Read Online Island Road: The Billionaire Brothers by Lily Everett - Free Book Online
Authors: Lily Everett
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But he could feel her pulling away from him in more ways than the physical, the bright light of her happiness dimming in front of him, and he couldn’t stand it.
Meeting Ira’s inquisitive gaze in the rearview mirror, Miles didn’t even hesitate. He gave a slight shake of the head, knowing Ira would interpret it correctly after years of driving Miles around town.
Maybe it was masochistic of him to drag this thing out any longer, knowing he couldn’t allow himself to give in to Greta’s innocent temptation, but he’d be damned if he let her big New York adventure end on a sad note. He’d give her the best night of her life, no matter how much it might make him wish for what he could never have.
* * *
A guest room all ready for you.
Greta leaned her overwarm forehead against the cool glass of the car window and clamped down on the lump in her throat.
If someone had told her when she woke this morning that before the night was over she’d be close to tears over the fact that Miles Harrington—proud, stuffy, condescending jerk extraordinaire—clearly had no designs on her body after all, she would have laughed herself stupid.
She certainly didn’t feel much like laughing now.
The car slid to a silent, elegant stop and Greta took care to hide her wince as she slid her aching feet back into the torturous high heels she’d been so excited about earlier. Telling herself she needed to shake off this let-down feeling and be grateful for the trouble Miles had gone to—even if it hadn’t been a prelude to seduction, as she’d assumed with a giddy tingle all day long—Greta looked up from wrestling with the strappy heels to see that Miles had already gotten out of the car.
He held out a hand to help her, and as she steeled herself against the sensual excitement of his touch, Greta’s feet hit the sidewalk and she looked up with a determinedly bright smile plastered to her face.
She looked up … and up … and up, all the breath leaving her lungs in a whoosh. Clutching Miles’s hand in an iron grip, Greta stared at the building spearing straight into the night sky, brilliantly lit and beautiful as only an architectural icon could be.
“That’s not your apartment,” Greta said, feeling as disoriented as if she were waking up from anesthesia.
“Nope.”
The anticipation in his voice was the only thing that could have dragged her attention off the building. Miles was watching her avidly, his intense blue eyes soaking up her every reaction, and Greta let him have it.
With a smile so wide her cheeks ached with it, Greta said, “You brought me to the Empire State Building.”
“You said you wanted to do the whole tourist routine. This place is on every tour of the city—although we’ll be seeing it a little differently from most tourists.”
“What do you mean, because it’s nighttime?”
Miles shook his head, clearly enjoying the mystery. “Actually, the Empire State Building is open every single day of the year, rain or shine, until two in the morning.”
“Then what?”
Tilting his chin toward the doors, Miles said, “You’ll have to go in to find out.”
Excitement and adrenaline flooded Greta’s bloodstream, a better wake-up call than a vat of coffee. Her tired feet forgotten, she bounded across the sidewalk and spun through the revolving door into the gorgeous art deco lobby.
Greta was so busy gawking up at the ornate silver-and-gold ceiling mural that she almost walked right into a trim, middle-aged black woman standing with an older man in the livery of an old-fashioned elevator operator.
“Oh! I’m so sorry,” Greta said, wobbling on her stilettos.
The woman she’d bumped gave her a small, professional smile and held out a hand. “No worries. You must be Greta. It’s lovely to meet you.”
Greta shook the woman’s hand just as she heard the click of Miles’s dress shoes on the tiled lobby floor. “Greta, this is Cleo Packard, my right-hand woman. I’d be lost
Meeting Ira’s inquisitive gaze in the rearview mirror, Miles didn’t even hesitate. He gave a slight shake of the head, knowing Ira would interpret it correctly after years of driving Miles around town.
Maybe it was masochistic of him to drag this thing out any longer, knowing he couldn’t allow himself to give in to Greta’s innocent temptation, but he’d be damned if he let her big New York adventure end on a sad note. He’d give her the best night of her life, no matter how much it might make him wish for what he could never have.
* * *
A guest room all ready for you.
Greta leaned her overwarm forehead against the cool glass of the car window and clamped down on the lump in her throat.
If someone had told her when she woke this morning that before the night was over she’d be close to tears over the fact that Miles Harrington—proud, stuffy, condescending jerk extraordinaire—clearly had no designs on her body after all, she would have laughed herself stupid.
She certainly didn’t feel much like laughing now.
The car slid to a silent, elegant stop and Greta took care to hide her wince as she slid her aching feet back into the torturous high heels she’d been so excited about earlier. Telling herself she needed to shake off this let-down feeling and be grateful for the trouble Miles had gone to—even if it hadn’t been a prelude to seduction, as she’d assumed with a giddy tingle all day long—Greta looked up from wrestling with the strappy heels to see that Miles had already gotten out of the car.
He held out a hand to help her, and as she steeled herself against the sensual excitement of his touch, Greta’s feet hit the sidewalk and she looked up with a determinedly bright smile plastered to her face.
She looked up … and up … and up, all the breath leaving her lungs in a whoosh. Clutching Miles’s hand in an iron grip, Greta stared at the building spearing straight into the night sky, brilliantly lit and beautiful as only an architectural icon could be.
“That’s not your apartment,” Greta said, feeling as disoriented as if she were waking up from anesthesia.
“Nope.”
The anticipation in his voice was the only thing that could have dragged her attention off the building. Miles was watching her avidly, his intense blue eyes soaking up her every reaction, and Greta let him have it.
With a smile so wide her cheeks ached with it, Greta said, “You brought me to the Empire State Building.”
“You said you wanted to do the whole tourist routine. This place is on every tour of the city—although we’ll be seeing it a little differently from most tourists.”
“What do you mean, because it’s nighttime?”
Miles shook his head, clearly enjoying the mystery. “Actually, the Empire State Building is open every single day of the year, rain or shine, until two in the morning.”
“Then what?”
Tilting his chin toward the doors, Miles said, “You’ll have to go in to find out.”
Excitement and adrenaline flooded Greta’s bloodstream, a better wake-up call than a vat of coffee. Her tired feet forgotten, she bounded across the sidewalk and spun through the revolving door into the gorgeous art deco lobby.
Greta was so busy gawking up at the ornate silver-and-gold ceiling mural that she almost walked right into a trim, middle-aged black woman standing with an older man in the livery of an old-fashioned elevator operator.
“Oh! I’m so sorry,” Greta said, wobbling on her stilettos.
The woman she’d bumped gave her a small, professional smile and held out a hand. “No worries. You must be Greta. It’s lovely to meet you.”
Greta shook the woman’s hand just as she heard the click of Miles’s dress shoes on the tiled lobby floor. “Greta, this is Cleo Packard, my right-hand woman. I’d be lost
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