On the Steamy Side (37 page)

But despite the accuracy of some of Jess’s arrows, Frankie still believed this was the right thing. For Jess. Who deserved more than Frankie could give him.

He clung to that like a drowning man and said, “Right. Tomorrow. I might be out.” The light in Jess’s eyes died, leaving them a dull, flat blue-gray, like wet newspaper.

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll leave the key under the mat.”

Frankie nodded, drinking in what felt like his last view of Jess. After this, everything would change. He could only hope the change would be for the better.

If lucky happenings and life-altering flukes were doled out according to what hurt the most, Frankie and Jess ought to be due for a major haul.

One month later . . .

“Do we really have to go see him?” Lilah asked, putting on her best pout. She was improving her feminine wiles through trial and error.

The amused look Devon sent her way said he was aware of the wiles and appreciated them, but wasn’t planning on falling for them this time. “I know he didn’t make the best first impression on you, Lilah Jane, but I promise he can help us.”

It was impossible to hang onto her ineffectual pout when thinking about what she and Devon were trying to do; the prospect made her too giddy for anything but a big, silly smile.

She worried, sometimes, that this much happiness must be imaginary. Maybe she was still dreaming, fantasizing her wonderful new life with her very own wickedly charming prince, living in a penthouse in the clouds.

“Are you sure about this?” she asked.

Devon looked down at her, and, in full view of the entire bustling lobby of this very shmancy office high-rise, grabbed Lilah around the waist and dipped her back for a breathtaking upside-down kiss.

“Very sure,” he whispered against her laughing mouth, and kissed her again, the bold strokes of his tongue making heat roar to life in Lilah’s belly.

A pair of expensive loafers clicked across the marble floor toward them. “Such a spectacle. Did I not teach you anything, Dev?”

The mocking tenor sent a different kind of heat spreading up Lilah’s chest and neck. She pushed at Devon’s shoulders until he pulled her back to vertical and let her go with one last nipping bite.

Turning unhurriedly to face Simon Woolf, publicist to the stars, Devon said, “Thanks for meeting with us on such short notice.”

Simon’s eyes gleamed. “Hey, there’s always room in my schedule for my biggest client, you know that.

And for you, too, Ms. Tunkle, of course. Shall we go up to my office?”

“Let’s take a walk instead,” Devon suggested. They’d discussed it ahead of time; Lilah thought Simon was more likely to cave to their request—and less likely to fuss over the bad news they were breaking—if they got him off his familiar turf. “It’s nearly lunchtime; I saw a halal cart on the far corner that has a line around the block.”

“Yeah, that guy’s awesome,” Simon said. “Sure, I could go for some shwarma.” Lilah slipped her hand into Devon’s as they headed back out into the crisp fall air. While Devon and Simon caught up on inconsequential chitchat, Lilah let the hustle and bustle of Sixth Avenue swirl around her in a kaleidoscope of businessmen with briefcases, grand dames in furs, and perky Upper East Side nannies in aggressively matching track suits.

Recalling her own nanny days made her smile. Maybe she should buy one of those pink hoodie sweatshirts and a pair of pants with something inappropriate written across the seat. Devon would probably get a kick out of that.

She grinned and tuned back into the conversation when they hit the end of the line for the Middle Eastern food vendor.

Devon was saying, “I don’t think I ever thanked you for your help with the Center for Arts Education fundraiser. And not just the dinner itself, but the surprise floor show afterward.”

“That’s my job,” Simon said, puffing out his chest. “The only thanks I need is my hourly retainer. Ha ha!”

Jackass, thought Lilah.

Still, she felt sorry for him, since she knew what was coming next.

“Well, I’m about to give you a whole new way to earn that hefty retainer, Si,” Devon said. Lilah squeezed his hand and he met her gaze calmly, his eyes deep, still pools of blue.

Lilah got the dreamy weightless feeling of happiness again. “Go for it,” she said.

“Go for what? Dev?” Simon sounded nervous.

Devon grinned and turned back to the publicist. “I’m quitting One-Night Stand.”

“What?” Simon’s squawk startled a nearby flock of pigeons pecking around for scraps of pita into flight.

The people ahead of them in line, however, didn’t even turn to see what the commotion was. Lord, Lilah loved New York.

“You can’t mean it. Dev, think about what you’re saying. That show made you famous!”

