On the Steamy Side - Louisa Edwards [10]
Taking her courage in both hands, Lilah nodded.
The smile that spread over his handsome face was filled with dark, seductive triumph.
Oh, Lordy. What had she gotten herself into? Lilah shivered, but even she couldn’t have said whether it was trepidation or straight-up anticipation.
“Wait,” she cried, suddenly realizing how empty her hands were. “I left my pocketbook on the bar!”
“Want me to get it for you?” he offered, but Lilah shook her head.
“No! No, it’s fine. I’ll just run quick and grab it. You stay put.”
Without pausing to see if he followed her instructions, Lilah whirled and pushed back into the crowd surrounding the bar, her cheeks stinging with heat.
Second thoughts immediately filled her mind. He could be anyone, do anything . . .
Oh, my stars and stripes, what am I doing?
She finally managed to thrust her way to the scarred wooden bar, but her purse was nowhere to be seen. Before her heart could plummet through the floor, however, the bartender, a smallish man with straight brown hair to his shoulders and a smile in his eyes, leaned over the bar.
He held one hand out, the strap of Lilah’s pocketbook dangling from one finger.
“You found it,” she said. “Thank you so much.”
“Not a problem,” he drawled, but when she moved to take her bag, he lifted it out of reach.
“If I give this back to you,” he said, eyes intent on her face, “are you gonna leave with that fella 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