Read Online On the Steamy Side by Louisa Edwards - Free Book Online

Adam flying like a kite; the guy had the gift of passion, for sure. Still, this was something extra.

    “Thanks for doing this, man. Miranda and I, we appreciate it so much! See, Frankie, what’d I tell you?”

    “Told me the man would be here. Didn’t venture to say much about whether he’d be staying. Hello there, Lolly.”

    The laconic Cockney voice drifted over from the kitchen doors where Frankie Boyd was leaning, fingers of one skinny hand rummaging in the pocket of his painted-on black jeans. Presumably for smokes.
    Frankie was famously addicted to silk-filtered Dunhill’s; he’d once told Devon he plunked down his hard-earned cash for the outrageously expensive British imports because he took his vices seriously.

    Devon sneered a little, more out of habit than real animosity. He and Frankie had butted heads when Frankie was one of his line cooks back at Appetite, but that was years ago. Frankie was Adam’s sous chef now, and by all accounts, an integral part of the kitchen.

    “Wait a second.” Devon turned to the woman at his side with an incredulous eyebrow lift. “Your name is ‘Lolly’? Like, short for lollipop?”

    She stiffened visibly, her thick, straight brows drawing down like thunder. “Lilah Jane Tunkle,” she said.
    “Do not call me Lolly. Ever.”

    Oookay.

    Devon cleared his throat and turned back to Adam. “Two weeks, that’s what we agreed on.”

    “Yup. You man the helm here for fourteen wonderful days while Miranda and I check out the farmhouse cooking in the German countryside.”

    A sound exploded from the woman next to him. That sound could most accurately be described as
    “Eep!”

    Lilah Jane Tunkle. Christ, what a name. Devon sent her a questioning look only to find that she was gazing back at him with a shell-shocked expression that suggested she was beginning to understand the scope of her faux pas.

    Devon was grimly pleased. That’s right, doll face, he wanted to say. You thought it was an anonymous screw with a guy you’d never have to see again? Not so much.

    They glared at each other for a moment, Lilah looking more appalled by the minute.

    “That was quick,” Frankie put in. “What did you do to take the piss out of our Miss Lolly within ten minutes of meeting her, then? Grant’s not going to be happy.” Devon gritted his teeth at the mention of the restaurant manager’s name. Shit, why was he so ticked?
    “Grant can kiss my ass,” Devon growled.

    “Grant,” Lilah replied, recovering her dignity, “who, I believe I’ve told you, Frankie, is the only person allowed to call me by that loathsome nickname, is my friend. He got me the job, bussing tables. I start tonight—”

    “What a coincidence,” Frankie cackled. “So does Dev, here.” Friend. Ha. Wonder if that’s how Grant sees it?

    Then the rest of her statement penetrated. “Wait,” Devon said. “Do you mean to tell me you’re fouling up this kitchen with your disgusting jumped-up dog food and you’re not a chef or a line cook? Not even a fucking dishwasher?”

    Lilah pinched her lips together in a disapproving way. “No, I’m not a chef, Mr. Potty Mouth,” she said with flagrant disregard for Devon’s authority. “But I had permission to use the stove.” Devon, who had strong feelings about civilians, superlative kissers or not, infiltrating professional kitchens, was about to respond forcefully when he caught the impatience rolling off of Adam in waves.
    The guy was all but dancing in place, like a kid in line for the bathroom. He was clearly ready to get his show on the road.

    Evidently Lilah recognized the signs as well. “I think I’ll just take my ‘dog food,’ ” she enunciated with offended gravity, “and find Grant. I’m supposed to get him to start showing me the ropes.”

    “Good idea,” Adam said heartily. “He’s still down in my office, probably moaning over the sad state of the menus. Miranda always writes the descriptions of each week’s