that Mr. Texas was manhandling her, but groaned when she saw that they were otherwise occupied—with three men.

“I said,” Claire shoved again, but he didn't release her. “Let go of me now or I'll scream my head off.”

“Go ahead.” He grinned. Instead of being cowed, he whirled her around the floor, humming along with the country tune. Claire's head spun as her legs started to buckle—she clung to his shirtfront to keep her body upright. He sang, his lips close to her ear, his warm breath tickling her sensitive lobe.

His rugged profile swam before her eyes. When she could focus she allowed herself the luxury of studying his face. Chiseled but not perfect—he had a bump on the bridge of his nose, making his otherwise perfect face appear craggy. He had small laugh lines, crinkles that etched the sides of his eyes. He held her tight, yet the hands touching her back and waist felt gentle.

Heat seared her skin when his fingers trailed over the silk of her blouse. No, he may be nicely packaged, his touch electric, but he was a man—someone who would shatter her heart in an instant—someone like her father.

Where in hell had her good sense gone? She danced with a man she knew nothing about in a place she didn't want to be… no, that was a lie. She was exactly where she wanted to be—in his arms. Warmth filled her as he twirled her around to the beat of the country tune…

He sang along—with feeling, passion—as though he meant every word. Claire's entire body hummed with need the more she heard his voice drift by her ear. He pulled her close, one hand around her waist, lacing his long fingers with hers, twining them together as he brought her hand to his cheek. Desire pooled low in her belly, traveled between her legs and settled in the hidden folds of her swelling nether lips. The tighter he held her, the more he crooned in her ear, the more her swelling bud of desire throbbed with need.

She gazed into his face, watched his eyes dilate with desire, the pupils growing larger, the blue more vibrant. His head started to descend, she told herself to pull away—to run—but her body wouldn't obey. She stayed where she was, anticipating the feel of his lips.

Her body leapt into flames when his lips collided with hers. He traced the fullness of her lips with the tip of his tongue—teasing, tasting, until her mouth opened like a budding flower. She let him in; let him explore every recess of her mouth—each corner. Her tongue snaked across his, eager to wage a war of passion and—

The room started to spin as he deepened the kiss. She shut her eyes as each delicious, wonderful sensation washed over her when his mouth made contact with hers.

Her knees buckled again, her head buzzed. Claire heard an odd ringing sound and then the buzzing in her brain grew louder. She held onto him, heard him shout, but that's the last thing she remembered as she went limp in his arms.