On the Steamy Side - Louisa Edwards [52]
Far from the tacky ribbon-and-lace confection she’d been dreading, her body was swathed in a pair of blue cotton pj’s straight out of Devon’s own closet. The cotton had the thin softness that only came from repeated wear. The drawstring pants were tight around her hips and too big everywhere else, making her picture them draping Devon’s lean waist and long legs. There was something warm and comforting about wearing clothes that belonged to him.
The issue was clear: Devon Sparks was entirely too dangerous to Lilah’s peace of mind.
Which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. She’d had oodles of peace and quiet back home, and she’d gotten good and sick of it.
She swung her legs out of bed and made her way to the sumptuous bathroom to brush her teeth. Even the toothbrush Devon provided for his guests was fancier than the plain one Lilah used, which her dentist had given her for free after her last visit.
As she scrubbed away, Lilah thought about Devon. And Tucker. And the fact that for the next month, her life was inextricably intertwined with theirs.
It wasn’t exactly what she’d come to New York City looking for, she reflected. Trading her own family obligations for duties with a new family. And yet, something about this dys-functional pair called to her.
The next month wouldn’t have an excess of peace and quiet, that was for sure.
Lilah debated for all of ten seconds over whether or not to put her clothes from last night back on again. The forest-green shirt and black pants hadn’t been her favorite thing when she first got them, and after wiping up multiple spills, picking up countless dirty dishes, and dropping several trays, Lilah figured the outfit might ought to be thrown out back on the burn pile.
Satisfied with her rationale for wearing the pajamas a little longer, Lilah combed her fingers carelessly through her hair, snagging on the riotous curls, and twisted it into a knot on top of her head. She retrieved her bra from the tangle of clothes and shrugged into it. Comfort was one thing, decency was quite another. Lilah didn’t have the kind of breasts that could go discreetly unsupported. The girls needed hoisting.
Lilah found her new employer and her new charge ensconced on the black leather Bachelor Special in the spacious living room. Their similar features, one face a miniature of the other, were bathed in the flickering blue glow from the television. Devon’s voice, unmistakable, if tinny, drew Lilah’s attention to the screen.
They were watching Devon’s show, she noticed with amusement. At the moment, Onscreen Devon was shouting, red-faced and angry, at a cringing subordinate. Through the bleeped-out curse words, Lilah caught something about the salmon being raw in the middle.
“Morning, boys,” Lilah said, making them both jump.
Tucker gifted her with a quick smile before turning back to the show, but Devon stood up and rounded the back of the couch to greet her.
“Good morning, beautiful,” he said easily, his eyes drifting down her body. “There’s something unbearably sexy about a woman in men’s pajamas.”
Lilah plucked at the fabric where it pulled taut at her hips and tried not to color up. “Thanks. I’m going to head down to Grant’s apartment today and get the rest of my things, so you can have these back tonight.”
“I’ve got at least twenty pairs of pajamas,” Devon said, waving a dismissive hand. “Those look better on you than they ever did on me. Keep them.”
“So that’s the show?” Lilah said, gesturing at the television where Onscreen Devon was in a towering rage, throwing his dish towel at the wall, every third word covered by a high-pitched beep.
“That’s the show that made me famous,” Devon agreed, his tone sardonic. “For what