Texas Heroes: Volume 1 (66 page)

“Yeah, but you took the day off. It’s six…” Dev squinted at the clock across the gym. “Seven o’clock in the morning. What’s up?” He motioned to his water bottle, and Connor squeezed a long stream into Dev’s mouth that Dev gulped greedily.

“I really wish you’d quit acting like my father.” Traces of Connor’s teenage rebellion skipped across his features.

“I practically am your father. So what’s up?”

Connor’s jaw worked tightly. He was silent for a time. Then he looked up. “I had a fight with Kathleen last night while you were gone.”

“Over what?”

“Mom. Kath thinks Mom should move in with you or me. She’s afraid Mom won’t make it this time, either. I told her to back off. It’s easy for her to say—she’s in L.A. I mean, you’ve done enough. Mom will make it or won’t, but you deserve your freedom.”

Dev wasn’t sure he trusted his voice. He couldn’t recall the last time someone had come to his defense. He tapped Connor’s shoulder with one glove, remembering the little boy who used to crawl into bed with him on stormy nights. In some ways, Connor was the son he’d never had. “I, uh—thanks.” Dev cleared his throat. “I mean it.”

Then he forced a grin. “Tell you what—while you’re battling it out, why don’t you tell Deirdre to lay off the matchmaking?”

His brother answered with a smile and a shake of the head. “Not on your life, big brother. I’m grateful, but that’s going too far. You’re all that stands between me and serious heat.”

They both fell silent in the wake of strong emotion. Then Connor looked up, blue eyes sparkling. “Tell me there’s no candidate to take you out of the game. I’d like a few more years to play around.”

For a treacherous instant, Dev thought about a fragile sylph in bed fast asleep. Frowning, he shook his head vehemently. Maybe she wasn’t just a job anymore, but he was far from ready to discuss her with anyone. So he smiled. “Not a chance, buddy. I’m footloose and fancy-free. You’re safe for the foreseeable future.”

“Well, now that that’s settled, want to go a few rounds?”

“Not unless you just like getting pummeled.”

“I could take you.”

“You and whose army?”

They both grinned, back on comfortable footing.

“Just because I don’t want this pretty face messed up so I’m butt-ugly like you…” Connor’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Besides, there’s this girl I promised to take flying. Better get going.”

“Running away, eh?” Dev chucked him on the chin. “Go on, Romeo. Have fun in the wild blue yonder.”

Connor turned to go, then turned back. “Oh, yeah—I forgot. There’s a message for you at the apartment from a guy at some museum. Says it’s all set for tomorrow night.” He cocked his head. “I didn’t know you were an art buff.”

Dev smiled. It was the centerpiece of a plan that could blow up in his face, but he felt a kick of excitement. “What you don’t know about me could fill an encyclopedia.”

“You ever get tired of being the voice of authority?” Connor grinned.

“Never.” Dev grinned back. “You looked at those papers yet?”

Connor glanced away. “This weekend, I promise.”

“Unless a woman shows up.”

Connor laughed. “Hey, I’m the lover.” He pointed toward the punching bag. “You’re the fighter. To each his own.”

Dev threw a mock punch at him. “Go on. I hear romance calling.”

“And I’m just the man to answer.” Connor waved and ambled off.

Dev watched him go. His little brother would laugh if he could see the butterflies in Dev’s stomach over what he had planned.

The date of a lifetime. An evening she’d never forget.

In the dark hours of the night, he’d quit kidding himself that the date meant nothing. He wanted one night to bind her to him enough so that maybe—just maybe—she’d forgive him when he had to tell her that she wasn’t who she’d always believed.

Dev had gambled on a lot of things in his life, but nothing that had ever turned him inside out this way.

One night. One roll of the dice.

One chance to give them the night that had been stolen seventeen years ago.

He could only pray it would be enough.

Chapter Eight

N
othing fancy
. That’s what Dev had said when she’d asked what she should wear on their date. Their real date.

Until he’d called her last night, she’d wondered if she’d dreamed it. Even waking up in her underwear yesterday morning and finding a note telling her the coffeepot was set to go hadn’t convinced her that she hadn’t imagined his tender treatment, his whispered words about wanting to be in bed beside her.

Lacey shivered slightly as she stared into her closet. Though his hands had been careful and almost impersonal as he’d tended her, his eyes had been anything but.

Hot with promises. Dark with need.

Seeing Dev like that again brought back memories of a long-ago night when her body had cried out for his, when desire had shot past her fears to sear her very soul.

He should have been her first, should have been the one to conclude the lessons he’d begun, lessons that had taught a sheltered girl the meaning of passion.

He walked away, Lacey. He took
—

Ruthlessly, she shoved those thoughts away. Maybe he’d done that once, but he was a grown man now. Maybe he regretted what he’d done. Maybe he wanted to make things right.

Or maybe she was a fool of the worst kind.

Lacey’s fingers trailed across garment after garment as her mind tried to sort through a jumble of feelings.

