On the Steamy Side - Louisa Edwards [65]
Considering the kid clammed up and/or flinched any time Devon came within two feet of him, that wasn’t likely to happen. Ignoring the herb tutorial, Devon gestured to Christian to follow him into the main dining room so they could go over the layout of the bar. Walking down the line, Chris slapped palms with the chefs, most of whom he knew from late nights at Chapel. Devon noticed that Frankie gave Chris a significant eyebrow wriggle, but if Christian read anything into the unspoken communication, he didn’t choose to share it.
Devon sighed. The undercurrents of tension around here were enough to make any normal guy want to blow his brains out. Sex! Gossip! Intrigue! Backbiting! Who was sleeping with whose ex-girlfriend but hadn’t told her best friend who had a crush on the guy who was flirting with the waitress who put out to all the chefs who nailed anything that moved . . . Devon shook his head. Leave it at home, guys.
Of course, that was before he came face-to-face with his own little slice of drama, perfectly and gorgeously embodied by the lovely Miss Lilah Jane, who was sitting at the bar, showing off her swollen knuckles to Grant. The manager leaned over her fingers with a commiserating “Poor baby,” and Devon’s blood pressure skyrocketed into One-Night Stand levels of aggression. Like, seriously, season-two levels, including that episode when the producers had set him up in the galley of a cruise ship and he’d puked for ten days straight.
Watching the good-looking blond manager coo over Lilah’s hand—a hand she’d bruised on Devon’s fucking cheekbone, no less!—tightened every muscle Devon was aware of into granite.
Shit. Grant really was after Lilah Jane. Worse, he had the advantage of a long, warm friendship with her, rather than a sexy but anonymous fling. And of course, Grant was a good man, while Devon was . . . not.
Which didn’t mean Devon was ready to give up and just hand Lilah over to him.
Lilah glanced over and met Devon’s gaze. She stilled, alerting Grant to the two men standing in the doorway. The maitre d’ dropped Lilah’s hand and stammered something about getting an ice pack, but Lilah didn’t even move. Her fine, delicate features never tensed as she twisted on her barstool to stare at Devon.
As if aware that Devon’s internal boiling point was closing in, Christian clapped him on the back and ducked behind the bar, saying, “Let me help you with that ice pack, Grant.”
“Oh, that’s all right, I don’t need any help . . .”
“Grant,” Devon cut in. “Take Christian down to the basement and show him where we keep the cases of liquor.”
Thus outmaneuvered, Grant shot a glance at Lilah, as if to confirm she’d be okay left alone on the other side of the bar with the mean, mean man.
Devon wanted to snarl that she’d be fine, but he held his tongue through sheer force of will. Lilah gave Grant a reassuring smile that had Devon catching a rumbling growl in his chest before it could vocalize, and walked over to him.
“Yes, Mr. Sparks?”
She was all chilly formality. So that’s how they were going to play it? Fine, he could work with that.
Working not to snap, Devon said, “I hope your hand is okay. Wouldn’t want you to have cracked a bone or anything.”
That brought a slight, pretty pink to her cheeks, although her green eyes never flinched.
“Thank you for your concern, but it’s not necessary. I assure you, I’m perfectly all right.” She swallowed, the click of her throat audible to Devon, who was paying such avid attention he’d swear he could count the flecks of gray in her irises. “And yourself?”
Sweet Lilah Jane. Couldn’t keep a good mad on for longer than a few minutes. Devon wanted to smile but he forced his expression to remain grave. “I’m very well, thank you.”
Lilah seemed thrown, as if she’d expected this encounter to