Page 26 of Billionaire Romantic
But the host is excited. “Miss Irish! Welcome. Mr. Steel is already here. Please, follow me.”
God.My heart is beating like crazy.
Grace, I’m going to kill you for this.
I follow the host across the room, and I see a man stand up from his seat at a raised corner table. In the romantically-lit space, it’s already clear that Noah Steel is definitely as good-looking as his photo. Or even more so.
Much, much more so. Because he’s real.
He’s big. Taller than I was expecting. Andbuilt, I can’t help but notice.
He’s wearing a white button-down shirt with the top few buttons undone, showing off that same tanned, corded neck I was staring at through my phone only a few hours ago. The white of his shirt highlights the warmth of his cinnamon skin.
He looks almost out of place, like he’s not a New Yorker at all, but a rodeo hero from out west, somewhere with big skies and long, lazy days of summer sun.
I don’t know why I say that. He just looks…hotterthan any New Yorker I’ve ever seen. Too beefed-up and healthy for a city-dweller.
His eyes, as I get closer—and my heart feels like it’s about to beat its way right out of my chest—are that same sky blue that they were in his photo. They’re fixed on me intently. Sliding lower. To my dress and all the many details its tight fit and shortskirt reveals, before traveling back up to my face. His gaze on my body makes me feel…warm.
Help.
His hair is a rich shade of brown with tints of red from the many golden lights in the room.
Holy hell, he’s gorgeous.
It’s the kind of over-the-top handsomeness that could almost be intimidating.This Adonis is my actual date?Why would someone like this need a dating app?
But then he smiles, and it’s so genuine that I can’t help kind of relaxing into this. Those little crinkles around his eyes and his killer, endearing smile are outrageously…attractive. And inviting. My very first impression—aside from that he’s hot AF—is that he’s trustworthy. “You must be Lucky. I’m Noah. It’s nice to meet you.”
His voice is smooth and deep with a lightly smoky rasp at the edges that causes the tiny hairs on my body rise. “You too,” I manage.
He offers me his hand. As I watch his eyes, I take it. It’s big and warm and almost unnervingly strong. He squeezes my hand and the light pressure sends a channel of molten awareness through my entire body. There’s a warm, fluttery pulseinsideme that’s…oh my god.
His broad shoulders and muscular arms fill out his shirt to the point where it’s almost straining the thick cotton fabric.
Jesus. He must work out a lot.
He releases my hand and offers me a seat. “After you, Lucky Irish.”
I laugh lightly at our ridiculous names. “Thank you, Noah Steel.”
We sit in the cozy leather booth with its view of the restaurant and the street out the window down below us that I can only vaguely appreciate because I can barely pull my gazeaway from my date enough to take it all in. But the place’s name fits. Itfeelsromantic. And I’m suddenly very glad I didn’t keep walking.
“I hope you like champagne.” He takes the bottle out of an ice bucket that’s propped next to the table. “I took the liberty of ordering for us. Or we can order you something else if you prefer.”
“I like champagne.” I blink up at him. I’m kind of mesmerized by the color of his eyes. They could almost be described as duck-egg blue, with little shards of gold and darker blues, like rare, stolen jewels.
Noah Steel’s smile holds and it’s so beguiled, I’d almost say he’s as spellbound as I am. With a hot edge behind his blue gaze, still holding mine, my insides feel like they’ve turned into a molten, lava-like liquid that’s warming me with sublime…anticipation, maybe.
And with awe. Those almost-red tints in his hair and the little flicks of it behind his ears are charming me. If he’s a corporate type, he’s a little overdue for a haircut. It’s got a barely-there wave to it and it’s not quite but almost…tousled.
I wonder what he’d look like without that expensive-looking shirt on, in an outdoor shower in the countryside, those muscles all soaped up.
Would you stop with the Irish Spring commercial already?
But he could: he absolutely could have stepped straight out of one.
That warm, fluttery pulse in averyintimate place is gaining momentum.Oh my god, my panties are getting wet.
