Haven’s hair was up, tightly restrained in a way that made him desperately wish to free it from its bonds, to see it lying long and thick over her shoulders. He wanted to lift it and kiss her neck, then lean closer and nip into her flesh, flicking his tongue against her skin.
The saleswoman had disappeared, looking for a size twelve and a half. Haven had remarked, without a hint of irony, that he had big feet. Then he’d watched a faint blush come up in her cheeks and known that the double entendre hadn’t been lost on her.
“We still need to get you running shoes.”
“I have running shoes.”
“Circa 1999?”
“More like 2008,” he said.
“Those aren’t healthy for your feet,” she said. “Think of this as a required upgrade.”
He shook his head but let her pick out running shoes for him to try on.
“Hey. I’m working on a little speaking gig for you,” she said, as he relaced the sneakers.
His stomach roiled at the thought of getting up in front of a crowd, and he rolled his eyes. “I don’t speak. I play music.”
“You’ll like this.”
“I doubt it.”
“A ten-minute speech at a fund-raiser on how music can change a kid’s life, for an organization that raises money to put instruments in the hands of kids who wouldn’t otherwise have access. Next Saturday.”
Eagerness burst in him unexpectedly. He could do that. He could tell people how music had changed his life and how he’d seen it change other kids’ lives.
She was watching him expectantly, as if she could see inside and knew how he was feeling, both his fear and his sense of opportunity.
“Okay,” he said.
She smiled.
Had she known that he’d say yes even before he knew?
“I already told them you’d do it.”
“Don’t you dare do that ever again,” he said, but his heart wasn’t in it, and when she raised her eyebrows at him, his mouth quirked against his will. “You’re coming with me, right?”
“Of course,” she said. “Black tie.”
It was just relief he felt at knowing he wasn’t going to be on his own at one of those fancy events. No way he was thrilled at the mental picture of Haven in a skimpy cocktail dress and stockings with stiletto heels or at the idea of an evening in her company.
Oh, hell, who was he fooling?
When they’d finished with the shoe shopping, Haven handed over her business credit card on his behalf once again.
“Who’s paying for all this?”
“You are, with the tour money.”
“That’s what I was afraid you were going to say. What’s going to happen if we can’t convince Pete to get on board?”
“Jimmy Jeffers is going to come after you for a lot of money,” Haven said. “But don’t worry about that. We’re going to convince him.”