Page 45 of Dragged Home for Christmas

He was a good-looking dude too, his black hair peppered with silver, his beard still dark but for the silvery bit covering his chin. Phil had brown, soulful eyes and lips Anthony would bet were soft and warm.

And what would I give to taste ’em?

Except that was just a dream, and Anthony knew it. A dream that had begun one night four years ago when he’d gone to the Crown & Anchor for dinner, and had stayed until the bartender tapped his watch and pointed to the clock.

It was official. Anthony was hooked. He’d been carried along on a musical wave, caught up in the beautiful melodies, entranced by the view of the handsome piano player who poured his heart and soul into his performance.

And Phil was oblivious to the fact he’d gained an admirer.

Elliott preferred the term stalker, not that Anthony paid him any mind.

As soon as the others had started coming up with ideas for the hotel, Anthony knew exactly what he was going to propose. And when Phil agreed, then spent time with him choosing the music, Anthony wanted to dance his way back to the Velvet House.

They’d decided on a mix of classical and popular music, with more than a sprinkling of show tunes, and each new piece had been received with enthusiasm. Anthony had fought hard to resist the urge to sing along to some of the songs.

They came to listen to the man, not me.

At last the applause died away, and one by one, the audience filed out, until only Anthony was left.

Phil placed all the sheet music in his messenger bag, and closed the key lid, stroking the dark glossy wood. “This is a lovely instrument.” He glanced at Anthony. “Thank you. It’s always a pleasure to work with someone who doesn’t need nudging all the time.” He cocked his head toward the piano. “Do you play?”

Anthony shook his head. “The only instrument I’ve got is my voice.”

Phil stilled. “Wait a minute. I’ve seen your act about a million times, and I’ve never heard you sing.”

He blinked. Blinked again. “Amilliontimes?”

Phil flushed. “Okay, maybe that’s a slight exaggeration.”

“You don’t say.”

“How about, every time you were performing and I wasn’t, I’d be there in the audience, cheering and whooping until I lost my voice?” He smiled. “I even sent you flowers once.”

Anthony frowned. “I’d have remembered getting flowers from you.”

He coughed. “No, you wouldn’t, because I signed the card,From An Admirer.”

He stilled. “Red roses, for a green lady? Those were from you?”

Phil’s flush deepened. “To this day, I don’t know why I did that. I guess you made me nervous. But let’s forget about me, and go back to the fact that you lip sync like the others do. Why do that if you can sing?”

Anthony chuckled. “Because I don’t have the confidence to sing in front of anyone, apart from the other queens. Oh, and Mike, but that’s because he feels like family.”

Phil sat on the piano bench. “How about singing forsomeone who’s been a fan for years? Who would consider it an honor to play along with you?”

He shook his head.

Phil sighed. “Oh well. I tried.”

He looked so crestfallen, it pained Anthony to see his disappointment.

Then it hit him.

Anthony lurched to his feet. “Wait right there!” He hurried off the stage and over to where he’d left his man bag. He delved into its depths, letting out a triumphant squeal when he found his prey. A glance at his compact, a drag of color over his lips, and that was all it took.

Miss Dixx was in the room.

She sauntered over to the piano and leaned against it. “Play something I can sing along to, honey,” she drawled.

---