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The note hung in the air, pure and clear. As it faded out, the singer drew in a deep breath, then brought her hand down. The crowd leaped as one, moving with the swell of the beat, arms in the air, the sweltering heat of the auditorium pulsating through their limbs.
He moved through the crowd, never taking his eyes from the beautiful brunette at the front of the stage. Despite her small size, her command over the audience and her presence were palpable. Their eyes met and held. A shock passed through him, his breath caught, and his groin tightened. Time stopped.
As quickly as it happened, she looked away and he realized that in this melee, in this beautiful old building--Seattle's Paramount on the corner of Ninth and Pine, she could have been looking at anyone. He watched the band, the brunette, the blond guitarist who looked faintly familiar, and the huge, bearded drummer who was grinning madly as he pounded the drums. They were all so different he thought, his gaze returning to the singer. Her dark hair tumbled down her back, strands sticking to the sheen of sweat on her lovely face, her smile joyous and infectious. There was a woman, he thought, who was doing the thing she loved the most, her reason for being, her passion.
That was the moment Tomas Meir fell in love with Bay Tambe.
