On the Steamy Side - Louisa Edwards [105]
“That’s my man,” Devon said, face flushed and arms full of booze. “I love quail, too.”
“Give me some of those to carry,” Lilah said, leaning up to peck a soft kiss on Devon’s warm, stubbled cheek. Close enough to his ear for a whisper, so she breathed “You were phenomenal. Prepare to be surprised until you can’t stand up once we get home.”
“Yowza,” Devon said, gaze going liquid silver. “You’re making me wish I hadn’t promised the crew we’d celebrate tonight.”
“Uh, guys?” Tucker’s impatient voice dissipated the cloud of lust threatening to choke Lilah’s good sense. “These bottles are cold. And we’re standing in a big fridge. Can we get out of here?”
“You bet, sugar bear.” Lilah took a hurried step away from Devon’s too-tempting body and juggled her own chilly bottles. “Go on and head back out, we’ll be right behind you.”
Tucker went, rolling his eyes and making gagging noises the whole way.
Devon’s smile was naughty enough to make Lucifer blush. “I get the feeling he knows we stayed in here for a reason.”
“Enough banter,” Lilah said. “If you’re going to kiss me, make it snappy. I can see my breath. And blue is not a great color on your mmph . . .”
Devon cut her off with a long, hot kiss that opened her up and delved right into the heart of her. Every stroke of his tongue seemed to core her out and leave her breathless, without will or volition or the sense to pull away, even when the condensation from pressing cold glass bottles between their warm bodies dampened the front of her dress and turned her nipples to ice picks.
When he finally lifted his head, Lilah blinked. “Why are you stopping?”
“I thought you were cold,” he teased.
“Not anymore. But I suppose we’d better get out there before Tucker sends a search party in after us.”
They made it out of the walk-in cooler before Frankie and the other chefs started beating on the door, but only just, if the smirks and smiles on the faces around her were anything to go by.
She looked at Devon, who grinned at her, completely unrepentant and unashamed, and Lilah decided, why be embarrassed? So she jumped him in the freezer! There were legions of women out there who watched Devon’s show and would agree that he was eminently jumpable.
The champagne bottles clanged as she set them down on one of the stainless-steel counters. It was the same counter she’d tumbled off of and into Devon’s arms that day after their first night together.
A one-night stand that turned into so much more, she thought, shivering a little at how far they’d come since then.
“Listen up, chefs,” Devon said. “I’ve got to go out front and glad-hand the potential donors a little; I promised the Center for Arts Education lady I would. But before I go, I wanted to pop some wine open and raise a toast.”
With one deft twist, he ripped the foil cap off the bottle in his hand and eased the cork from the neck. He didn’t shake it up or make it spew everywhere; Lilah knew it was a combination of personal fastidiousness in not wanting to be covered in sticky, drying wine, and a reluctance to waste what looked to be a very nice vintage Veuve Clicquot. The fact that she knew that about Devon made her feel kind of squishy inside, as bubbly as the champagne he poured into a water glass.
Raising the glass, Devon looked around the kitchen to include everyone in his toast. “It was a fantastic night,” he said. “You pulled together and rocked it like Springsteen at Madison Square Garden.”
“Nah, like the Ramones,” Frankie shouted, red-faced and sweaty from standing over the grill.
“The Pixies,” Violet, the pastry chef, countered.
“No, no. Sinatra,” Milo argued. Then he licked his lips and said, “I’m talking Nancy Sinatra. Those go-go boots. Rowr!”
Everybody laughed, including Devon. “Okay, okay, simmer down,” he said. “Just let me get through this before the champagne goes flat and I swear I’ll be out of your hair for good.”
He cleared his throat. “You’ve probably all seen my show. The part after the credits where I say . . .”
“Anything you can do, I can