grounded. Ugh. Kane suppressed a shudder. That wasn’t for him. He had too much to do, too much to see and experience and accomplish, to take a dive, clip his wings, and start shuffling through the dirt.
Song lyrics tickled at his brain, distracting him. “Well, I’m glad you didn’t,” he said vaguely, trying to blink the fuzziness away. “You … want me to sign something for Lilah?”
“Actually, I had a different favor to ask,” Devon said, looking sheepish as he pulled his phone from the pocket of his perfectly tailored camel blazer. “Today is her birthday. Would you mind…?”
Kane relaxed. This was easy. “Sure, man, no big. Dial her up for me, and I’ll take care of the rest.”
Devon tapped the phone’s screen once, then handed it to Kane. A sweet molasses voice drawled in his ear, slow and husky with sleep, “Mmm, time for my morning sugar. How do you always know just the thing to make me feel better?”
Sending Devon a smile, Kane started to sing into the phone, to the accompaniment of shocked silence followed by a bit of squealing and laughing. By the time he’d made it to “And many moooore,” Devon was beaming, Lilah was practically in hysterics, and Claire was long gone.
Suppressing a sigh, Kane brushed off Devon’s thanks and said good-bye to Lilah.
“You’re the best, Slater. I won’t forget it. Catch you later!”
As soon as Devon got his phone back, it was clear he and his wife needed a little alone time—and after witnessing their connection up close and personal, Kane kind of wanted to be alone, too. He waved Devon away with a smile and stuck his hands in his pockets, wandering the hallway in front of the hotel kitchen doors.
He was trying to decide if he could stomach the idea of using his famous face to pry Claire’s room number out of the chick working the reception desk upstairs when Eva slipped into the corridor, pulling the doors gently closed behind her.
“Hey, babe,” Kane greeted her, glad of the distraction from his increasingly circuitous and unhappy thoughts. “How’s it going in there?”
She brought a hand up to her mouth as if she wanted to bite the nail of her index finger, but as soon as she realized it was shellacked with red paint, she twisted both hands behind her back. “It’s going okay. Maybe. I don’t know. God, what made me think I could pull this off?”
“Aw, now.” Eva never failed to move him to big-brotherly tenderness when she dropped that shark-like armor and showed her vulnerable white belly. “It can’t be as bad as all that. The chefs looked like they were ready and raring to go when we left ’em. C’mere. You’re doing good.”
He gave her a one-armed hug, squeezing her shoulders tight. With her in those spike heels, they were almost the same height. It made Kane wish nostalgically for his old, scuffed-up cowboy boots to give him an extra inch or so on her, but he’d left those behind when he left Texas.
“The chefs are crazy. They’re fighting already and we haven’t really even gotten started yet,” Eva wailed, turning her face into his shoulder and probably smudging makeup all over it. “And the cameraman is driving me bonkers—the producer from the Cooking Channel keeps saying he’s not sure there’s enough action and drama even to make a B reel for if they do the live feed from the final challenge in San Francisco. What does he expect?”
“I don’t know, I think things have been pretty action-packed so far,” Kane said. “What about that fistfight yesterday?”
“But I don’t want them to air stuff like that,” Eva wailed. “That’s not what the RSC is about!”
Kane put his hands on Eva’s shoulders and set her back a step so he could look into her face. “Hey, hey. Come on, now, sugar. ’Fess up about what’s really eating you.”
She fidgeted for a second, which made her look awfully young. It reminded him of the Eva he’d first met, five years ago at a holiday bash
Song lyrics tickled at his brain, distracting him. “Well, I’m glad you didn’t,” he said vaguely, trying to blink the fuzziness away. “You … want me to sign something for Lilah?”
“Actually, I had a different favor to ask,” Devon said, looking sheepish as he pulled his phone from the pocket of his perfectly tailored camel blazer. “Today is her birthday. Would you mind…?”
Kane relaxed. This was easy. “Sure, man, no big. Dial her up for me, and I’ll take care of the rest.”
Devon tapped the phone’s screen once, then handed it to Kane. A sweet molasses voice drawled in his ear, slow and husky with sleep, “Mmm, time for my morning sugar. How do you always know just the thing to make me feel better?”
Sending Devon a smile, Kane started to sing into the phone, to the accompaniment of shocked silence followed by a bit of squealing and laughing. By the time he’d made it to “And many moooore,” Devon was beaming, Lilah was practically in hysterics, and Claire was long gone.
Suppressing a sigh, Kane brushed off Devon’s thanks and said good-bye to Lilah.
“You’re the best, Slater. I won’t forget it. Catch you later!”
As soon as Devon got his phone back, it was clear he and his wife needed a little alone time—and after witnessing their connection up close and personal, Kane kind of wanted to be alone, too. He waved Devon away with a smile and stuck his hands in his pockets, wandering the hallway in front of the hotel kitchen doors.
He was trying to decide if he could stomach the idea of using his famous face to pry Claire’s room number out of the chick working the reception desk upstairs when Eva slipped into the corridor, pulling the doors gently closed behind her.
“Hey, babe,” Kane greeted her, glad of the distraction from his increasingly circuitous and unhappy thoughts. “How’s it going in there?”
She brought a hand up to her mouth as if she wanted to bite the nail of her index finger, but as soon as she realized it was shellacked with red paint, she twisted both hands behind her back. “It’s going okay. Maybe. I don’t know. God, what made me think I could pull this off?”
“Aw, now.” Eva never failed to move him to big-brotherly tenderness when she dropped that shark-like armor and showed her vulnerable white belly. “It can’t be as bad as all that. The chefs looked like they were ready and raring to go when we left ’em. C’mere. You’re doing good.”
He gave her a one-armed hug, squeezing her shoulders tight. With her in those spike heels, they were almost the same height. It made Kane wish nostalgically for his old, scuffed-up cowboy boots to give him an extra inch or so on her, but he’d left those behind when he left Texas.
“The chefs are crazy. They’re fighting already and we haven’t really even gotten started yet,” Eva wailed, turning her face into his shoulder and probably smudging makeup all over it. “And the cameraman is driving me bonkers—the producer from the Cooking Channel keeps saying he’s not sure there’s enough action and drama even to make a B reel for if they do the live feed from the final challenge in San Francisco. What does he expect?”
“I don’t know, I think things have been pretty action-packed so far,” Kane said. “What about that fistfight yesterday?”
“But I don’t want them to air stuff like that,” Eva wailed. “That’s not what the RSC is about!”
Kane put his hands on Eva’s shoulders and set her back a step so he could look into her face. “Hey, hey. Come on, now, sugar. ’Fess up about what’s really eating you.”
She fidgeted for a second, which made her look awfully young. It reminded him of the Eva he’d first met, five years ago at a holiday bash
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