Open Invitation? Read Online Free PDF Page A

“Haaaaaaaaaaaaa.”
    â€œHi,” Jane said, a tremor of amusement in her voice.
    â€œDan Granger, ma’am. Klutz at large.”
    â€œJane O’Toole. You’re obviously not from around here.”
    â€œAmarillo, darlin’. Pardon me while I grab another shirt from my bag.”
    â€œOh, feel free,” Jane said.
    Lil and Jane both watched as he rummaged through a beat-up canvas duffel next to two large suitcases—Lil had told him to bring anything he planned on taking to London—and pulled out a spare shirt. They continued to watch as, oblivious, he raised his arms with a ripple of muscle and then stuck his head through the neck hole, with yet another ripple. Lilia’s mouth went dry and she found herself on the receiving end of an infuriating smirk from Jane. “Nice to meet you, Dan,” she said. “I’ve got to get back to work.” And with a knowing grin in Lil’s direction she did so.
    Well, that settled it. Even if Granger spoke proper English, was the last virile man on the planet, and her life depended upon it, Lil would never “go there.” Because Jane wouldn’t ever let her live it down.
    Granger was now digging deep into the pocket of his Wranglers, which only served to pull the fabric hard against his—that, uh, most interesting bulge. Lil pressed her lips together. She knelt down and concentrated on sweeping the shards of Nana Lisbeth’s cup and saucer into the dustpan.
    â€œHere,” said Granger’s voice. “I’d really feel better if you’d take this.”
    She looked up, straight into his crotch and dropped the dustpan. The shards scattered again. He held out a wad of green bills.
    Soft laughter came from the hallway and she saw Shannon disappearing into the kitchenette. Lil had toadmit that she and Granger must make an interesting vignette: she on her knees in front of him, while he held out a wad of cash.
    â€œMr. Granger, I couldn’t possibly—”
    â€œDan,” he said. “Just call me Dan, honey.”
    That was another thing they needed to address: he couldn’t walk around calling every female he met “sweetheart,” “darlin’,” or “honey.” “Mr. Granger, I know that things are different down south, but—”
    â€œDan,” he repeated, squatting down with her and gently taking the dustpan from her hands. They spoke at the same time.
    â€œâ€”you mustn’t use terms of endearment with women you don’t know, as you risk—”
    â€œDon’t worry, in London I’ll call the ladies ‘love.’”
    â€œâ€”offending them.”
    They squatted on her rug, knee to knee and face-to-face. She could see the pores in his skin, the tiny lines on his lips, the intense, hungry look in his eyes.
    He swept the shards back into the dustpan. “Besides bustin’ your china and trashing your rug,” he drawled, “do I offend you, Lilia?”
    She opened her mouth to say yes. Then no. Then yes.
    His blue gaze engulfed her, spread over her skin like the soft sting of an astringent; cool and hot at the same time. After a moment, he reached out an index finger and stroked along her jaw to just under her chin. He tilted it up and angled his face over hers while her heart galloped around in her chest like a mad thing. He was much, much too close to her.
    She was much, much too close to him.
    And she didn’t want to do a damn thing about it.
    Â 
    S HE’S AN EXOTIC porcelain doll. Perfect, delicate features. Dark eyes full of foreign ritual and pageantry. Lips that whispered of mystery and private pleasures.
    She’s the kind of woman who was born on a pedestal, though . An untouchable Audrey, full of silver screen mystique. A china figurine with a painted-on skirt that no man ever got beneath.
    A damn shame. Dan would like to see what Lil’s hair looked like tumbled around her face and neck,