On the Steamy Side

by Louisa Edwards

  “Maybe it’s a tangent, maybe not,” Jess said. Christ, Frankie hated it when he got cryptic. Bloody Americans, brought up on Yoda. “I wanted to talk about what happened after the show tonight, when we hung out with Wes.”

  Bugger. No power on earth was going to keep Frankie from tensing up in an obvious and easily detectable way at the mention of Wonder Wes. In the Garret, no less! In their nest!

  Frankie did not like it.

  Abruptly needing to be not quite so well cuddled, Frankie rolled away from Jess and got to his feet. He camouflaged the strategic retreat with a hunt for the pack of Dunhill’s wedged into his back pocket.

  Frankie lit up and took a deep, bracing drag before saying, “Yeah? What about it?”

  Jess hadn’t moved, apparently unfazed by Frankie’s defection from the nest. “You were charming. You made us laugh. Wes thinks you’re the king of awesome.”

  “So where’s the bad?” He didn’t mean to come over all truculent, but there it was.

  Jess leveled him with a look. “You hated every second of it. What I want to know is why.”

  The Bit was going to keep pushing, Frankie could see that. “Wes is a wanker. Stuck-up little tosspot thinks he knows better than everyone in the kitchen.” He paused, weighed his words, and decided fuck it. “An’ I don’t fancy the way he looks at you.”

  That brought Jess up onto his elbows, eyes flashing. “I thought it was going to be some load of crap like that.”

  “Crap?” Frankie was honestly offended. Here he was, sharing his innermost thoughts and feelings, and Jess called it shite? He stuffed down the voice that reminded him he was absolutely skimming over the real issue.

  “Yes, crap,” Jess retorted. “First of all, anyone who’s seen the way I look at you knows I can’t see anyone but you. And secondly, Wes is completely hung up on this chemistry professor of his back at the Academy. Who happens to be a woman, thank you very much. And anyway, jealousy over Wes is not what’s got you so ticked.”

  Frankie pulled a mouthful of burning smoke into his lungs and held it there until his eyes watered. “Tell me, then, if you’re so clever. What am I on about?”

  Jess appeared to make an effort to collect himself. “I don’t know. That’s what this conversation is about.” He smiled, but it was more of a grimacing twist of his lips. “You’ll be happy to hear you’re as much of an enigma to me as ever. Being in love with you hasn’t suddenly rendered me capable of peering directly into your head to see what’s going on.”

  That actually was quite comforting. “So you admit you can’t tell for sure. Because I am jealous, Bit. Chartreuse with it. Fucking Wes.”

  “Oh, I believe you don’t like Wes,” Jess said. “I also believe there’s more going on here than only that. Because I refuse to believe that after everything we’ve been through—everything I went through just to be with you—that you wouldn’t trust me.”

  Direct hit. Game over, and Frankie knew it. When Jess’s voice got small and quiet like that, Frankie’s battleship was good and sunk because it meant he’d succeeded in actually hurting Jess.

  Unacceptable.

  Stubbing out the cig in the chipped china plate reserved for that purpose, Frankie tugged his shirt off and dove back into the nest on top of Jess. He wanted to be skin to skin, needed the connection like never before.

  “I do trust you, Bit. It’s him I don’t trust.”

  It’s me I don’t trust.

  Generous soul that he was, Jess immediately took Frankie’s weight and melted warmly into him, arms and heart open in the way that made Frankie desperate to shield Jess from the harsh realities of the world.

  But his Jess was no fragile flower in need of protection. “It’s still crap,” Jess said, crooned, really, into Frankie’s ear. Frankie shivered, not sure if it was a reaction to Jess’s heated breath on his temple or the fact that Jess knew him so well. “But it’s okay. You’re not ready to talk about it yet. I get it. But Frankie?”

  “Yeah, luv?” Hoarse, damn it, he sounded like he’d smoked the whole blasted pack of cigs instead of half of one.

  Jess got one hand on Frankie’s chin and turned his face so they were forehead to forehead, close enough that Frankie could only focus on one bright blue orb without going cross-eyed.

  “You should know. I’m not going to let you keep me at arms’ length forever,” Jess said.

  The calm promise in his voice sent another shudder through Frankie, that old, familiar mixture of dizzy elation at how much Jess loved him—and terror at the thought of how much that love could cost them both.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Anticipation warred with amusement in Lilah’s mind. Devon, it transpired, was a particularly affable drunk—cuddly without being handsy, chatty without babbling incessantly.

  Although that might be because he wasn’t nearly as intoxicated as Christian had made out. Either that or the drive uptown was sobering him up, because there were moments when Lilah could clearly see lucidity in Devon’s hooded gaze.

  Hence the anticipation. Because something was happening between them, building with every brush of hand on arm and every shared glance.

  Lilah shifted on the smooth leather seat and caught Paolo’s eye in the rearview mirror. She’d asked him to drop her at Chapel and go on home, intending to take a cab back to Devon’s, but Paolo refused to hear of it. He’d told her in no uncertain terms that his standing orders were to drive her where she needed to go and wait for her, so wait he would. Lilah had to admit she was glad of it; when she and Devon had reeled out of the bar and up to the car, it had been nice to have help maneuvering Devon into the backseat without bashing him in the head or rolling him in the gutter.

  Now, though, Paolo was a constant, silent presence in the front of the car while Devon lolled indolently across the spacious backseat, taking up a considerable amount of room. Lilah couldn’t quite pretend, even to herself, that she minded the way he listed against her, his hard, sculpted body a solid line of warm muscle sliding against her.

  Devon tipped his head back to rest on the seat, his eyes closed. Lilah studied his profile in the light of the passing traffic. He looked peaceful, more serene than he ever seemed when his eyes were open and shooting bolts of energy and charisma every which way. And the lines of his face … sweet, fancy Moses.

  One of the first things Lilah had done when she moved to Manhattan was to shell out for membership at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The place was too big, too comprehensive, to ever be truly seen and appreciated in a single visit.

  With that member card in her hot little hand, Lilah felt free to wander one hall at a time, spend half an hour gazing at Tiffany glass or medieval tapestries and leave the rest for another day.

  Looking at Devon in repose now, all Lilah could think about were the marble statues in the Greek and Roman hallway. He embodied the classical ideal of male perfection in a way that was truly unfair, and more than a little intimidating.

  Lilah traced with her eyes the broad, straight forehead, the sloping nose, the strong chin, the high cheekbones. He could almost be too handsome, verging on the beautiful androgyny favored by the Greek masters, but there was a sharpness to the lines of his face that rendered them indisputably masculine.

  And then there was his mouth.

  Hellfire and damnation, but Devon Sparks had a mouth shaped to tempt a woman to sin.

  Lilah reached a stealthy hand to the rear-controlled air vents. Surely there was a higher setting they could be on.

  In a display of the sort of awareness of his surroundings that made Lilah think Devon was sobering right up, he opened his eyes at the exact moment she started fumbling with the A/C.

  “Feeling a tad overheated?” he said in a lazy, bourbon-soaked voice. His eyes, though, were intent and hot as a touch on her skin.

  Lilah snatched her hand back from the vent. “I’m fine. How much longer till we get home?”

  Devon’s eyes darkened to molten silver, something like satisfac
tion flickering through his expression, but all he said was, “I think we’re almost there. Right, Paolo?”

  “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 D
evon’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?