Read Online THE DEVILS DIME by Bailey Bristol - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Bailey Bristol
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in the most endearing, roguish way. His lopsided grin tied her tongue in a knot and rooted her feet where she stood.
“I’d think you’d be starved after that performance, Miss Magee. I’m sure—“
“Addie.” How quickly she adapted to this casual state of being. Perhaps she could blame it on the shoulder.
“—Addie. I’m sure we can find a café between here and your home, now, can’t we?”
“Yes, of course, but—”
“Then it’s settled? Here, let me carry that.” Jess slipped Addie’s short cloak over her shoulders and in one move extracted the violin case from beneath her arm and steered her toward the door. There wasn’t much she could do but move along.
The first time she’d seen him, Addie had wondered about this moment, what it would feel like if the blue-eyed Jess Pepper asked her to step out with him. Then she’d made a fool of herself on Friday, flailing about on the staircase, and had been certain she’d not see him again. Or shouldn’t.
Not if he was looking for a loose woman, anyway.
But halfway through the opening Serenade , Addie had watched the maitre d’ escort the familiar broad shoulders to a table off to her left. Each time he dropped his gaze to attend to his food, she’d studied him.
He was a powerful man, the rare type who could carry off a thick, dark head of hair like that, swept back into handsome chaos. Without the sideburns dignifying his broad face and square chin he might have looked like a prize fighter. Though watching his large, agile hands, Addie had known instinctively he was not a fighter.
At least, not the sordid kind.
His manners were natural, never practiced. Respectful in their simplicity, not polished, yet never seeming to diminish himself...or her. While he rather obviously admired her, it wasn’t the music he seemed most appreciative of, but her expertise in making it. And never once had his expression been anything but attentive.
But what made her most comfortable with him was the simple fact that he was comfortable with himself. He was at ease in his skin, something Addie felt only with her violin tucked beneath her chin.
They moved through the large glass-paneled side door and onto the street, and Addie found herself falling into rhythm with his easy stride. It felt good, walking in the company of this man. Perhaps she could put up with her burning shoulder long enough to enjoy some quiet conversation.
At his quizzical look, she nodded her head to the right. Home was this way.
Addie held her right arm close to her ribs, her hand at her waist. It was the only position that was comfortable. She longed to support it with her left hand, take the weight off the joint. But her left was tucked properly into Jess’s elbow. And that felt entirely too good to abandon.
She fought for control of the small portion of her brain that was not focused on her shoulder and tried to carry on a conversation. He was witty and intelligent, ready with humor and unaware when he was being charming. To her horror, all she could manage were monosyllables.
“I actually think it was quite a piece of marketing genius,” Jess was saying.
“Genius?”
“Oh, absolutely. Ten women clad in the most boring grays known to man playing music more full of color than a gaggle of peacocks.” Jess shifted her violin for a better grip beneath his outside arm. “Sheer genius.”
“A gaggle of peacocks. That’s what we sound like to you?”
“No, no, no. You sound like a gaggle of peacocks looks . You know what I mean? A tumult of color.”
“Mmm. And we look like...?”
“Hmmm.” Jess walked a couple of paces in silence. “Well, let me put it this way. If you sounded like you look, we’d find you playing in funeral parlors.”
Addie chuckled. It was all too true. She’d told the girls to look like St. Agnes, after all. It was the best way she knew to achieve some sort of uniformity.
“But,” he continued, “if you looked like you sound, they’d sell you
“I’d think you’d be starved after that performance, Miss Magee. I’m sure—“
“Addie.” How quickly she adapted to this casual state of being. Perhaps she could blame it on the shoulder.
“—Addie. I’m sure we can find a café between here and your home, now, can’t we?”
“Yes, of course, but—”
“Then it’s settled? Here, let me carry that.” Jess slipped Addie’s short cloak over her shoulders and in one move extracted the violin case from beneath her arm and steered her toward the door. There wasn’t much she could do but move along.
The first time she’d seen him, Addie had wondered about this moment, what it would feel like if the blue-eyed Jess Pepper asked her to step out with him. Then she’d made a fool of herself on Friday, flailing about on the staircase, and had been certain she’d not see him again. Or shouldn’t.
Not if he was looking for a loose woman, anyway.
But halfway through the opening Serenade , Addie had watched the maitre d’ escort the familiar broad shoulders to a table off to her left. Each time he dropped his gaze to attend to his food, she’d studied him.
He was a powerful man, the rare type who could carry off a thick, dark head of hair like that, swept back into handsome chaos. Without the sideburns dignifying his broad face and square chin he might have looked like a prize fighter. Though watching his large, agile hands, Addie had known instinctively he was not a fighter.
At least, not the sordid kind.
His manners were natural, never practiced. Respectful in their simplicity, not polished, yet never seeming to diminish himself...or her. While he rather obviously admired her, it wasn’t the music he seemed most appreciative of, but her expertise in making it. And never once had his expression been anything but attentive.
But what made her most comfortable with him was the simple fact that he was comfortable with himself. He was at ease in his skin, something Addie felt only with her violin tucked beneath her chin.
They moved through the large glass-paneled side door and onto the street, and Addie found herself falling into rhythm with his easy stride. It felt good, walking in the company of this man. Perhaps she could put up with her burning shoulder long enough to enjoy some quiet conversation.
At his quizzical look, she nodded her head to the right. Home was this way.
Addie held her right arm close to her ribs, her hand at her waist. It was the only position that was comfortable. She longed to support it with her left hand, take the weight off the joint. But her left was tucked properly into Jess’s elbow. And that felt entirely too good to abandon.
She fought for control of the small portion of her brain that was not focused on her shoulder and tried to carry on a conversation. He was witty and intelligent, ready with humor and unaware when he was being charming. To her horror, all she could manage were monosyllables.
“I actually think it was quite a piece of marketing genius,” Jess was saying.
“Genius?”
“Oh, absolutely. Ten women clad in the most boring grays known to man playing music more full of color than a gaggle of peacocks.” Jess shifted her violin for a better grip beneath his outside arm. “Sheer genius.”
“A gaggle of peacocks. That’s what we sound like to you?”
“No, no, no. You sound like a gaggle of peacocks looks . You know what I mean? A tumult of color.”
“Mmm. And we look like...?”
“Hmmm.” Jess walked a couple of paces in silence. “Well, let me put it this way. If you sounded like you look, we’d find you playing in funeral parlors.”
Addie chuckled. It was all too true. She’d told the girls to look like St. Agnes, after all. It was the best way she knew to achieve some sort of uniformity.
“But,” he continued, “if you looked like you sound, they’d sell you
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