So they told no one, not even Lacey. She slept tonight, wrapped up in her certainty of who she was, where she belonged.
And he prowled a hotel room and wished for sleep. He should have stayed at his brother’s. At least Connor would distract him from thoughts he didn’t welcome.
They’re good people, Lacey. Give them a chance. Don’t get on your high horse and break their hearts.
Hell, maybe Maddie was the right person to tell her.
No. This was his job. He always did his job. Even if he trusted the Ice Princess not to hurt Maddie—which he didn’t—he had never skipped out on a responsibility to a client, and he wouldn’t start now.
Dev cursed softly. He wasn’t going to sleep tonight. Dallas was only three hours away, and he had other cases, other commitments. With quick, decisive steps, he changed into jeans and packed up. Maybe in his own bed, he could stop the thoughts whirling long enough to get a little shuteye. Then he’d make a game plan.
In his ’63 T-bird gas guzzler that rode like a living room sofa, Dev took a detour on his way out of town. He drove down River Oaks Boulevard with its grand homes shrouded in trees. Lacey didn’t live at the estate anymore—she had her own condo not far away—but he wanted to take a look at his enemy’s lair.
There it was, down the long circular drive. Two-story Colonial with mahogany front doors, the wide front porch opening onto manicured grounds. Huge pines and magnolias scattered over emerald lawn, thickening stands of them at the boundaries. In the spring the azaleas would scatter brilliant bursts of color. From the street, the whole place looked like a dream house.
Appearances could be so deceptive. Somewhere, nestled way back under the trees, was the gazebo where dreams had died.
Cursing softly, Dev pulled away. A few blocks farther, he stopped in front of a condo where he knew there was a jazzy red convertible in the garage. He looked at the darkened windows and wondered which ones let moonlight filter onto her bed.
He remembered a gazebo silvered in moonglow. Remembered innocent gray velvet eyes. Silken curves trembling under his hands.
What are you dreaming tonight, Lacey?
Dev set his jaw, sipped at the styrofoam cup of coffee, and drove away.
Lacey awoke from a fitful sleep and glanced at the clock. Three fifteen. The headlights from a passing car swept across the wall. She rolled over and stared across the lavender silk comforter toward the moonlight spilling into her window, drifting across her shoulder.
You’re so beautiful, Lacey. She couldn’t have seen the green of his eyes that long ago night, so serious and dark as he bent over and unfastened the bodice of her dress, but somehow they were always that startling green in her dreams. He had taught her the hum of rapture beneath the boundaries of her skin. Had sent the heat of ecstasy rushing through her veins.
Are you sure about this? Had she been sure? Or just so full of her pipe dreams that she couldn’t see how they had been doomed from the start?
Somehow tonight after seeing Dev again, she could remember, for the first time in years, not how badly it had ended, not the shouts, the fear, the awful nakedness.
Instead, she remembered nerves. Jive-jumpy thrill, pounding in her blood. The sweetness of an ache that had stolen her breath. Longing so sharp she could taste it still. Everything with Dev had seemed larger than life. More colorful. More intense.
Intense. That was Dev, then and now. She’d seen the fierce glow still inside him tonight.
She had fallen headlong into the madness, trusting Devlin Marlowe to be her first, the one she would remember forever. The man who would make her a woman. He would be her one true love. She’d been so sure.
Foolish, foolish girl. Tears slipped across her temple and trickled into her hair as Lacey watched the moon slide behind whispery clouds.
Silly little rich girl. Lacey wept for the innocent and her fanciful dreams…
The girl who never suspected that even love had its price.
Ringing woke her into sunlight that sliced into her vision. Lacey tripped on the edge of the comforter and fumbled for the cell in her purse. She squeezed her lids shut against the glaring brightness. “Hello?” she croaked.
“Too early?”
She glanced at the clock but couldn’t make out the numbers. “What time is it?”
“Nine-thirty.”
She groaned, then bolted up straight. “Dev?”
“Not a morning person, right?” His tone was dry.
“No, it’s just—” She squinted then threw her shoulders back, standing up straight, as if military posture might help. “Never mind. Why did you call?”
His tone went brisk and impersonal. “I have to be in Dallas all week. I’d like to schedule the picnic for next Saturday. Will that work for you?”