Cause For Scandal (Dynasties: The Elliotts #3)(4)
Author: Anna DePalo

She could see he was still dressed in the black jeans and T-shirt that he’d worn on stage. His tight rear end was nicely defined beneath the denim, and the cotton of his shirt stretched across his muscular back and shoulders.

She cleared her throat. “I’m not Marty.”

He swung around and stopped, staring at her.

His face was striking. Good-looking, yes, but also compelling. And then there were the eyes. Oh, Lord, his eyes. They were as blue and fathomless as the ocean. She’d have said his face tended to harshness if it were not for them. Despite his reputation in the press for being somewhat surly, he had sweet eyes.

With the part of her brain that still functioned, she noticed he remained motionless. Was it just her imagination or was he as dumbstruck as she was?

“Yeah,” he drawled finally, “I can see you’re definitely not Marty. So who are you?”

Two

T he notes of the song drifted through Zeke’s mind again. It was the same song that sounded in his head whenever he dreamed of her. It would linger tantalizingly at the edges of his memory when he awoke, but dissipate into nothingness before he could grasp it, write it down and make it his own.

This time, though, the notes of the song sounded more clearly. It was as if the woman standing in front of him were calling them forth. She even looked like the woman in the photograph—the woman of his dreams. She was slender but curvaceous, and had long, auburn hair, though a shade or two lighter than the woman in the picture. And, he’d recognize those astonishing green eyes anywhere.

The major difference was that the woman in the anonymous photograph that he’d purchased at a street fair was dressed as a Greek goddess, while this one was certainly twenty-first century and doubtless a rock groupie at that. He didn’t know who the photographer or the subject of the photograph was, but he did have one hint: the photo was called “Daphne at Play,” according to the handwritten inscription across the bottom of its white matte frame.

Awareness stirred within him, and his muscles tightened. Whatever it was about this woman, she called to him. In his dreams, he’d imagined her hair splayed across his bed, her arms and legs wrapped around him, drawing him in.

Feeling himself grow hot, he asked brusquely, “You didn’t answer my question. What’s your name?”

Her eyes darted away before returning to his. “C-Caitlin.”

He released the breath that he hadn’t known he was holding. So, she wasn’t Daphne. Still, he couldn’t resist asking, “Have you done any modeling?”

Her brows drew together. “No.”

“Well, you should consider it.” Definitely not Daphne.

She raised her brows. “Really?”

“Really.” He gave her a slow, appreciative smile as he walked toward her. “You’ve got the body and face for it. And your eyes are unusual…captivating.” He’d often wondered if the pale green eyes of the woman in his photograph had been real or a trick of lighting or computer technology.

“I could say the same thing about you.”

He laughed. She was bewitching. He realized she must be one of those rock groupies that Marty sometimes sent backstage after a concert. Girls clamored for access to rock stars like him, and Marty thought it was good PR for him to appear accessible to some extent.

If Caitlin was the key to unlocking his creativity—and, hell, even if she wasn’t—he knew he had to get to know her better. He’d never experienced such a profound connection with someone so fast. She was nearly the living embodiment of his fantasies.

He gestured to a couch. “Have a seat.” He looked around. “Do you want a drink?”

“Th-thanks.”

He quirked a brow. Made her nervous, did he? “To the seat or the drink?”

He watched in fascination as a telltale flush rose from the tops of her br**sts to her face. “Yes to both,” she said as walked over and sat on the couch, dropping her coat and handbag beside her.

“Beer okay?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Turning away to pull two beers from a small fridge and pop the caps off, he puzzled over her reaction. Usually, women were all too ready to throw themselves at him in situations like this. Caitlin, however, was the picture of reserved politeness.

Surprisingly, he found he was turned on by it. He gave himself a mental shake. He needed to get a grip. Her resemblance to Daphne was muddying his mind.

He handed her a beer as he sat down next to her. She looked as if she wasn’t sure what to do with it for a second, then, after watching him take a swig, delicately tipped the bottle to her lips and took a sip.

He felt that sip straight down to his groin and shifted. The room felt as if it were getting hotter and smaller by the second.

Still not looking at him, she quickly took another swallow of beer, causing even more foam to appear near the top of the bottle.

He smiled. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you how to drink from a beer bottle?”

“I’m doing it wrong?”

He touched his bottle to hers. “Yeah,” he said with mock gravity. “Look at the foam that’s forming.”

She tilted her bottle to the side for a better look. “Oh.”

“Watch,” he commanded. “Don’t create any suction. Part your lips just a little and don’t cover the whole opening.” He brought the bottle to his lips and drank deeply. He prayed the cold beer would help cool him down.

She raised the bottle to her lips and imitated him.

“That’s right,” he said.

When she lowered the bottle, she looked at him, and he knew he wanted to kiss her. Her lips were pouty and red but still had an innocence to them.

In fact, though she was dressed provocatively, something didn’t seem to fit. He could have sworn she was more pearls and cashmere than leather and spandex.

“Tell me about you,” he said.

“What would you like to know?”

Everything. “Did you like the concert?”

“Yes. I liked hearing you sing ‘Beautiful in My Arms.’”

“Did you?” He eyed her. It was the song he’d written on the day he’d purchased “Daphne at Play.” “What do you like about it?”

She shifted, her gaze falling away from his. “It’s just…nice.”

“Just…nice?”

“Magical. It makes me think about—”

“Making love?” he joked.

Her gaze jerked to his. “No.”