“I do. I think it’s a good script.” Cassidy lifted her glass of chardonnay to her lips. A light smile touched the bow-shaped lips and the candlelight from the small tea light between them on the table flickered in the darkening blue. Cassidy blushed. In a low voice, she commented, “You’re staring.”
Brenna shrugged. “You’re beautiful.”
Brenna’s voice was pitched just as soft, but its huskiness rolled over Cassidy with palpable effect as her groin convulsed.
They had found this little jazz place only a few blocks from the studio and after their afternoon spent perusing shops without anyone interrupting their time together, Cassidy had begun to relax. No one seemed to be following them. She was still concerned about Mr. Peter Murray and those like him, but it was hard to worry when Brenna seemed so happy.
The musical interlude from the band made their words private, even if their looks and touches couldn’t be. “When you talk like that,” Cassidy said, “this is the perfect setting.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your voice, it makes me… actually made me from the very beginning, think of smoky jazz clubs.”
“You’d be the torch singer,” Brenna corrected. “God, when I recall ‘Hold Tight’…”
“You liked that?”
“Loved it. I think I half fell in love with you. The looks you gave me didn’t help.”
“I liked the song too.”
“It felt like you were singing to me. I checked to be sure you hadn’t rewritten the lyrics.”
“I hadn’t, but I felt something then too,” Cassidy admitted.
Brenna shook her head and Cassidy found herself watching the firelight dance among the brown and red strands of her hair. Apparently she was quiet and thoughtful too long, as Brenna broke the silence.
“Something wrong?” Brenna asked with concern.
“No, everything is right.” She started to reach across the table to clasp Brenna’s hand resting just to the outside of her wine glass, but stopped. Looking up again, she added, “I’m glad we decided to do this.”
Brenna nodded. “Me too.”
The music stopped and there was a commotion as the vocalist headlining the evening at the tiny jazz club took the stage after her break. Cassidy shifted her chair around the table so she could watch the performer; it was no coincidence that it also gave her an excuse to sit closer to Brenna. She caught Brenna’s smile and returned it as their hands joined under the table.
The floor before the stage slowly filled with couples as the sultry voice began with a danceable jazz standard. “I wish we dared dance.” Brenna’s breath brushed over Cassidy’s throat as she spoke close and very low to be unheard by others.
“Should we finish our drinks and go?”
“Not just yet. It’s still early. Maybe after this set.”
Leaning back a little, Cassidy saw Brenna move closer, then freeze. Slowly Brenna moved again. She lifted her left hand awkwardly between them and shifted a lock of her own hair as if she was putting it back in place, though it hadn’t moved. Cassidy realized that Brenna had just barely stopped herself from resting her head against Cassidy’s shoulder.
“More wine?” Brenna asked, reaching forward to fill her glass from the bottle in an ice bucket at the table.
“If I have any more, I won’t be responsible for my actions.”
Brenna groaned as Cassidy accompanied her words by easing her right arm onto Brenna’s lower back. She looked around quickly then let out a breath, hopeful the low lighting was keeping their intimacy unnoticed.
Cassidy leaned back and sipped on her wine, letting the music and the ambiance wash over her. Brenna’s weight gradually eased against her body.