On the Steamy Side Read Online Free PDF Page A

reach.

    “If I give this back to you,” he said, eyes intent on her face, “are you gonna leave with that fel a over there?”

    Lilah bit her lip, then forced herself to stop. She wasn’t Lolly anymore, she didn’t have to be so embarrassed and worried about what people thought all the time.

    “I’m thinking about it,” she told him. “Why, do you know some reason why I shouldn’t?” The bartender cocked his head. “No,” he said after a moment. “I don’t believe I do. We go back a ways, me and him. He’s a good guy, deep down, even if he doesn’t always act like it. I was actually thinking about warning you to be nice to him. He’s had a rough couple of months; he could stand something nice for a change.”

    Lilah paused, struck by the sincerity in the man’s face.

    “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’m not a psycho or something. Your friend is safe.”

    “Then you kids have a fine old time,” he replied, lowering his arm so she could snag her purse.

    “Hey, um . . . do you know Grant Holloway? The guy I came in with?”

    “We’re acquainted.”

    “Could you let him know I left? And that I’m okay?”

    The bartender nodded, and Lilah gave him a little wave of thanks.

    Slipping back into the press of people, Lilah couldn’t help craning her neck to see if her mystery man still stood waiting for her by the door.

    And if her heart fluttered with joy when she saw that he was, if she couldn’t restrain her answering grin when he smiled down at her . . . well. Even without the bartender vouching for him, the sense of rightness that settled over her shoulders like a warm quilt would’ve been enough to propel her out of the bar at this man’s side.

    The air outside Chapel was crisp and refreshing after the stale bar full of moving bodies. Lilah followed her . . . shoot, what should she call him? Lover? Ugh, that didn’t sound right . . . to a sleek black car.

    A short, compactly muscled man moved from his position leaning against the hood to open the back passenger door.

    “This is Paolo, my driver.”

    Was this normal? Did everyone in New York have a driver?

    Resolving not to gawk and stare at every little thing like a tourist, Lilah gave the impassive, black-clad Paolo a regal nod and climbed into the spacious backseat. The leather was smooth and warm against her skin. She was immediately concerned about the nasty stain her damp shirt was probably leaving.

    Lilah twisted on the seat in an effort to spare the leather and look graceful at the same time, which was met with an odd look from her handsome new friend when he slid in beside her.

    Conversation was stilted as the car pulled out into traffic. Lilah wasn’t sure what the protocol was for making small talk with one’s soon-to-be sexual partners.

    Somehow, she didn’t think Emily Post had an entry covering that little dilemma.

    He asked where she was staying—an apartment in Chelsea—and she asked where he lived—on Park Avenue. That shut Lilah up for a second; even with her spotty understanding of Manhattan geography, she knew that was a pretty swanky neighborhood.

    Every snippet of information only added to his mysterious allure and the surreal feel of the entire situation.

    When the car pulled smoothly up to a gorgeous white-marble corner building, with windows two stories tall and a gold-trimmed awning out front, Lilah wasn’t even surprised.

    Sure, she thought. Where else would Prince Charming live?

    This modern-day castle was staffed with quietly polite doormen and a concierge—there was even a guy who offered to run the elevator for them, but her companion declined. They stepped into the large, sumptuous box and the doors whispered shut.

    Lilah blinked at her reflection in the antique brass of the doors. It was polished to such a high gloss, she could see the whites of her own wide eyes.

    She glanced at the man beside her, and he seemed to take that as an invitation. He stepped in closer and trailed his