On the Steamy Side (23 page)

“Nearly, sir. The garage is a few blocks away.”

“Excellent,” Devon said. Lilah was in bone-deep agreement with the relief in his tone. “Drop us off, then go home and get some sleep, man. Sorry to keep you out so late.”

“That’s my job, sir. What time tomorrow?”

Devon slid Lilah a sideways glance that ignited a ball of fire in her belly. “Let’s sleep in,” he said, his eyes never leaving hers. “Call it ten.” His lips curled. “It’s not like it did me any good to get to the restaurant early, anyway.”

To distract herself from the embarrassing liquid heat melting her insides, Lilah said, “What went wrong at the restaurant tonight?”

“What went right?” Devon parried. “My timing was off, my food was for shit, my sous chef resents the hell out of me, the bartender has my manager in a snit, and, oh, yeah, I’m suddenly a father.” He pinched his forefinger and thumb together and squinted one eye at her. “I’m under just a smidge of pressure.”

“You were always a father,” Lilah couldn’t help pointing out. “Your problem was you didn’t have the chance to do much about it.”

“Birthday presents. That was it. Well, Christmas, too.” Dropping his hands to his lap, Devon picked at a dried splatter of something purple and sticky-looking. Without glancing away from his pants, he said,

“So. What kinds of things did you two do today?”

Lilah knew better than to openly display her happiness at this chink in Devon’s armor. “Oh, nothing much,” she said as casually as she could. “Tucker spent a few hours drawing—he can be amazingly focused when he’s trying to get his rendition of a T-Rex just right.” The corner of Devon’s mouth kicked up a little. “Yeah, that backpack of his is full of colored pencils and stuff. I always bought him video games, remote-control cars, things like that. Guess I was way off.”

“It’s hard to buy a gift for someone you don’t know very well.” Lilah couldn’t think of a more tactful way to put it, so she just said it.

Instead of getting angry and defensive, as she’d half-feared, Devon scrubbed his hands over his face and said, “Yeah. I know. Fuck, I should’ve just let my assistant shop for Tucker. Daniel would’ve had as good a shot as I did at picking the right presents.”

But Devon hadn’t farmed out that task—he’d done it himself. It wasn’t much, Lilah knew. Certainly, it wasn’t close to everything he ought to have done. But the fact that Devon guarded even that tenuous connection to Tucker gave her hope.

“I was thinking,” she said, putting a hand on his arm and drawing her fingers in light circles over the slick material of his button-up shirt. “Do you real y have to be at the restaurant every day from lunch service all the way through dinner? I bet if you gave yourself a break between shifts, you’d be so much more energized and ready for the evening rush.”

Devon looked from her face down to her doodling fingers and back again. “You’re going somewhere with this. And much as I’d like to believe this suggestion is leading up to spending the whole day together in bed, I have a feeling I’m going to be disappointed.” Lilah felt blood rush to her face. Shoot, this coy thing was harder to pull off than she’d expected. Giving up on the arm petting, Lilah turned to face Devon head on.

“Not disappointed, I hope, but no, I’m not suggesting we laze around in bed all afternoon. I’m more hoping I can convince you to spend that time with Tucker. Well, with Tucker and me,” she amended when she saw the panic take over his expression. Despite herself, Lilah felt a pang of joy at knowing Devon needed her.

They both needed her, Devon and Tucker, and Ferdinand’s words to Miranda in The Tempest floated across her consciousness; she could relate like never before to the image of her heart flying to the service of another.

“What would we do?”

The poor man sounded positively bewildered. Taking pity, Lilah said, “Any number of things! Like today. I mean, Tuck didn’t spend all day on his art. We also went to the cutest little bookstore in the Village, Three Lives & Company. Have you ever been there? They had a great children’s section that kept Tucker happy while I found a couple books on things to do with kids in the city. Don’t you worry, I’m absolutely brimming over with activities for the three of us!” Devon was silent for a moment. Lilah wondered if she’d blown the needle on the enthusiast-o-meter and scared him off. She took it as a good sign that he hadn’t rejected the idea outright.

Finally he blew out a breath and squeezed his eyes shut. “Fine. I’ll give it a shot.” Lilah felt the grin breaking over her cheeks before he’d even finished agreeing, but Devon held up a hand to forestall her exclamations. “If things get out of hand at the restaurant, I reserve the right to ditch out on the afternoon play date without being sent on a ’round-the-world guilt trip.”

