Page 19 of Torrid Passion
Kyla is wearing a hot pink long-sleeved blouse. It’s demure, which makes it that much more alluring. It falls softly over the mouthwatering teardrops of her breasts. I’d be willing to bet a lot of money, hers aren’t silicone tits. Her black asymmetric skirt with ruffled edge adds a bit of playfulness to her more conservative top and it exposes just enough leg. Nice balance. Then there are the heels—sexy as all fuck. Her dangling diamond earrings sparkle under the lights and reflect against her flawless skin. Her makeup is subdued, but perfectly applied. Her dark hair is a little shorter than the last time I saw her. It suits her. Given who Kyla is, her impeccable sense of style is no surprise, but still, she’s stunning beyond words.
“Okay, stop it, you’re going to make me blush.”
Too late, babe.
“Own it,” I tell her.
“Thanks,” she says from under her very long and dark lashes. I pretended not to notice them when she played tour guide when I went to Paris to visit Harlow three years ago, but I did. I’m as captivated by them now as I was then.
“You’re pointing the finger at me, but the world must be coming to an end,” she veers the conversation.
“Why is that?”
“Lochlan Berkshire is out alone on a Thursday night, or is your date in the lady’s room?”
“Lochlan Berkshire is a serious businessman. My days of wild parties are behind me.”
“The roadie traded his bad boy ways for a bespoke suit?”
“How did you know this suit was custom?” I ask, amused.
“It fits your wide chest perfectly,” she tells me.
I nod a few times, carefully weighing my words. “It might be my delusional mind talking, but it sounds like you’ve been checking me out.”
She holds my gaze for a few long seconds before answering. “You’re hard to miss, Mr. Berkshire.”
I smile, biting down my response.
“What would you like to drink?” It’s best to play it safe.
“This is my first time here. What do you recommend?”
“They have thirty different champagne cocktails, but that’s not really my style. I like it straight up.”
“Same here.”
“Should we order a bottle?”
“Yes!”
“Any preference?”
“Let’s see what the bartender recommends.”
“Smart girl,” I smile.
I wave Neal over.
“Yes, Mr. Berkshire,” he says approaching us.
“My date would like your recommendation on a bottle of champagne.”
“Far from me for being presumptuous, but I think madam has refined taste,” Neal observes.
“You hit the nail on the head, my friend,” I laugh.
Kyla just shakes her head.
