Texas Heroes_ Volume 1(137)

As if he’d never seen her naked. Or heard her moan into his kiss.

She turned to go, and Dev’s hand shot out to stop her.

Lacey stepped away from him before he could touch her. One eyebrow tilted in his direction. Princess to peasant: You dare to touch me?

Dev nearly lost it then. “Not so fast, Ms. DeMille.”

She glanced in the direction of the perfectly-groomed blond he’d seen her with earlier. The man was exactly her type, and it made Dev burn.

“What is it?” Her shoulders stiffened, just a fraction. They were too slender, if intimidation was the effect she wanted.

And for a moment, Dev had a crazy urge to protect her from what must come.

Then her mother looked out at him through Lacey’s eyes. Margaret DeMille, with all her Southern propriety and perfect manners, might not be Lacey’s blood mother, but she had molded Lacey in all the ways that counted, down to the way she’d taught her daughter to look down her nose, even though Dev was half a foot taller.

And fury shot through his veins. Fury for all the lost years, for all the suffering. For Charles DeMille’s contempt for Dev’s efforts to protect his family—and for telling Dev to keep his filthy hands off DeMille’s precious daughter. Fury for laying his heart at this woman’s feet and having her turn away as though he’d offered something dirty and unworthy.

That fury made him rough. “We have a date to set, Ms. DeMille.”

That got to her. Shock rippled across the too-perfect features. “What?”

At last, Dev got a little taste of revenge. “I bought you.”

Her eyes closed, then flew open again. “You,” she accused. “It was you.”

He smiled with satisfaction. The look on her face was worth every penny. “Yeah. It was me.” He wouldn’t charge the Gallaghers for his exorbitant bid. This one was on him.

She was something to behold, all right. Dev watched her struggle to cover her shock and dismay with those perfect, elegant manners. And if her struggle twisted something inside his chest, at least he had a measure of satisfaction for all that he and his family had suffered. It was a long way from justice, but it would have to do. He had a job to complete, and he couldn’t make this personal.

“Very well.” She had it all back now, every feature composed, the slate wiped clean as if he were a total stranger. “If you’ll give me your card, I’ll call to make arrangements to be available when it’s most convenient for you and your friends.”

“There will only be two of us. And I’d better call you. I live in Dallas now, and I travel a lot. What’s your number?” Though he already had it. Unlisted numbers were little challenge for a private investigator.

When she gave him a cell phone number instead, he resisted the urge to counter with her home number just to rattle her.

“Do you need a piece of paper?” she asked.

“No.” He caught her gaze, full on. “I have an excellent memory.”

For a moment, shadows darkened her eyes, but she recovered quickly. “Fine. Does your guest have any dietary restrictions?”

Oh, Lacey. You make it too easy.

“I don’t know,” he replied, grinning in anticipation. “You tell me.”

A tiny frown appeared between her brows, but he saw the moment she understood his meaning. Saw her shrink back the tiniest fraction. “Oh, no. That won’t be possible.”

“It’s a worthy cause, right? I’d hate to have to withdraw my bid. There was no mention that I couldn’t pick my own guests.”

This time the struggle wasn’t so easily mastered. For a moment, Dev wished he could rewind and try this again. Figure out another way. Wished he could kill the need that even now, after what she’d done, made his body crave hers.

She swallowed hard and shook her head. “No. There wasn’t.” She lifted her head, and he was surprised to find himself proud of her strength. “Dev, if this is about what hap—”

He broke in. “No, Lacey. The past is the past. No point in rehashing. It doesn’t have anything to do with who we are now.” It couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Not anymore. Too much was at stake.

Confusion swirled in her gaze, and he cursed himself silently. He’d lost his cool. That couldn’t happen again. “Let’s start all over.” He held out his hand. “Ms. DeMille, pleased to meet you. The name’s Devlin Marlowe.”

She looked at his hand as if it were a rattlesnake, poised to strike. Then she glanced back up at him, and he wished he knew what she was thinking. “Maybe we should talk, Dev…”

“No.” If he knew one thing, it was that nothing was to be gained by digging into their past. She had too much ahead of her to deal with, and he had to keep his emotions in check. “It was nothing. We were kids. Life goes on.”