“Pinky swear,” Lilah said, holding up her hand with all the fingers curled into a fist except the littlest one.

Devon groaned. “We can’t spit in our palms and shake on it, like men?” But he was already holding out his pinky finger.

As they hooked fingers, Lilah said, “I’m not sure why exchanging bodily fluids should be considered a more binding form of promise. Also, I’m not a man.”

“There are so many possible responses to that, I don’t even know where to start. Maybe with the last part.” He pulled her closer by her pinky, that tenuous point of contact enough to set Lilah’s lungs on

“pant.”

“What? That I’m not a man?” Mercy, she sounded like her student actors at wrap parties after a play’s successful run, when they sucked down helium balloons and laughed themselves sick at each other’s breathy, high-pitched voices.

“Exactly,” Devon purred. “I had, in fact, noticed that very thing about you.” He no longer seemed even slightly tipsy; his eyes were clear and focused. Desire had darkened them to the color of the Blue Ridge Mountains at dusk, and Lilah thought she’d never seen anything so alluring, not even the mountains themselves.

Even though she knew it was coming, was waiting and hoping and wishing for it, the first touch of his mouth on hers sent a shock through her system. Lilah squeaked, her eyes darting automatically to the rearview mirror.

Paolo was studiously avoiding checking his blind spots, Lilah saw. She sure hoped the Park Avenue traffic continued to be slow and steady.

And in the next instant, she ceased to care, because Devon’s lips parted, nipping and sucking at hers until she gave in and opened her mouth with a moan. He slipped inside, quick and easy, and when his tongue stroked along the sensitive roof of her mouth, Lilah wouldn’t have cared if they were suddenly transported to a crowd of tourists in the middle of Times Square. She probably wouldn’t have noticed if the car swerved around a taxi and flipped end over end.

She forgot everything but Devon. She forgot her name. She forgot to breathe.

Luckily, the car’s engine shut off in time to keep her from passing out. Lilah broke the kiss like she was breaking the surface of the lake after being held under by one of her rambunctious boy cousins.

Gasping for breath and looking around for familiar landmarks, she saw that they were in the underground garage below Devon’s apartment building.

Paolo got out of the car and came to stand by her door. Evidently trained in discretion, he didn’t open the door immediately, but stood by, ready and waiting, his back ramrod straight and hands at his sides.

Lilah was impressed.

And grateful. She needed a second to compose herself. Half a minute more, and she’d have been swooning in Devon’s arms like a character out of Gone with the Wind. Melanie, not Scarlett, and what girl wanted to be Melanie? Not only insipid in her own right, but to have to end up with boring Ashley?

Ugh.

Aware that she was hiding in literature to calm herself down, a tried-and-true Lolly technique, Lilah forced herself to meet Devon’s eyes.

He looked amused, as if he’d been in on her mental book club discussion. Or maybe it was just his default expression.

“Everything okay over there?” Devon’s tone was gentle, soft. Lilah had no idea if he was serious or if he was mocking her.

Assuming it was the latter, Lilah lifted her chin and stared him down.

“You probably think I’m going to freak out,” she said, “but I’m not.” So there.

“Thought never crossed my mind,” Devon said, all chivalry. “Shall we?” That twinkle in his eyes made him look like a cheerful sex demon. He had the seductive smile going, too. Lilah thought about shocking the heck out of him by pushing him back against the opposite door and ravishing his mouth, but that could so easily backfire. Chances were better than average that rather than reacting with shock, he’d ravish her right back and they’d end by steaming up the windows of his limo with the driver standing right outside.

They said good night to Paolo and made it to the elevator without mauling each other.

Lilah made sure to keep a foot of space between them in the elevator. She might be intent on busting out of her Lolly shell, but that didn’t mean she was ready to put on a public show for any of Devon’s neighbors who might have a yen to take the elevator, or for the doorman keeping watch over the security cameras.

Lilah wanted adventure and excitement; she did not want to star in anyone’s homemade Girls Gone Wild video.

Not that she didn’t feel a little on the wild side, she mused, casting a sideways glance at the Greek god to her left. The Greek god who, for some unfathomable reason, was interested in plain Lilah Jane from the middle of Hicksville. Lilah tried not to contemplate the eventual fate of most of the mortal women who’d tangled, however briefly and deliciously, with the gods of Greek mythology.

