Texas Heroes: Volume 1 (61 page)

Suddenly memory and shadow fled, and he was simply a very attractive man asking her for a date.

Maybe they could do this. Maybe it wouldn’t be as hard as she feared.

He chuckled. “I see second thoughts. I promise I’ll be on my best behavior. Scout’s honor.” He held up three fingers.

Lacey had to smile at that. “You were never a Boy Scout, Devlin Marlowe.”

He chuckled. “Ouch. I resemble that remark.”

The moment spun out on a filament of shared laughter. Something inside her chest eased just a little.

The doorbell rang. Lacey glanced at the clock. “Oh, dear. I’m late. My parents are throwing their annual cocktail party for half of Houston.” She knew she was babbling, but that would be Philip at the door.

“Doctor Blondie, I presume?” Dev cocked one dark eyebrow in challenge.

Lacey stifled her grin, setting her glass down hastily. “I’m sorry, Dev. You’ll have to excuse—”

Philip walked in the front door without waiting, his glance darting between the two of them. “It was unlocked. You didn’t answer.”

Lacey straightened carefully, her hand settling against her stomach. “Hello, Philip,” she said brightly. “I’m sorry. I’m running late.”

Dressed for the party, he took in her appearance, his gaze sharp. “So I see.” He fastened on Dev, his face turning hard. “I don’t believe we’ve met. Dr. Philip Forrester.” He extended his hand.

It was like being caught between two warring stallions. The atmosphere crackled with challenge.

“Devlin Marlowe.” Dev shook his hand firmly but didn’t explain his presence. Inside the man, she could still see the rebellious teen, chin jutting forward.

Philip seemed taken aback, but he covered it smoothly. “Lacey, you’ll need to get ready. We’ll be late.” He turned toward Dev, smooth and urbane. “You must be the fellow who bought my fiancée’s basket.”

She wanted to strangle him.

“And you’re the loser,” Dev answered.

Lacey wanted to laugh. Or maybe strangle Dev, too. Hastily, she intervened. “Dev was just returning the basket. I forgot it.”

Philip turned his attention from her to Dev. “Well, that’s done now. I suppose you’ll be leaving.”

Dev didn’t answer him. He turned toward Lacey, taking her hand and kissing her knuckles like a brand of possession. “I’m sorry I made you late for your party, Lacey. I’ll call you soon.” His mouth burned her skin.

Philip looked as if he might explode, but his impeccable manners kept him frozen in place. “I don’t think you’ll need to be doing that. Lacey doesn’t date. We’re going to be married.”

Dev looked up at her, his green eyes bright with a devilish glint. One eyebrow lifted. He squeezed her hand, then turned toward Philip. “That’s not what Lacey says.”

An unhealthy red rose in Philip’s face. His jaw hardened, his eyes sparking fire.

She cleared her throat. “Thank you for returning the basket, Dev. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll see you out before I go dress.”

Thank heaven he complied—finally. With an audacious wink, he left.

Lacey resisted the urge to slam the door. She drew a deep breath and turned to face Philip.

“What the devil was he talking about, Lacey? This is an outrage,” he spluttered.

“I have to get ready, Philip. You know how Mother gets. We’ll have to discuss this later.”
Maybe there’ll be a hurricane. Maybe time will stop. Maybe I’ll never have to try to explain what just happened. I don’t know, myself
. She only knew that despite her aggravation with Dev, an unwelcome thrill had raced through her at his audacity.

Without waiting for Philip’s answer, Lacey raced for her bedroom, cursing men in general.

If he had a damn suit with him, he’d crash the party. Maybe he would, anyway.

Then Lacey’s anxious features rose up before Dev again. No matter how he wanted to punch that supercilious jerk in the face, it wasn’t fair to put her under that pressure.

The memory of her delicate hand pressing her stomach intervened. As a girl, Lacey had tried so hard—too hard—to be perfect. To be everything that was expected of her. With her parents,
everything
was a crushing burden.

It had taken careful wooing years before to break her free. In the end, he discovered he hadn’t freed her at all. It had been an illusion.

But he could still remember her breathless shock and exhilaration the first time he’d helped her sneak out of her house. There had been a risk-taker locked up inside the princess.

Was there still?

You’re on a case, Dev. This is a job. You’re here to figure out the best way to break the news, then get the hell out of Dodge
. As he sat in his car tucked away just down the block from her townhouse, waiting for her and Dr. Blondie to emerge, Dev wondered what he thought he was doing.

But all the sleepless nights since the picnic made him edgy and reckless again. Made him want to forget the Gallaghers, forget the case, forget—

Betrayal.

The thought sobered him. Why should he feel protective toward her? She hadn’t stood up for him. He’d been on a bus the next morning headed for basic training, and the next two years had made a hard man out of a boy. He’d done his stint, come back to Houston, and worked like a dog until he could move the whole family to Dallas.

Then he’d worked like a dog again.

What did the princess know of hard times? She’d chosen this life of ease over his love, and she was welcome to it. Dev reached for the ignition switch, ready to leave for Dallas, though he’d only arrived this afternoon.

A movement at the door of Lacey’s townhouse grabbed his attention. As the couple emerged, he could see the tension between them, the way Forrester’s jaw was locked, his face hard. He had a tight grip on Lacey’s elbow.

And she had her hand on her stomach again.

Damn it all. He had no right to intervene, but he really did want to smash his fist in Forrester’s face.

Stand up for yourself, Lacey. Come on. You can do it
.

But he’d caused this trouble, calling Forrester a loser. Flinging it in his face, questioning their involvement.

