On the Steamy Side - Louisa Edwards [31]
“Or kitchen bitch,” Frankie, the devil-horned sous chef, put in. Violet shrieked with laughter.
“Shut the fuck up, Vi,” Wes protested, red staining the tips of his ears.
“What’s the ACA?” Lilah asked, more to defuse the rising tension than anything else, although she was definitely curious.
“Academy of Culinary Arts,” Grant explained. “ACA students are required to spend time in a professional kitchen as part of their graduation requirements.”
“That sounds interesting,” Lilah said, struggling not to look around for a bar of soap to clean all their mouths out with.
Wes made a face. “Sure. If you enjoy spending your days dicing onions, shucking oysters, making stock—all the kitchen shit work.”
“Surely once you put in your time learning the basics, the chef will promote you and let you learn the different stations,” Lilah said. It was only reasonable. “After all, you’re here for your education.”
“Hear that, everybody?” Wes crowed. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you! This woman is my goddess.” He pulled Lilah up onto the stool next to his.
Grant shook his head. “I don’t know why you ever worry about a thing, Lilah, when you have the gift of making people fall in love with you at first sight.”
“Hush your mouth,” Lilah said, feeling heat surge back up her neck and into her face. “Now you’re trying to embarrass me so I’ll forget to be nervous.”
“Right,” drawled a voice from directly behind Lilah. “From what I saw before, it would take an act of God to embarrass you.”
Lilah stiffened, recognizing the lazy tones of Devon Sparks. She could practically hear his smug smile in the way he drew out the word “Right.”
Spinning on the stool, Lilah titled her chin up and looked him square in the eye. “A true gentleman would gloss over . . . the way we met and allow us to start fresh.”
She’d been right about the smile, although as she stared into his TV-perfect face—cheekbones like knife blades, and that barely-there cleft in his chin, Lord have mercy—the smile slipped from smug into something darker. Hotter. Lilah shivered without meaning to, and Devon’s eyes sharpened at the visible tremor.
He leaned in, too close for propriety, too close for comfort, too close for Lilah to draw a deep breath without smelling the faint traces of his no-doubt pricey cologne—and under that, something else, something real and tantalizing. Lilah struggled to breathe normally, minutely aware that every person in the room was watching, but it was impossible to remain completely unaffected.
This man was inside me last night, she thought, and felt her heart kick over the traces and head into a full gallop.
And then his warm breath caressed her cheek and she couldn’t help it. Her eyelashes fluttered closed.
“You’ve never seen my show, have you?” Devon asked, his voice soft and almost gloating. “If you had, you’d know better than to expect gentlemanly behavior from me.”
Lilah’s eyes popped open. She sat up straight, craning her neck back to catch Devon’s eye.
“Is that supposed to be a come-on? That Oh, watch out for me, ’cause I’m so bad thing? Because I have to tell you, you’re barking up the wrong busgirl. I used to teach high school, sugar, I know all about bad boys. And I’ve had enough of them to last me a lifetime.”
Frankie whistled under his breath, the loud sound in the sudden silence reminding Lilah of their avid audience.
Devon stepped back smoothly. He did everything smoothly, Lilah noticed. As if he were perpetually aware of being watched. She couldn’t help but contrast today’s slick act with last night’s more genuine-seeming responses. Which one was the real Devon Sparks?
She caught something, a tension around his mouth that told her she’d surprised him. The thought warmed her all the way through.
“It wasn’t a come-on,” Devon clarified. “It was more of a . . . friendly warning. I don’t date employees—which you’ll be, if Adam ever actually leaves and lets me get to work!”
“Family meal first,