That Man 2 by Nelle L'Amour Page A

smile was plastered on his face. My mouth dropped open, but words failed me.
    “Can I join you, lovely ladies?” he asked.
    “Sure,” said Libby who was totally nonplussed by his unexpected presence. I was still speechless.
    “Scoot over, Ms. McCoy,” he ordered.
    I did as he asked and he gracefully slipped into the booth. I felt his hard, muscular thighs brush against mine. I took another large gulp of my yummy drink. In fact, I guzzled it. I finally found my voice.
    “I thought you had a date.” I didn’t tell him that I saw him with his latest blond hook-up at The Venetian.
    “I did. With my Vegas affiliate manager.”
    Was he was bullshitting me? The blonde he was with looked more like a porn star. Tall, leggy, and stacked.
    “She had to leave early because her kid got sick.”
    “Oh.” I still didn’t know whether to believe him.
    Diverting his attention to the stage, Blake began to sing along with the karaoke singer. Holy shit! He had an amazing voice. A raspier version of Robin Thicke’s. His body rhythmically brushed against mine, and every time the singer got to the “good girl” part, he turned to look at me with his smoldering blue eyes. A rush of heat spiraled inside me. And wetness pooled between my legs.
    After the singer finished his rendition of the song and stepped down from the stage, Blake asked, “So, do either of you sing?”
    A loopy Libby chimed in. “I have the worst singing voice in the universe. It can scare off aliens.”
    Blake let out a laugh. God, it was sexy. He turned to look at me. “And what about you, Ms. McCoy?”
    Before I could say a word, Libby chimed in again. “Jennifer has an amazing voice. You should hear her.”
    Inwardly, I was cringing. Libby and her big mouth.
    Blake kept his beautiful baby blues on me. They glinted with mischief. “I’d like to hear you sing, Jennifer.”
    “I don’t think so.”
    “Ms. McCoy, I’m your boss and I’m ordering you to sing.”
    Fuck. Boss’s orders. I chugged the rest of my drink. “Fine.” I spat the word at him. With a triumphant smirk, he stood up and let me out of the booth. I sauntered up to the stage, but let me tell you, I wasn’t walking in a straight line. I was smashed.
    On the stage, I grabbed the mike and made my song selection. Katy Perry’s “Roar.” It was my favorite new song, and I knew the lyrics by heart having sung it in my car a gazillion times. It must have been the most played song on the radio. I’d even watched Katy’s jungle girl video on YouTube several times.
    At first, I felt nervous. My heart raced. Everyone’s eyes were on me, including Blake’s. But once the music started, my stage fright dissipated. I began belting out “Roar.” I really connected with the lyrics. And Blake Burns really connected with me. His eyes never strayed from me. It was if I was singing this song just for him. Katy Perry, move over. I was going to let him hear me roar my way. Fierce and hungry. I was his tiger.
    The song came to an end. The audience cheered me and applauded wildly. On cloud nine, I took a quick bow and when I stood up again, Blake Burns was giving me a standing ovation. Hooting Libby followed, and then before my eyes, everyone in the nightclub was doing the same. I felt as ecstatic as I did embarrassed. Thank God, I was totally smashed. I swept beads of sweat off my forehead. I had really worked myself up. Despite shout-outs for an encore, I staggered off the stage, hoping I wouldn’t trip and make a fool of myself. That’s what usually came with being Calamity Jen.
    Dizzy with excitement, I wove through the congratulatory crowd and made it back to our table in one piece. Blake was still standing at the edge of the table, allowing me to slip back into the booth. Except I stumbled. Fuck. It had to happen. But before I went crashing onto the table, two strong arms caught me. Blake’s.
    “Are you okay, tiger?” he asked, holding me in his arms. His warm breath heated my cheeks. My