On the Steamy Side - Louisa Edwards [46]
Because his father could barely even call him by name, much less take an active role in his life.
Lilah still didn’t know all the specifics—although she’d be darned sure she got the scoop from Grant—but she knew enough from her own personal observations to hope like heck that Tucker’s mother was a steady, loving presence in Tucker’s life. That DWI and rehab business didn’t give Lilah tons of hope, but she was prepared to reserve judgment on Heather Sorensen.
On Devon? Not so much.
The man was pacing by the front door, watching out for his car and driver to arrive. He hadn’t so much as spoken to Tucker when they found him.
“So what’s going to happen when your big, fancy car gets here?”
Devon turned and fixed her with an emotionless stare. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” she hissed, jabbing a finger in Tucker’s direction, “are you ready to take him on all by yourself? Since you haven’t even looked at him in the last fifteen minutes, I thought I should check.”
“Why should I look at him? I’ve hired you to do that for me. Which answers your other question. When the car gets here, we’re all getting in it, going to my apartment, and going to bed.”
Lilah felt flames leaping up the sides of her face. “Oh, no. You hired me to take care of Tucker—my fee does not include taking care of you, too.”
She resolutely ignored the memory of his skin against hers, wet and hot from that sinful shower.
Devon’s eyes shuttered, making them at once mysterious and seductive. “I assume you’re objecting to the notion that I expect you to ‘take care’ of me in the sack. I assure you, that’s not the case. You’ll have your pick of guest bedrooms for the duration of your stay.”
Lilah struggled with that for a moment. On the surface, there was nothing wrong with what Devon was proposing. A live-in nanny, that was a thing, right? And it made sense for their situation, because of the late hours Devon would be putting in at Market. Lilah didn’t really want to be trekking all the way down to Grant’s Chelsea apartment after midnight every night, anyway.
But some innate, feminine sense of caution warned Lilah against putting herself in close proximity to Devon Sparks for any length of time.
That innate sense was proved right when Devon left his post by the door. Perched on her stool, Lilah fought down the tremor that wanted to take her limbs when Devon prowled closer and closer.
He stalked her down until his broad-shouldered, lean-hipped body warmed the air that touched Lilah’s skin. Staring up into his unbelievably gorgeous face, Lilah tried hard to hold onto the anger she still felt over Devon’s handling of his son.
“I don’t know if I want to live with a man who can’t manage to teach his son basic manners like not running off and worrying people sick,” Lilah said breathlessly.
Devon’s eyes flashed with need. “I haven’t had much of a chance to teach the kid anything,” he said, his voice heated and raspy in the silent restaurant. “And I’m not sure I’d be very good at giving lessons in manners. I could probably use a refresher course myself.”
“That’s true enough,” Lilah said, sucking in air when Devon’s hand came up to rest lightly, delicately, on her shoulder. The one point of contact burned like a lightning strike.
“If you come to stay with us,” Devon said, sliding the hand down her arm to circle her elbow briefly before continuing its path to clasp her hand, “you can boss us both around to your heart’s content.”
Their fingers interlaced, palm to palm, and for some reason, the simple hold made tears spring to Lilah’s eyes. It had to be the lingering effects of an emotional day, she reasoned, trying to get her mental engine to turn over.
Clearing her throat, Lilah disentangled her fingers. “That, Mr. Sparks, is an offer I can’t refuse. But just so we’re clear. I am not Jane Eyre. And you’re for darn sure not Mr. Rochester.”
His lips quirked. “I’m not sure I follow.”
“I’m not going