Angels Everywhere - Debbie Macomber [8]
As she drew to a close, the last of the notes fading into nothingness, the small crowd cheered and she was enthusiastically applauded. Annoyed that her one and only solo had been interrupted by an intruder, Monica twisted around to see if she could find the second voice.
She must have been more energetic in her efforts than she realized because she lost her balance. Her arms flew out in an effort to catch herself, but before she could alert anyone to her plight, she tumbled backward off the top step of the riser.
Crying out, her arms flapping in empty space, she was surprised to land in the unexpected cushion of a man’s waiting arms.
“Well, well, what do we have here?”
It was him. The very man she’d noticed earlier, the one who’d cut his way through the crowd with such impatience.
“Ah . . .” For the life of her Monica couldn’t make herself speak. All she could do was stare into his handsome features. On closer inspection his eyes were a deeper shade, a metallic blue, amused now, but dispassionate. The thick lines that fanned out from his eyes weren’t from smiling. They spoke of experience, most of it harsh, and disenchantment, most of it warranted, she guessed. Lines bracketed his mouth as well, they deepened as he studied her with the same curiosity with which she regarded him.
“No need to take such a chance,” he chided. “If you wanted an introduction all you needed to do was ask.”
Gasping and breathless, Monica struggled until he slowly, reluctantly lowered her feet to the ground. He waited until she’d found her balance before he released her completely.
“You might want to thank me,” he suggested lazily.
Flustered, Monica blinked several times, seldom at a loss for words as she was now. “Thank you,” she managed, the words as stiff as starch, stuck in her dry throat. “I’m not sure what happened, but apparently I lost my balance.”
His brazen grin broadened. “Was that you singing just now?”
She nodded, and the curiosity got the better of her. “Did you hear two voices or one?”
“One.”
“But there were two. That’s what flustered me so. Another voice blended with mine. A strong soprano. Surely you heard the other voice?”
“Listen, lady, all I heard was you, and I’m not much for religious music, but from where I was standing you sounded real good.”
She blushed with pleasure. Her voice was adequate and she did love to sing, but she didn’t possess any great talent. To assume she did would have been vain on her part, and vanity was a greased track straight to the arms of the devil as far as Monica was concerned. “Thank you again.”
“You need some help joining the others?”
Monica glanced toward the riser and shook her head. The ensemble was almost finished with their program and it would only disrupt the group to have her climb back into position now.
“Then I’ll be on my way,” he said. “I can hardly wait to tell Lou. It isn’t often a beautiful woman throws herself into my arms.”
“I didn’t throw myself into your arms,” she informed him primly, straightening the sleeves of her dark suit jacket.
“Not technically perhaps, but there you were, pretty as a picture, gazing up at me, asking for a kiss.”
Monica bristled. “I most certainly was not.”
“It felt good to be in my arms too, didn’t it?”
“I beg your pardon?” Monica stared at him in numb disbelief. Was the man so arrogant he actually assumed she’d hurl herself into open space on the off chance a man would catch her? He was being ridiculous and she took delight in telling him as much.
He was smiling when she finished, a cocky off-center smile that lifted the edges at one side of his mouth. “I’d say, from the look of you, having a man hold and kiss you is exactly what you need.”
This sounded like a threat to Monica, and she pinched her lips together and retreated a step. “You’re disgusting!”
He raised his hands, palms up. “I’m just an innocent bystander. I was minding my own business, looking for nothing better than to drown my sorrows in a cold beer when you catapulted into my arms. The way I look at it, you should be thanking your lucky stars