On the Steamy Side Read Online Free PDF

fingertips down the bare skin of her arm below her puffed shirtsleeve, leaving a trail of goose bumps in his wake.

    A bell-like chime made Lilah jump, and then the elevator door shooshed open to reveal a single white-paneled door, which her companion unlocked and opened.

    He ushered Lilah into a spread straight out of Architectural Digest. It looked like some avant-garde director’s interpretation of Hamlet’s castle, all Danish modern and slick.

    A low-slung black leather couch faced one of those outsized flatscreen televisions all men seemed to want more than life. The coffee table in front of it was low, too, a glass and chrome contraption that appeared to be using some sort of gravity-defying magic to stay standing. Everything in the room was sleek, clean, spotless, and utterly unwelcoming.

    She was kind of glad she didn’t have to live here; she’d be afraid to sit on that flat-cushioned couch, and if she so much as looked at the white paper-globe lamp in the corner, she was certain it’d topple right on over.

    Before Lilah could work herself into a tizzy over the multitude of ways her natural klutziness could be a bad, bad thing, the apartment’s owner saved her from thinking by touching her hand and turning her brain into pudding.

    “Where were we?” he asked with a sly smile.

    Not to be outdone, Lilah took a bold step forward and plastered herself to his front. “Right about here, I think.”

    His chest expanded against hers like he was drawing a deep breath and Lilah reveled in the sudden, heady sense of power.

    The gorgeous man ran his hands up her arms and around to cup the wings of her shoulder blades. He made an “ick” face and stepped back at once—not exactly the reaction Lilah was hoping for. Then she remembered her unfortunate accident with his friend’s drink.

    Laughing, she said, “Hey, didn’t you promise me a shower?”

    When Devon bought the penthouse four years ago, he knew it was going to take a crapload of work to make it the showroom residence a rising star needed.

    To create the master bathroom, he had to knock out a wall to expand the space into the large, gracious room they now entered. His curly-haired companion took one look at the gold-flecked green tiles forming an abstract mosaic that filled the back wall of his glassed-in shower and whistled through her teeth.

    Devon smiled and jammed his hands in his front pockets to keep from pointing features out to her like an excited realtor.

    But the rest of the bathroom wasn’t too shabby, either, if he did say so himself. He watched her run a hand over the frosted glass of the counter holding the freestanding oval Waterworks sink.

    The floor and walls were tiled in large squares of warm, naturally tumbled stone; the lighting was soft and yellow.

    “Well, golly,” she said. “If I had a bathroom like this, I’d never want to leave it.” Satisfaction filled Devon. He rocked on his heels. “It was the first thing I redid when I bought this place.”

    He’d had very definite ideas about what he wanted the master bath to look like; he was a plumber’s kid, after all. And yeah, it may have occurred to him that coming up with the most decadent, luxurious bathroom possible could be interpreted as a “fuck you” to the old man.

    “You designed this?” The woman’s voice dragged Devon out of his musing. She gestured to the mosaic tiles in the shower stall. “It’s beautiful.”

    For some reason, her frank admiration suddenly made Devon want to squirm. “It’s nothing. Just a doodle I had in my head.”

    “I know a little bit about design,” she told him, “and I’d say you have a knack for it. If I had to guess . . .” She tilted her head to one side and considered him. “Yes. I think you must be an artist. No! You own an art gallery—being in charge would suit you, I bet.”

    “Very astute,” Devon laughed. “Being in charge suits me completely, balls to bones.”

    “Graphic,” she said,