“Let’s sit over here, all right?” Lacey’s hand hovered over the fine strawberry-blonde hair, resisting the urge to warn the room’s other occupants to be careful of this child.
But instead, she found her own heart tugged. A boy of perhaps twelve sat with his mother, his hands and face bearing the scars of terrible burns. The boy glanced up, then away quickly, as she’d seen Christina do so often. Lacey wished she could tell the boy he had nothing to fear from her, but the best she could do was to meet the mother’s gaze evenly, with a nod and a smile. The woman glanced at Christina and smiled back.
“Lacey,” Christina tugged her down and whispered in Lacey’s ear. “That boy—he’s got scars, too.” Her brown eyes were filled with sympathy. “Did someone hit him?”
Dear God, it was so unfair that an eight-year-old girl should have lived the way Christina had. Lacey leaned down. “If we whisper about him, he’ll feel the way you do when people stare. Could we talk about this later?”
Understanding dawned. Christina nodded. Looking across the room, she gave the boy a shy smile. It wasn’t returned, but the boy didn’t turn away quite so far this time.
“Let’s read a magazine,” Lacey suggested, rising to head for the magazine rack.
Just then, the door to the examining rooms opened, and Missy Delavant stepped out. She looked startled to see Lacey, but somehow Lacey couldn’t be too surprised that this woman who hadn’t yet hit thirty would already be looking into cosmetic surgery.
“Lacey, what are you doing here?” Missy’s mouth took on a sly smirk.
“I’m here with a client.”
“Client?” Missy glanced behind Lacey. It was easy to tell when she spotted Christina from the look of distaste that crossed her face. “Oh—one of your little urchins, right? Philip told me about your volunteer work. I have to hand it to you, Lacey—I don’t know how you do it. Philip’s idea of serving on the hospital board sounds much less…tawdry.”
Years under Margaret DeMille’s tutelage kept the sharp retort from Lacey’s lips, but her hands curled at her sides. “I enjoy my work. It’s very satisfying.”
But Missy wasn’t through sharpening her claws. “As satisfying as selling your picnic for five thousand dollars? I thought your mother would choke.” Her eyebrows lifted. “But the man candy who bought it…” She licked her lips.
The last thing Lacey wanted to discuss was Dev. “I’d better get back to Christina.”
Missy still had one more parting shot. “You should be careful, Lacey. Philip is more than a little miffed about this little pas de deux picnic. He says you’ve been making yourself scarce the last few days. Is there something going on with the dreamboat? Doesn’t look too good for Philip’s fiancée to be dating another man.”
“It’s not a date. And Philip and I are not engaged.”
Missy’s eyes widened. “But it’s only a matter of time, isn’t it? Or is there more you’re not telling?”
Only that I can’t sleep and I’ve picked up the phone a hundred times to cancel—
“It’s a simple fundraiser, Missy. End of story. Now if you’ll excuse me, Christina’s nervous about being here and I need to be with her.” Lacey turned away.
“Nice to see you, Lacey. Let me know if you need a substitute for the picnic.”
If only it were that simple.
Lacey sat down by Christina. “Here, this one looks interesting. Why don’t you read this story to me?”
When she heard the door close, Lacey let out the breath she’d been holding.
Dev sipped his coffee as he looked out at the Houston morning, then glanced at his watch again. The princess might not be a morning person, but she hadn’t picked up when he’d gotten into Houston late last night and tried to call. He’d have to call her soon.
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.