Maybe she
was
a fool, but within her, a recklessness was emerging. The same seed that had sprouted in defiance of her parents’ disapproval was growing again.

She was a grown woman, not a scared sixteen-year-old anymore. And from the mists of memories ruthlessly quashed for years, arose one she had buried deep. The look on Dev’s face as he’d confronted her father in the gazebo, his eyes and his words pleading with her to run away with him, to believe he’d take care of her.

Dear God. The eyes of a woman saw a different scene. Dev was not the strong, self-assured man then—he’d been a boy, only two years older than her, and he’d faced down her father like a lion protecting his mate.

And she’d walked away. To protect him—or herself?

Lacey blinked and forced herself to concentrate on the clothing arrayed before her. What could she trust of memory and the past?

This was only one night. Maybe she was a fool, but maybe Dev had changed, just as she had. She’d told him that he didn’t know her, but the same could be said of her. Regardless of how it might turn out, she wanted to see what would happen.

She wanted one night with Devlin Marlowe, a night where they didn’t have to sneak around in the darkness, fearing discovery.

And though she touched her stomach in absent habit, it was as much from butterflies of delight as from the tension that was a tight, hot ball growing larger by the minute.

Resolutely, she shook her head and reached for a hanger.

Dev pulled up in her driveway and wondered for the thousandth time what the devil he thought he was doing.

He hadn’t been nervous on a date in years, but his palms were damp and his cast-iron stomach danced.

Could he let her matter this much? How would this all end? The night could be an unmitigated disaster, no matter how hard he’d worked to make it special.

One night
, he asked the Fates.
Just let us have this one night to make up for what was stolen from us, regardless of who was at fault.

Then I’ll tell her
.

Dev drew in one deep breath and rose from the car, walked to the door and knocked. He’d faced stone killers with less trepidation.

The door swung open, and he could see the nerves jumping in her eyes. The sight calmed him.

But “Hi” was all he could say.

She stepped aside, pulling her princess composure into place. “Hello. Would you care to come in?”

So damn polite he wanted to growl. “If you’re ready, let’s go.”

She nodded stiffly. “All right. Let me get my purse.”

As she walked away, he let out a long, low breath. Good God. She was a knockout.

The dress swirled around her ankles, something filmy in a shade he guessed you’d call lavender. It nipped in close to her slender waist, rising to a halter top that showed only the tiniest hint of cleavage and cupped her breasts like a lover’s hands. Against her camellia-pale skin, an amethyst hung on a silver chain as dainty as her slender collarbone.

It was plenty for his imagination. And not nearly enough for his eyes.

Lacey, naked in the darkness, the moon silvering her small, perfect breasts
.

Dev ground his teeth and wondered if the panties she wore tonight were as tiny as the ones he’d held in his hands back then. She wasn’t wearing a bra, he could tell that much.

He closed his eyes and silently counted to ten, inhaling sharply through his nostrils, willing his body to subside.

But despite his discomfort, he wanted to laugh and cheer her on. This was nothing flamboyant for some women—the dress was classy and expensive and could easily be considered demure—but for Lacey, it was little short of a revolution.

Her mother would hate it, and her father would tear his head off if he could read Dev’s thoughts now.

Knowing that cheered Dev immensely.

“Ready?” he asked as she walked toward him.

Now that she was close, he could smell her scent and his nostrils flared. He repressed a groan. Something expensive, no doubt, that smelled like mystery and sin.

“You look wonderful,” he said.

Her tight face eased as she cut a glance toward him. “Thank you. So do you.”

His own attire was simple, a charcoal heather shirt with neck open and sleeves rolled up, topping a pair of darker charcoal slacks.

He smiled. “My kid brother said I need to snazz up my wardrobe if I want to attract babes.”

Lacey grinned, and some of the tension dissolved. “You have a brother? Does he live here?”

Dev nodded. “Yeah. He’s eleven years younger and sometimes I stay with him—when he doesn’t have one of
his
babes stashed in his apartment.”

“So he’s an expert?” she teased.

Dev opened her door and handed her into the car. “He thinks so.” He rounded the car and got into the driver’s seat.

“So what did he think you should wear?”

“Something sleeveless to show off my boxing muscles.” Dev shook his head and started the car. “He’s sure that’s what women want.”

Lacey turned to face him, as fascinated as she was horrified. “Boxing, did you say?”

He glanced her way, then started the car and pulled out of her drive. “Yeah. Wanna make something of it?”

Her first instinct was politeness. “Why, no, I…” Then her second instinct took over, Margaret DeMille notwithstanding. Lacey laughed in delight. “Boxing? Really?”

Dev shot her a grin. “Hey, you knew I was a mongrel. Still game to go out?”

Lacey felt the wind whipping her hair and thought about telling her parents or Philip—or Missy Delavant—that she was going out with a boxer. She laughed again.

She studied the man beside her, noting the broken nose, the ropy muscles of his arms. Remembering the strength of his grip and the concern in his eyes. “Yes, I’m game.” Politeness almost prevented her, but then she asked. “Is that what happened to your nose?”