Read Hot and Steamy for Free Online Page A

taverns that angry competitors were meeting to stop the Jameson Packet Company from taking over the entire river with its boats.
    The scuttlebutt did not bother Jameson. He was preoccupied with getting the Isidium discovery out to the world.
    It wouldn’t be much longer now before he could do just that. Since meteorites laced with Isidium were not readily available, he sought an alternative source for the rare element. He found that Isidium was a byproduct of copper and nickel mining. Jameson and his investors had secured several copper and nickel mines in Canada that he was confident could provide a steady supply.
    Soon he’d be in Washington D.C. to present his findings to the President of the United States. Then he intended to celebrate; first stop would be Denmark to visit his late mother’s relatives, next a chartered airship to the Valley of Kings where he would pay a visit to his first tomb. After that, he’d start a new dig.
    He tidied his workspace and locked his cabin door. Jameson usually took his meals in his room, but today he ventured to his private table in the corner of the main dining salon. In the salon, paneled in cherry, passengers ate at beautifully decorated tables with fine linens, fresh bouquets of flowers, and brass hurricane lamps. Men in coats and ties summoned waiters, while dainty women under elaborate hats sipped fine wine from small crystal glasses. Seemingly out of nowhere a large man wearing a white cap and navy blue jacket appeared.
    â€œCap’n Keel, what brings you out of the wheelhouse?” Jameson asked the man he’d known since childhood.
    â€œMind if I join you?”
    Before he had a chance to refuse, Keel hailed the waiter and ordered pot roast and red potatoes. “And bring me a bourbon right away. And not one of those thimble-sized ones neither,” he growled. Soon his burly hand gripped a tumbler and he scanned the dining room, then lowered his head.
    â€œListen, Watts, you gotta to be more careful. Someone’s tryin’ to kill you,” he whispered. “Although why they’d bother is a mystery, you’ll do the job for ’em soon enough—drinkin’ that vile green stuff.”
    Jameson could see that the captain was staring at the lime green stains that dotted his white shirt like tiny tracks.
    â€œI’ll be careful,” Jameson said, humoring him.
    He spent a few more hours in his cabin scouring his notes and papers before he ventured out for fresh air again. On the deck round-bellied men in top hats talked business while waiters delivered drinks to ladies discussing whatever women discussed. Jameson paid little attention as he mentally polished his presentation. Then something caught his eye.
    A red-haired woman in her mid-twenties held a thin green book, while a lace parasol deflected the afternoon sun from her long neck.
    With a look of amazement, Jameson dropped to his knees beside her.
    â€œExcuse me, Miss, I don’t mean to interrupt . . . but I couldn’t help noticing you’re reading Egyptian Antiquities by Auguste Mariette.” Jameson’s voice was thick with excitement.
    She looked up, and without any expression answered, “Why, yes.”
    Jameson’s heart caught. This woman . . . this stunning woman with a flawless complexion and ice blue eyes that sparkled like stars . . . was reading his favorite book. It was this book that led him to Egypt many years ago and fueled his strange addiction for the place. After devouring it a half-dozen times, he taught himself hieroglyphs and had become a self-made authority on ancient Egypt.
    And it all started with that small book.
    Her fingers were perfectly manicured, the nails painted a shade of pink that reminded him of the first blush of a rose. She reached an index finger up and rubbed at a cameo attached to a ribbon around her neck. She must’ve felt the penetration of his gaze because she gave him a furtive glance, smiled