On the Steamy Side - Louisa Edwards [101]
“Feeling better?” she asked solicitously.
“I think it gets better every time, actually.”
She pinked up enough to match the hickey, but her expression was pleased. “There’s that silver tongue again. I can’t imagine how I ever thought I’d be able to live in your house, see you every day, and not succumb.”
“I’m pretty wonderful, it’s true,” Devon said. He frowned. “Let’s just hope the diners and critics tonight agree.”
“They will,” Lilah promised. “Everyone who eats your food tonight—they’re going to be able to tell how much of yourself you poured into it. And take it from someone who found out the hard way.”
She wrapped her arms around him and leaned up for one last, soft kiss.
“When you give yourself over to something, Devon Sparks, it’s beyond the scope of mortal man or woman to resist.”
Lilah fairly danced back upstairs and out to the front of the house. She collected Tucker along the way and hustled him into the booth Grant had reserved for them.
Everything looked perfect! Grant had truly outdone himself with the décor. He’d lined the back of every booth with beautiful, dainty rectangular planters growing velvety green grass. The visual effect was simple and elegant, with a playful edge that was perfect for the event.
He’d taken down the regular art from the walls, stowing the copper vine sconces in the pantry, and replaced them with the framed final projects from Tucker’s now-defunct art class.
That had been Lilah’s idea, and as she gazed around the walls at the amazing, colorful pieces created by a handful of fourth-graders, she knew she’d made the right call.
No one could look at these drawings, the talent and potential hanging all around them, and not be moved.
Hopefully, they’d be moved in the direction of their pocketbooks.
The dining room was filling up with eager guests, so many you couldn’t stir them with a stick, all dressed in what would’ve been, back home, their Sunday best. Here in New York, Grant said it was called “smart/casual.” Lilah was glad he’d talked her into buying this racy, purple number she was wearing. It was more fitted, and definitely lowercut in the front, than anything she’d ever owned before, but the way Devon had reacted when he saw it made Lilah sit up straight in her seat, the angle of her head high and confident.
Even if she felt like it was only being held up and over her chest with a lick and a promise, so long as this dress made Devon Sparks, womanizer extraordinaire, fall on her like a starving man on a dish of apple pie, Lilah could hold her own in any smart, casual crowd.
Her chest constricted as she remembered what he’d said about the way he saw her. Even more than his words, the memory of his open expression and the honesty in his eyes made her heart feel too big for her ribcage.
Or maybe that was the dress. It was a scoche tight across the bust.
The waiters circulated with trays of canapés while the arriving guests milled around the bar, ordering drinks and chatting. Some people found their tables and sat down while others mingled, but everywhere she looked, anticipation colored the air.
The moans and sighs of appreciation for the hors d’oeuvres probably helped twist that knot a little tighter, she mused with a grin.
Tucker, who’d been momentarily struck dumb by the glittering crowd of adults, suddenly found his voice as he gazed down at the amber glass charger in the center of his place setting.
“Hey,” he said. “There’s my drawing!”
The menus he’d designed were printed on lovely, heavy card stock about the size of a paperback book. Lilah and Devon had collaborated on the wording of the tasting menu, but the border was Tucker’s province. Lilah had to choke back a happy sob the first time she saw it.
Tucker’s inspiration was clearly their evening catching fireflies in Central Park. He’d done an ink sketch of intertwined leaves coiling around