Texas Heroes: Volume 1 (58 page)

He could have simply left a message with the time he’d be there, but he wanted to hear confirmation from her own voice. She might say she wouldn’t cancel, but he wouldn’t put it past her. Wouldn’t be the first time she had left him hanging.

He looked at his watch again. Nine o’clock. Accustomed to rising at five to work out at the gym, he felt like it was noon. It would be impolite to wait any longer to call, even if he woke her up.

On the fourth ring, voicemail picked up. Dev listened to the voice that had haunted his dreams until he had ruthlessly quashed them in the struggle to survive.

Lacey’s voice had been clear and pure back then, the melodic tones of a bell. Now it held an undertone that made Dev think of the smooth wood-smoked whiskey he favored. Just a little edge of sex beneath the patrician.

Once he had felt the first licks of flame beneath the girl’s innocence. Had the woman learned to burn, or had she frozen solid?

He was surprised at how much he wanted to know the answer.

Just as the recorded message was ending, the real voice broke in—and he felt it like a caress across raw nerves.

“Hello?” A taste of smoke and velvet beneath cool satin.

His body stirred, and Dev nearly hung up.

“Hello?” Irritation edged at sleep.

“Sleeping late again, princess?”

“It’s not—” She gasped. “Oh, no—” Her voice took on a note of horror. “Dev, it’s nine o’clock.”

“I noticed.” He sat down on the bed, enjoying the sense of advantage. “Not much of an early riser, are you? I guess that’s easy when you don’t have to work for a living.”

“Dev, I don’t usually…”

He could almost feel ashamed at the distress he heard. This wasn’t much of a way to get their picnic started, and it sure as hell was no way to pave the path for Boone and Maddie.

“It doesn’t matter.” He tamped down his irritation, running fingers through his hair. “I owe you an apology. I got out of Dallas too late last night, and you didn’t answer when I called. I’m sorry if I’m catching you too early.”

“It’s not too early,” she responded. “I’m not a late sleeper. I just—”

“Does this give you enough time to get ready?”

“Three hours? I could be ready in thirty minutes,” she sniffed.

“No woman can get ready in thirty minutes. I know. I have sisters.”

“Want to bet?”

He blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Would you care to make a wager, Mr. Marlowe?”

Damn, but he could almost get a kick out of that snotty princess-to-peasant tone—except that he was tired of being the peasant. But this Lacey intrigued him. He decided to push her further.

“Are we talking thirty minutes from the time I hang up the phone?”

“I…”

He heard the note of panic in her voice. “Shall we synchronize our watches?”

“Dev, I— Maybe I was a little hasty.”

“Ah. I knew it. My sisters always have to change clothes fourteen times. And then there’s all that makeup and the hair and junk. Don’t worry, I understand.”

He should pull the receiver away from his ear before he got frostbite. He could feel ice forming now.

“Fine. Thirty minutes from the time we hang up. But that will make our picnic rather early.”

“Hey, nine o’clock is like noon to me. Some of us working stiffs have to get up early.”

Ice turned to steel, encased in velvet. “So how much shall we wager?”

The challenge was irresistible. And damn it, he was surprised by this Lacey. Maybe the doe wasn’t so fragile after all.

“Not how much. When.”

“What do you mean?”

“If you lose, we have a real date.”

He heard a faint gasp, but she recovered quickly. “And if I win?”

Dev smiled. “Then you get to pick where we go.”

Lacey laughed, and it was the first warm spring shower washing over a heart chilled by winter. “You always dared too much, Dev. Always pushed the limits.”

Yeah. And lost big, thanks to your father
.

The past rose up between them and the warmth of the moment slipped away. Dev was surprised that he wasn’t ready to let it go. “So does that mean you agree?”

Silence sang out over the line.

“Dev, do you think this is wise?”

The girl who had dared to meet him in defiance of her father warred with the princess who knew her place.

And his.

“Probably not. Your father wouldn’t like it at all.”

“My father has nothing to do with this.”

Keep telling yourself that, princess
. “Forget the bet. I’ll pick you up at noon.” He prepared to hang up.

Frost coated a clear challenge. “I’ll be ready in thirty minutes, Dev.”

He shook his head, not sure whether to marvel or curse. She wasn’t a shy sixteen-year-old anymore.

“You’re on.”

Lacey threw the third change of clothes on her bed. What did one wear to have a picnic with a man who’d betrayed you? She fumbled in her purse for the roll of antacids.

Why had she agreed to this? What was she thinking, to have let him manipulate her into this picnic—much less to bet with him, for heavens’ sake? She
never
lost her temper, but somehow he had pushed her too far with that smug certainty, with all his assumptions.

She stood for a moment, hands on hips, and reached for her usual aplomb.
Casual, Lacey. Pick something casual so he’ll know you don’t care
.

Did she own anything casual? She reached for her Tory Burch wrap skirt and a simple gray silk t-shirt.

The phone rang.

Glancing at the clock, Lacey touched her stomach. She yanked both garments off their hangars and walked to the phone. “Hello?”

“Lacey, darling. How are you today?”

Oh, no
. “I’m fine, Mother. How are you?” Sandals. She’d wear sandals. Sandals were casual.

