The Senator’s Daughter Read Online Free

“I was afraid of that.”
    Headlights reflected off inches-deep runoff, a car slowed at the curb, a curious face at the passenger window.
    In a minute, she’d get up, but the thought of leaving the shelter of enfolding arms and a big warm chest seemed a cold proposition. And there was the fact that, lying on Lyle, she couldn’t miss her profound effect upon a certain part of his anatomy.
    Breathless, she confessed, “I don’t think I am hurt.”
    Out of nowhere, lights illuminated the sidewalk where they lay. “Look out!” she cried.
    Lyle’s muscles bunched; she appreciated their power through her sudden terror.
    Power aside, neither of them would be able to move fast enough to avoid being run over.
    The next milliseconds lasted an eternity. Sylvia cringed, every muscle taut. But no car jumped the curb and crushed them beneath the wheels. Instead, there was a camera strobe in the open door of a white van bearing the logo “On the Spot.”

    Lyle cursed.
    He’d always found the supermarket tabloids amusing, movie stars caught without their makeup, exuberant headlines with just enough veracity to keep most victims from wasting money on lawyers. This evening, none of it struck him as funny. Not when he and a trembling Sylvia had just been frightened within an inch of their lives.
    Getting cold lying on wet cement, and embarrassed by the physical effect Sylvia had on him, he pushed up. Half-carrying her, he got them both on their feet.
    She lived nearby; he’d looked up the address before asking her out, only to have her suggest they meet at Ice. With his arm raised to shield them, Lyle placed himself between Sylvia and the cameras and headed for her place.
    She went along, limping on her broken sandal. At least now she wasn’t fleeing him.
    There was her number, pale stucco façade, high stairs, and potted geraniums on the stoop getting a good soaking. “Your key?”
    Sylvia dug into her rain-darkened leather bag and brought out the ring. Lyle took it and hustled her up the steps. With a twist of his wrist and the knob, he got the door open. Both of them slipped inside, and he slammed the portal just as the press van pulled in at the curb.
    In the filtered glow through the entry sidelights, Lyle looked down at Sylvia. The part of him that had been terrified by the prospect of being run down on the sidewalk urged him to take her in his arms.
    However, he gazed upon a far different version of the sultry siren who had kissed him on camera. One that looked a lot like a drowned rat.
    The little rat beamed. “Sir Galahad, I presume?”

Chapter 2
    L yle’s laugh started down deep and came out big. What a departure from his careful plans; he’d even decided on their dinner menu, oysters and Chilean sea bass, followed by tiramisu, and the wine, a dry Monterey Riesling.
    Never would he have thought he’d end up tackling Sylvia on the sidewalk.
    â€œCastillo called me Sir Galahad,” Lyle managed between chuckles. “We all
know
he’s the expert.” Casual, his hand came up to smooth Sylvia’s hair, which had erupted into unruly curls. He must be a sight, too. His jacket fit loosely at the shoulder where he’d ripped a seam sliding along the pavement.
    â€œThis suit is a wash,” he declared.
    â€œSo to speak.” He saw her grin before Sylvia walked into the kitchen.
    She turned on a light, giving Lyle his first look at the famous pleasure palace by the fluorescent glow of the over-the-stove bulb. The kitchen boasted high-tech appliances with sleek black glass, black again in the stone countertops sporting gold crystals in the dark rock … he had a flash of lifting Sylvia to the counter in that short number of a dress and stepping between her thighs …
    He tamped it down so he wouldn’t get carried away.
    Nice peach wallpaper, but whoa. A stain that could only be red wine, as though someone had thrown a full