He watched Lacey’s grace as she settled into the luxury sedan, long, slender legs emphasized by the high heels. A simple sleeveless black cocktail dress with a strand of pearls spoke of restrained elegance, of a fit that only money could buy.

She looked delicate and ethereal, once again unapproachable and remote. Dev could make a king’s ransom worth of money, and he’d still be the kid from the wrong side of the tracks. Wrong for her.

He’d tail them, just to make sure she was all right, but he’d nip foolish fancies in the bud. She was the princess. He was the peasant. She might not have the blue blood that she thought, but she belonged in this world in a way he never would.

And he still had a job to do, blasting her world apart as gently as possible. Jaw rigid, Dev pulled away from the curb, wondering again what the hell kind of magician he thought he was.

Alighting from Philip’s car, Lacey spared a quick glance for the wide porch of her parents’ home. She’d had childhood tea parties there, gotten her first kiss behind one wide column. This house had been her refuge for all of her life, an existence so sheltered, so different from Christina’s.

Before they reached the door, Murphy opened it. “Well, Miss Lacey, haven’t seen you in a while,” he nodded. The gentle reproof made her feel right at home. Murphy had been delivering lectures since she was tiny. “Dr. Forrester.” Murphy’s eyes were cooler, looking at Philip. For the first time in years, she remembered that he’d had a soft spot for the young, rebellious Dev.

“Hello, Murphy.” She bussed his cheek, knowing it would unsettle him—and horrify her mother.

It did.

“Hello, Lacey.” Margaret DeMille’s brows drew together less than a millimeter, but it was enough to convey the message. She stood near the doorway, greeting her guests, trim and straight as ever. She flicked a glance over Lacey’s demure little black dress, and her frown eased…at least a little.

“Hello, Mother.” Lacey crossed the foyer and exchanged air kisses.

Her father turned from another guest, and she was pulled into strong arms. Charles was aging, but he still had the vigor of a younger man. “Princess, you look beautiful, as always. Philip, glad to see you.” He shook Philip’s hand, then leaned closer to Lacey. “When are you going to let him make an honest woman of you?”

“Daddy…” she protested.

Guests nearby chuckled.

“As soon as she’ll say yes, Charles,” Philip responded. “Your daughter has a mind of her own, it seems.” His eyes broadcast anger she hoped no one else saw.

She cast a glance over his shoulder. “Mother’s waiting for me to help her, Daddy. I’d better go.”

“All right, Princess.” Her father hugged her and kissed her cheek. She wanted to lean against his strength and let him tell her what to do.

But he’d urge her to marry Philip, and she’d put off dealing with that too long.

“I’ll catch up with you soon, darling.” Philip’s tone said that the subject was far from ended.

Philip was much like her mother. He would never violate their contract of good breeding by making a scene. He, like Margaret, would simply expect Lacey to see the light and behave accordingly. Lacey would be dutiful. Her mother would be proud. Philip was counting on that.

It was so much more than a little eight-year-old girl had tonight.

Lacey put on her hostess face and began to mingle.

It must have been three hours later before she could seize a moment to sit down. Her face was ready to crack from the effort of constant smiling, and her feet hurt as though she’d walked on sharp stones. But Lacey had been raised in a tradition that denied physical discomfort.
Beauty knows no pain
, her mother always said.

It was another lie, just like many Lacey was beginning to despise.

“There you are,” Philip said, drawing her out of one set of the French doors that opened onto the expansive front porch.

Lacey stifled a groan. Here it came. “Hello, Philip. Having fun?”

He cocked one sandy eyebrow, his composure, as ever, unruffled. Nothing about Philip ever got ruffled. His hair was razor cut and wouldn’t dare misbehave. He never got a speck of anything on his clothes. And his blue eyes were cold as ice.

She’d never realized that until she’d seen green fire again.

“Lacey, it’s time we settled this. There’s no reason to delay any longer. It’s time for us to marry. You’ll be too old soon to have the family we want.”

She wouldn’t get angry. A lady didn’t lose her temper. “Too old?” She kept her face carefully composed. “I don’t think thirty-five is exactly ancient, Philip.”

“Of course not,” he soothed. “You’re still very beautiful.” His eyes narrowed. “Not quite ready for a little eye job, even. Soon, though.”

Wrinkles show you’ve lived
. Dev’s viewpoint strengthened her resolve.

She kept her expression calm. “Perhaps I don’t want an eye job. Perhaps I want my face to reflect my life.”

His gaze sharpened at the edge in her tone. “Of course, that’s your option. I won’t demand that you—”

That did it. “You demand from me all the time, Philip. You don’t value what I do for the children, you’ve got our life all planned out, and you never listen to one word I say.”

He drew himself up in affront. “Calm yourself, Lacey. This is an important crowd.”

“Important to whom?” Unaccustomed anger thrilled through her blood. “These people know nothing about real life—nothing. This is an artificial world, Philip, and you don’t even know that, do you?” Fury gave her a second wind. “There are children going hungry tonight, but they’re only stories on the news to you, aren’t they?”

“Lacey, get hold of yourself.” He grasped her elbow. “I told you that silly volunteer work wasn’t good for you—”

“Silly! You, who keep rich, bored women looking like they’re twenty-five, have the nerve to call what I’m doing silly?”

“Shh, Lacey…” He cast a glance at the windows, then drew her behind a pillar. “Is it that Marlowe person who’s got you so upset? He’s not our type, Lacey. Your father told me about him. He’s a born troublemaker, and he took money to abandon you once before—”