On the Steamy Side - Louisa Edwards [44]
Now what to do about Tucker. Devon pitied the kid—it sucked ass to be stuck with a father who had no idea how to be a parent. His own dad spent the first eighteen years of Devon’s life screwing him up royally; the last thing Devon wanted was to inflict the same fate on someone else. It would probably be better for everyone if Devon just stayed out of Tucker’s way, kept the contact to a minimum. And it was only for a month, he reminded himself. That was good. Talented as he was, there had to be a limit to the amount of damage Devon could inflict in four weeks.
He stepped into the cramped, poorly lit stairwell and paused. Now that service was over and the constant clang and clatter of pans and dishes had ceased, Devon could savor the silence. Not to mention the all-too-rare moment spent unobserved, skulking on the stairs. He let his shoulders slump, only for a second, but the instant’s release from the tension of keeping up his super-chef façade was nearly orgasmic.
Pure, thick, blessed quiet enveloped him for all of ten seconds before he registered a faint but frantic voice calling, “Tucker? Tucker!”
Any peace Devon had achieved in the wake of service shattered like an etched crystal goblet.
He hurried down the stairs toward Lilah’s increasingly panicked voice.
“Tucker, so help me, this isn’t funny anymore. Quit hiding this instant and come here!”
Fear gripped Devon’s stomach in an iron fist. He broke into a run and nearly collided with Lilah. He held her plastered against him for a beat, trying to find his equilibrium. Her eyes were wide and silvery green in the darkness, her breath coming in short pants that pushed her chest against his. Devon endeavored not to notice the softness of her breasts or the way her hair had escaped from its severe bun and spiraled in corkscrew curls around her pale face.
“What the fuck have you done with my son?” he asked with what he considered to be admirable calm.
Lilah scowled and wrenched out of his arms. “Tucker is perfectly fine,” she stated. “We’ve been playing hide-and-seek and he doesn’t seem to know when to quit, that’s all.” Shoving her hair distractedly behind her ears, Lilah raised her voice to a shout. “Tucker, come on! Your dad’s here now, and he’s ready to take you home!”
Somewhat mollified by Lilah’s assurance that Tucker was merely hiding, not kidnapped or something as Devon’s paranoid brain had instantly assumed, Devon stuck his hands in the pockets of his jeans and wandered after Lilah as she combed the locker room, office, and staff bathroom.
No Tucker.
“I have to say, Lilah Jane, you certainly know how to impress a prospective employer. Has he been hiding this whole time?”
He could practically see the steam shooting from her ears as she held in a snappy response. Devon wished she’d just let it fly.
Huh. It had been years since he’d tolerated backtalk of any kind. But there was something invigorating about sparring verbally with Lilah.
Not to mention distracting. Devon was self-aware enough to recognize that on some level, he was trying to provoke a fight with Lilah to keep from having to confront the rising tide of nauseating fear that his son was missing not two hours after being given into Devon’s care for the first time.
“Of course not. I don’t have much nannying experience, Mr. Sparks,” Lilah said through gritted teeth. “But I’ve been around a lot of kids and I’ve never lost one yet. I’m sure he’s gone upstairs and we’ll find him in the dining room.”
But Tucker wasn’t in the dining room, nor was he in the kitchen, the pantry, the walk-in cooler, or behind the bar.
“Son of a bitch,” Devon swore, knocking a barstool sideways. It skidded across the polished wood floor with an ugly noise, and Lilah flinched.
“Stop it,” she hissed at him. “You think he’s going to come out with you cussing and knocking the furniture to pieces?”
“Come out of where?” Devon demanded, pulling his iPhone from his back pocket. “The kid’s gone. We have