“That show made him miserable,” Lilah said. “He’s not really into being miserable anymore.”

“I’m making some changes in my life,” Devon agreed. “Starting with the show. Breathe, Si. It’s going to be okay.”

“Yes, don’t worry. Your retainer is secure.” Snide, maybe, but Lilah couldn’t quite feel guilty about it.

“I need to sit down,” Simon moaned.

“Buck up,” Lilah told him. “There’s more.”

“More?” He gulped.

“Lilah and I are starting a new project, and we need your help. No one creates buzz like you, Si.” Shooting Devon a raised eyebrow that communicated exactly what she thought of his blatant flattery, Lilah said, “Yes. We need buzz. And you don’t want to lose your star client. Everybody wins!”

“Wait a minute.” Simon’s expression sharpened. “What, exactly, is this new project? It’s not illegal, right? Because that costs extra.”

Devon lit up like he always did when he talked about their brainchild, and Lilah lost her heart all over again.

“It’s not illegal, you scumbag. We’re founding the Sparks Culinary Classroom,” he said. “A cooking school for kids. We want to work with the New York City public schools, offer courses for free to their students to help fill the gaps in extracurriculars caused by lack of funding.”

“Kids, huh?” Simon wasn’t impressed. “That sounds . . . nice, I guess. Not very sexy. Might be tough to rebrand you as an upright, concerned citizen, if you know what I mean.”

“That’s why we’re here,” Lilah said. She got a grip on her gag reflex and continued, “We needed the best, so of course we came to you.”

Devon rubbed between her shoulder blades consolingly. He knew what that cost her. She was only able to spit it out because it was true—they needed public perception of Devon Sparks to switch from foul-mouthed celebrity hothead to patient teacher and caring father, or no school would take a chance on partnering with their fledgling program.

As Tucker and Devon worked on strengthening the bond Lilah liked to think she’d helped foster, they naturally gravitated to the kitchen. Maybe it was genetic, maybe it was his innate artistic ability, or maybe it was the simple desire to do well at something his father loved, but Tucker got a genuine thrill out of cooking.

Even more interestingly, Devon loved teaching him. Lilah, who found she missed the atmosphere of the classroom more than she would’ve believed, finally asked Devon what was stopping them from setting up their own little culinary academy.

It was perfect. Devon had plenty of time and reason to play in the kitchen exploring his newfound soulful cooking style. And Lilah got to use her education experience designing a curriculum and reaching out to local schools.

“It’ll be a challenge,” Simon mused. “Your brand isn’t exactly the most kid-friendly. And there’s the backlash from dropping One-Night Stand to consider, although maybe I can work that . . . Okay, I’ll do it.”

“I never doubted you for a second,” Devon said.

Lilah never doubted Simon’s ability to spot a golden opportunity when he saw one, but she kept her mouth shut.

“Listen, I need to run back to the office and start making calls,” Simon said. “Rain check on the shwarma? You’re gorgeous, both of you, this is going to be great.” And he was gone in a swirl of heavy-handed cologne, pulling his PDA out of his pocket as he walked.

“That went well,” Devon said. “You want to go home? We can make our own falafel.”

“Sounds great,” Lilah said without having the faintest idea what falafel might consist of. She was pretty certain between the two of them, they’d make it delicious.

Paolo rounded the rear bumper of the town car in time to open Lilah’s door for her. She wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to having a chauffeur, but she was sure as heck going to try.

“How are you feeling?” she asked as they settled back into the plush leather seats. “Now that it’s al official, I mean.”

Devon took a moment to think it over. “Fantastic,” he decided. “Like the future is a big, empty pot just waiting for me to fill it up with all the things I love best.”

“Hmm,” Lilah said, relief making her bounce a little. “You mean like collards and bacon?”

“I meant more like you and Tucker,” Devon said. “Maybe a stock pot wasn’t the best metaphor.”

“I don’t know. Nothing says ‘love’ like cannibalism.”

Devon laughed. “Hey, speaking of food, Connor’s coming over tomorrow night. Tucker promised to cook him the famous cheddar date rolls. Is that okay with you?”

“Of course it’s okay,” Lilah said, her heart full. “I always like having Connor over—he’s great with Tucker, and he helps with the dishes. He’s the perfect dinner guest.”