She was determined not to count the cost before she’d even had the joy. She’d lived her whole life like that, always doing the right thing, making the safe choice, trying to make her family proud and not be a burden—and what had it gotten her?

Not a fraction of the happiness she’d found in Devon’s arms, that was for sure.

The elevator chimed—even the ding to let them know they were at Devon’s private floor was elegant—and the door slid open.

“Good evening, Mr. Sparks.” The quiet voice of Daniel Tan, Devon’s assistant, broke Lilah out of her momentary fantasy of falling on Devon and taking him by storm the instant they were inside the apartment.

A flash of guilt assailed her. Right, the assistant. There to babysit Tucker. How could she have forgotten?

“I’m going to go check on Tucker,” she said. “Is he in bed?”

“All tucked in and sound asleep, last time I poked my head in,” the young Asian-American man assured her.

“Thanks, Daniel,” Devon said. “I appreciate you doing this on short notice.”

“Anything for you, Mr. S, you know that. Listen, a quick thing about tomorrow’s calendar. Simon keeps calling, and I wasn’t sure how you wanted me to handle him . . .” Lilah left Devon negotiating his schedule and headed down the hall to Tucker’s room. There she found Tucker sound asleep, looking tiny in the full-size bed. He slept on his stomach with one hand fisted by his face, the other buried under his pillow. His dark sable hair, so like Devon’s, was a mass of tufts and spikes against the white cotton pillows.

A warm, solid presence at her back made Lilah smile.

“Is he asleep?” Devon’s voice was hushed, almost awed, like a man talking during a hymn in church.

She murmured an assent and gave him a moment to take in the peaceful sight of his son slumbering away before she closed the door softly.

The living room appeared to be empty. Lilah glanced around and said, “That Daniel seems like a real nice boy. Did you send him on home?”

Devon nodded, his eyes kindling. “It’s just you and me.”

A shiver of delight raced through Lilah. She felt bold and fearless, but at the same time so full of nervy anticipation it was like her belly had been hollowed out to make room for a colony of junebugs.

“I want to make one thing clear before we do this,” Lilah said, mouth dry. She turned to face him and forced herself to look him dead in the eye.

Devon cupped her cheek. His palm was rough in some places, soft in others, warm and strong all over.

Lilah wanted to push into it like a cat, but she had a topic to discuss, dang it!

“What’s that, Lilah Jane?”

Suppressing the shimmy of happiness her full name in his voice always caused, Lilah said, “I told you before. I’m not Jane Eyre—you’re not Rochester.”

“And thank God for that. Doesn’t he get caught in a fire caused by his psycho wife and go blind?” Lilah raised her brows. “Look at you, getting al literate. But that’s not what I mean.” She took a deep breath. “I meant I’m not going to fall madly in love with you if we h-have sex again.” Curses, how could she stumble over that last part? What a dweeb.

Devon didn’t seem to mind, though, if the amusement brightening his eyes to sky blue was any indication.

“Very reassuring,” he told her gravely. “Although if I were you, I wouldn’t make any promises I might not be able to keep.”

With that infuriating remark, Devon swooped his head down and took her mouth, stealing the indignant retort right off her lips.

Her irritation at his cocksure manner burned to ash in the fire of that kiss. Their tongues danced and stroked, stoking the flames higher. Devon’s hands were never still, sweeping down her sides and back up, knuckles grazing her jaw, her neck, fingers tightening in her hair.

Lilah gave it all up to him, throwing herself into the moment with the abandon she’d always dreamed of. It felt amazing, like flying, and suddenly greedy for more, she fisted her hands in his shirt and dragged him even closer. Their bodies aligned, Devon stooping and curving his body around hers to make the fit better, and then they were writhing against each other.

The friction of her own clothes was driving her crazier than Rochester’s wife. Lilah panted into Devon’s mouth, desperately wanting the clothes to just melt away like they did in books.

Her shirt stayed stubbornly in place, however, until she collected the presence of mind to let go of Devon in favor of wrestling with her own buttons. Tiny, fiddly little things, they didn’t want to come undone, and Lilah tugged at them, nearly sobbing against Devon’s kiss, frustrated beyond belief.