“You sound out of breath.”

“Oh, I’m just—” Out of her mind, that’s what she was. Insane to have agreed to this picnic. “I’m exercising, Mother. May I call you back?”

“Why…yes.” The voice went frosty. “I suppose that will be all right. How much longer do you have left? I must leave in forty-five minutes for bridge.”

“Oh, dear. I’ll probably miss you, then. I just now got started. What did you need?”
Please hurry, Mother
. Lacey pulled the phone away from her ear as she slipped on her top. “What?”

“I said, are you all right? You sound distracted.”

“Fine…just fine. I, um—I’m warmed up and didn’t want to let my muscles cool.” Lacey frowned at herself in the mirror. The color wasn’t right. Casting a frantic glance at her closet, she was headed across the floor when the doorbell rang.

“Is that your doorbell?”

“No—uh, yes. I guess it is. Listen, Mother, I’ll talk to you later, all right?”

“Go answer it and I’ll wait. I need to talk to you about this picnic. Darling, it’s simply not suitable. You know nothing about this man.”

The doorbell rang again, twice this time.
No woman can be ready in thirty minutes
.

“Mother, I’m sorry. I’ll have to talk to you later. Have a good time at bridge.” Knowing she would pay for it later, Lacey hung up the phone and grabbed her skirt, fastening it around her waist as she ran to the closet and slid her feet into high-heeled, strappy sandals.

Casting a glance at the mirror, she frowned. No lipstick. Hair barely dry.

He was knocking this time. Lacey made a face at herself in the mirror and headed for the door.

The door burst open, and there she was, color high in her cheeks and breathing hard.

She was gorgeous.

And rattled.

For a moment the pain of the past receded, and he couldn’t resist teasing. “Sure you’re ready?”

There it went, that regal lift of the chin. “I told you I’d be ready,” Lacey replied tartly. “I’ll get my things.” She turned and walked with unhurried grace down the hallway. He was too busy admiring her legs—God, those legs—to notice at first that her shirttail was only half-tucked in the back.

Dev grinned. Then he closed the door behind him and looked around. What he saw surprised him.

Mostly he saw the
Architectural Digest
spread he’d expected. A lot of whites and creams, high windows and open spaces. It could have been sterile, except that here and there were bold splashes of color. Reds and purples and golds in fat pillows and lush paintings hinting at the passion he’d found inside the ethereal virgin princess.

He wanted to see more, to prowl her bedroom, to find out if the passion still lived inside the woman she’d become.

But it didn’t matter. This was business. Passion hadn’t kept her from betraying him.

She returned with the picnic basket and a quilt, a tiny excuse for a purse dangling from her shoulder, lipstick applied and shirt tucked inside the narrow waist. Her legs seemed to go on forever.

He took the basket from her. “You didn’t need the lipstick. You look fine without it.”

The princess started, then quickly recovered. But her eyes, those silvery, witchy eyes, studied him for a long breath. One hand grazed her stomach lightly.

A surge of something like guilt assaulted Dev’s conscience. He’d seen her touch her stomach like that before.

“Do you feel all right?”

She looked startled. “Yes, of course. Why do you ask?”

Dev nodded at her hand, and she dropped it to her side as if burned.

“I’m perfectly fine.” Frost crackled in her tone. “Shall we go?”

He studied her carefully, noting the line between her eyebrows, the slight pinch to her face. He’d learn nothing if he alienated her.
Keep it light, Dev. Nice and easy
.

“Your chariot awaits, milady.” Only a trace of sarcasm escaped as Dev reached for the doorknob. “After you.”

Lacey skirted the doorframe as she preceded him. He was so…physical. Too physical. The boy had been more than she’d known how to handle. The man…

Dreamboat
, Missy had called him. She wasn’t wrong. Perhaps not classically handsome, but Dev was undeniably magnetic. In a tux, he’d been striking, but she wasn’t sure that she didn’t prefer him in today’s more casual attire, jeans and a golf shirt. His raven’s-wing black hair was cut short, but one lock of it was as rebellious as the boy she’d once known, tumbling down on his forehead in a way that made her fingers itch to touch it.

He took money and walked away, Lacey
. She had to remember that he’d been great to look at back then, too.

That crooked smile and the once-broken nose only added character to a face that was far too attractive to her. Clever mind, brilliant green eyes that looked too closely, a sense that when he was listening to you, nothing else interfered with his concentration. It was like being caught in the glow of a brilliant floodlamp, with nowhere to hide.

A lady does not seek the limelight, Lacey
. In her mother’s world, a lady only attracted public attention three times in her life—at birth, when she married, and when she died.

“Over here,” Dev directed, his hand settling lightly against her waist.

The heat of his hand distracted her until they were almost upon his car. She stopped in her tracks. “This is yours?”

Green eyes turned to glass. “It’ll get us where we’re going. If you’re lucky, none of your friends will see us in it.”

“That’s not what I—” But it was too late. He’d shut her door and rounded the back to place the basket in the trunk.

Just great, Lacey. Offend him before you even make it to the park
.

Two hours. It might as well be eons.

Chapter Four