“I’m glad we started talking again,” Devon said. “I mean, it sucks that it took me thinking my kid was in mortal peril to make me call him, but hey. That’s my family.” His mouth twisted, and Lilah knew he was thinking about his parents. He hadn’t spoken to his father since that awful night, although he’d talked to his mom a couple of times. She wanted to meet Tucker, and Lilah was doing her best to subtly nudge Devon in that direction. She had faith that Angela Sparks would be making an unprecedented trip into the city alone sometime soon. A woman would brave a lot to get to meet her only grandson.

Heck, if they hadn’t already promised to bring Tucker down to the farm for Thanksgiving, Lilah knew her aunt would already be camped out in the penthouse.

They planned to follow the regular school year with the Sparks Culinary Classroom, offering classes after school and on weekends, and shutting down during the summers. That was at Tucker’s request—

after hearing countless stories about the pretty Virginia valley where Lilah grew up, he wanted to see it. They planned to spend most of the summer down South; Lilah couldn’t wait to toss her little city boy in the swimming hole and see him riding a tractor with her Uncle Roy and gathering eggs from the hen house with Aunt Bertie.

Lilah even harbored a secret hope that she could convince Heather to come down to Spotswood County with them. Heather was doing well with her recovery and all, but still, the country air and simple living would do her a world of good.

“Uh-oh,” Devon said. “I know that face.”

Lilah widened her eyes. “What face?”

“That’s your Making Plans face,” Devon said accusingly. “You are at this very moment concocting a scheme to interfere in some poor, unsuspecting bastard’s life. Who’s getting the Lilah Jane treatment this time?”

Rats. He knew her too well. “Heather,” she admitted. “I want her to come down to Virginia next summer. Think how happy Tucker would be to have us all together!”

“You’re unbelievable,” Devon said.

Lilah peered at him. She didn’t think he was complaining; there wasn’t usually any doubt about it when Devon threw a hissy.

“I’m not unbelievable, I’m practical,” Lilah said. “And I happen to have excellent instincts about how to improve the lives of those around me.”

“What you have,” Devon said, voice soft, “is an unparalleled capacity for love. I’m awed by your ability to give it, show it . . .”

“Make it,” Lilah interjected, pleased and embarrassed at the same time.

“Mmm. That, too.”

Devon leaned his head back against the seat, his gaze steady and open on her face.

“I love you so damn much,” he said, his voice low and full of feeling. “Will you marry me?” They both froze.

Lilah’s lungs stopped working, like her brain was diverting all power to figuring out what she should say. What would the old Lolly do, she wondered frantically. Obviously, Lolly would jump on it—in the back of her mind, she’d been worrying about the two of them showing up on Aunt Bertie’s doorstep at Thanksgiving not engaged. But on the other hand, wasn’t it much more of a new Lilah-type adventure to agree to marry a man she’d only known for six weeks?

“I’m sorry. Shit! I didn’t mean to blurt it out like that,” Devon said, sitting up straight. “I don’t even have the ring with me! Crap, what kind of proposal was that? I suck at this.” The distress on Devon’s handsome face somehow, paradoxically, drained all the distress right out of Lilah. The thought crystallized in her mind as if it had always been there: she didn’t have to choose between Lolly and Lilah—they were both a part of her. She could just be herself and stop worrying about it.

And in this case, the response to Devon’s question was unanimous, anyway.

“Yes,” she said, too softly.

Devon paused while running his hands through his hair, leaving it sticking straight up. “What?”

“I said yes, I’ll marry you,” Lilah said more strongly. “I don’t care about the ring, or the fantasy proposal of you down on one knee, or whatever you’re thinking you should’ve done. I just . . . I don’t care about that stuff. All I care about is you, and the life we can have together.” His face actually crumpled a little, his chest heaving with strong emotion, and Lilah pushed through her own surging feelings to give him a tremulous smile.

“You know,” she told him, “you’re not half bad at showing the people you love how you feel.”

“No?” His voice cracked a bit, and love overflowed her heart.

“No! You’re improving by leaps and bounds,” she said encouragingly. “You’re really starting to move past that grumpy, bitter, emotionally stunted half-man you were when I met you.” Devon shouted a laugh and made a grab for her. Out of the corner of her eye, Lilah caught Paolo’s smile in the rearview mirror as he hit the button to make the tinted privacy shield slide into place.