Page 28 of Home Body
“I’d sit with you through anything, Dalia.”
She stared at him in disbelief.
“Brody, I’m an unwed single mother who takes her clothes off for a living. And I’m a basket case. Not exactly dating material.”
“I’m not looking for a date. I’m looking to get to know you better. The real you. Not Scarlett Blaze the stripper with the fake get-up and fake persona. And not the you who wears those godawful shoes.”
She couldn’t help but crack a grin. How she hated those stupid stilettos, which she’d thrown in back. Lifting her left foot and plopping it on her right knee, she showed off the sneakers she wore. “These are more my style.”
“Now those I like.” He patted the shoe. The simple gesture pleased her in its playful intimacy. “Listen, Dalia, I’d love for us to get to know each other better. What do you say we start by going to the diner down the street to grab a bite?”
“You mean after work? I’ve decided I can’t go back to work in there.” She pointed at the club. “Not ever again.”
He came to attention at that. “Okay. How about now? There’s extra staff on security tonight. They won’t even miss me. In fact, I think I’ll quit, too. The loud music is driving me nuts.”
“Me, too. It’s all driving me nuts.”
“Okay then, let’s go eat.”
His smile sent a hot shiver up her spine. That urge to kiss him cropped up again, like the last time she saw him at the Farmers’ Market, but she shoved it away.
He left his car at the club and rode with her to the diner. Once settled into a booth, he reached across the table and took her hands. “Do you feel like talking about what made your cry tonight? Was it because you couldn’t do that job anymore?”
“That’s part of it. But there’s more.”
The waitress came and took their order. Dalia found that she was ravenous. She ordered pancakes, a fried egg, and coffee. Brody doubled that.
Little by little as they ate, she told the story of Agnes and the surprise of discovering she might have been adopted by the woman she’d always thought to be her biological mother.
He took it all in and when she finished, he said, “Dalia, if you ever decide to investigate that, I’ll do whatever I can to help you. You’ve endured more than anybody should ever have to handle. I hate to speak ill of the dead, but that Agnes was a damned bitch.”
She liked him. That realization crept in and filled her heart. Not only did she want to jump his bones, she liked him. Now that was an interesting state of affairs. She loved talking to him. He listened. He responded wickedly honestly. He was easy to be with.
In other words, Brody McIntyre was trouble and Dalia knew it.
When they went out to her truck, he walked around the classic vehicle. “You know, I’ve always admired this truck in the employee parking lot at the club. It’s a grand old Ford. What year?”
“1947, one of the first in the F-series. It belonged to my dad.” Dalia lovingly ran a finger over the smooth hood. “It was the first vehicle he ever owned. He had other vehicles throughout the years but never let go of this one. He took great care of it. Even rebuilt the engine at one point with all original parts. This isthe original paint color, too, although he had it repainted a year before he died. Forest green. He loved this truck.”
“I can see why. I’m glad you have it.”
“I love it, too.” She swung open the door and got in.
Brody took a final gander at the vehicle and got in. Without hesitation, he leaned toward her. All her self-control went poof, evaporating into the night. She wanted this man. She wanted him desperately.
He cupped her chin as they stared into each other’s eyes, taking in the depth of desire they felt. Their lips came together in a long, voracious kiss, deep and needy. They parted, took a breath, and dove in again. He wrapped his arms around her, drawing her into his strong body. She ran her hands around him and clung to the back of his shirt to anchor herself lest she float away in a sea of desire. They kissed again and again.
He fondled her hair as he said, “Oh my god, I’ve been wanting to do that ever since the first time I laid eyes on you at the Farmers’ Market.”
“Really? I thought you were arrogant.”
He chuckled. “But did you want to kiss me?” He teased and kissed her again.
“Well, yes, I believe I did. But I didn’t want to get too close because I didn’t want you to recognize me. How long have you known that Scarlett Blaze was little ol’ Dalia Blackburn from home?”
“Since the very beginning, that first time we met at the market. It was this old Ford. It gave you away. I’d admired it at the club and there it was in town.”
“Damn. I’d worried about that but didn’t expect anybody from home to be here.”
