Page 2 of Delicate Dame


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Godfuckingdamn.

Scotlyn is ten times more beautiful than I imagined.

I stand up, intending to introduce myself, but my eyes won’t stray from her. She’s tiny, not even five and a half feet. She has this gorgeous mane of red hair with hints of blonde and brown in it, but I don’t think that’s anything but natural. And her eyes, sweet fucking Jesus, I could get lost in the pools of spring green staring up at me.

I watch, perplexed, as she drops into the opposite side of the booth before re-taking my seat. Time passes as we stare at each other, but I don’t care; I just want to feast my eyes on her. Learn everything I can before it’s time to go.

“Hi, I’m Claudia; I’ll be your server tonight. Can I start you both with some drinks?” I don’t look away from Scotlyn, but her gaze flits up to the new woman, and I hear a gasp. “Oh, my goodness, you’re her. You’re Scotlyn Rivers.” I hear the admiration in the woman’s voice as Scotlyn’s cheeks turn a shade lighter than her red hair.

“I am.” Scotlyn nods, and when I see panic creep into her eyes, I become curious.

“I’m a huge fan. I loved you inThe Swan Princess. I’ve watched the show at least once a month over the last year. You’re just phenomenal. The emotion you portray is captivating.” She sighs at the end, and I’m even more confused.

“Thank you.” Scotlyn gives her a nervous smile, and I step in because I’m clearly missing something here.

“A bottle of Chardonnay,” I tell Claudia.

“Of course, and I’m sorry for gushing. I’ll be right back.” She leaves, and Scotlyn’s discomfort is apparent.

“You’re an actress?” I hazard a guess.

She shakes her head. “Ballerina. She saw me in my last show.” Shame haunts her tone.

“A year ago? That’s either an impressive memory or you’re one hell of a dancer.” And I’m betting it’s the latter because if I ever saw Scotlyn in a show, I’d for damn sure remember her.

She shrugs her shoulder, and I let the topic drop, sensing her unease. Reaching across the table, I lift her chin, needing to see her eyes again. “When you didn’t send me a picture, I wondered what you looked like.” Her gaze drops. “Can’t say I’m disappointed one bit.” She still doesn’t look up at me.

We’re interrupted by the server, who pours us each a glass of wine before taking her leave. It gives me a moment to study Scotlyn, the way she sits with the lower half of her body towards the restaurant, ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. Her hair is twisted to the side of the dress that drops off her shoulder, keeping her covered, when I imagine the designer’s point was to make it sexy and alluring. Which it is, but it helps camouflage her. Whether she wants to remain hidden because of her fame or something else is what puzzles me.

Taking a sip of my wine, I ease back in my seat and try to steer the conversation away from the silence we’re locked in. “You mentioned you aren’t from here?”

Her shoulders relax slightly, and her delicate hand reaches up to grab her glass. “I moved here from Florida two years ago.”

“Really?” Leaning closer, I watch the way she swallows as she takes a sip. Images of more erotic things enter my mind. “What part?”

Our eyes meet, and I'm right, I could get lost in her stare. “The Panhandle. Close to Pensacola.” She takes another drink, and there’s nothing I wish for more than to be able to taste her right now. “What about you? Are you from Baltimore?”

I nod. “I live about forty-five minutes out of the city on an acreage.”

Scotlyn perks up a little bit. “Do you have horses?”

“We do. Half a dozen. Some sheep, chickens, two cows, and a pig.” Her eyes widen with each animal I mention.

“We?” Her head tilts in curiosity.

“Yes. It’s my parents’ home, but my aunt and uncle live in another house that used to be a small cabin. And I live in the barn loft.”

“You live in a barn?” A smile threatens to break free on her face, and I’d kill to see it evolve.

“I do. It’s not as bad as it sounds. The horses occupy the bottom level, while I reside on the insulated and ventilated second level. Can’t smell the horseshit unless I leave the doors open, which doesn’t happen. Unless my sister comes over and starts some shit.” There’s been a time or two that Gracin has been a little vindictive about it, too.

“You have a sister?” I get a smile this time. A real one. It’s crooked, and a dimple pops out on both cheeks, making me want to lick them.

“Gracin, she’s twenty-four, a preschool teacher, and she lives here in the city. A thorn in my side, but I’m pretty fond of her.” Her tinkly laugh is like a shock to my system. It’s highly addicting. “What about you? Any siblings?”

Scotlyn nods before taking a drink of water. Her face tightens as she speaks, like she’s stressed. “Saint, he’s thirty-two, still down in the Panhandle. He, uhm, he works for my uncle.”

Scotlyn

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