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He blinked at me.

‘Can’t resist a pretty face,’ he confessed, taking the cash with a wink and nudging the velvet rope aside without another word.

Inside, it was packed, but most of the crowd pressed tight around the podium, leaving tables and booths free at the back.

At the bar, I ordered a glass of rich Cabernet, letting the bold oak notes roll over my tongue as I tucked myself into the back corner booth.

In time, the house lights dimmed.

Four familiar figures appeared on the rostrum, a spotlight lighting the quartet as they took their places.

My throat went dry the second Deacon stepped into the beam of light, appearing brooding and impossibly handsome.

A few of the female fans in the place went off at the sight of him.

I didn’t blame them.

He wore a black silk button-down rolled up to his forearms, exposing the stunning ink on his golden skin.

The top three buttons were undone, displaying his muscled chest and his silver-and-gold chains.

Dark fitted jeans hung off his hips with that effortless swagger that always made my heart stutter.

He pulled the microphone off its stand, his deep, sultry voice pouring over the speakers like warm bourbon.

‘How’re we doing tonight?’ he rumbled, his timbre making my stomach flip. ‘We’re the Four Deadly Sins. We’re gonna strip things back a little, slow the room down, and play some jazz and R&B for you. First up is an old favorite of mine, ‘Midnight Hour’.

The crowd, die-hard fans of Six Sinners, I supposed, let out a roar of appreciation, but I could barely hear them over the rush of blood in my ears.

His smooth, gravelly tone sent a tremor down my spine, reminding me of every late-night secret he’d ever whispered against my skin.

The music was incredible, a seductive blend of slow jazz sax and rhythmic R&B grooves that rolled over the room like velvet.

Deacon was brilliant, as always.

He moved fluidly between the saxophone, guitar, and the grand piano, pouring raw emotion and intensity into each chord.

During intermission, fans crowded all four men.

Three women in particular descended on Deacon near the platform steps.

To my relief, he looked aloof, arms crossed, stepping back to make space as they chatted him up.

I slid back into my seat, remaining hidden as I drank him in, remembering how we met, and how my soul had always been his.

Even though it’d taken a few wrong turns along the way, my heart always returned to him.

Would his ever find the way back to mine as well?

The band took the stage for their second set, playing through another hour of deep, soulful tracks that kept the room spellbound.

At the end of the night, the house lights flashed up as someone near my booth shouted his name.

Deacon, packing away his sax, glanced our way, his eyes cutting straight through the crowd and locking onto my face.

Panic surged through me.

He wasn’t meant to know I was here.