Texas Heroes_ Volume 1(148)

Dev glanced up to see if she was testing him, but she seemed sincere. Torn between demonstrating that he did understand wines now and knowing that it shouldn’t matter, he merely shrugged. “I’ll trust your judgment. Want me to open it?”

She smiled. “Please.” Picking up a plate, she began to select food for him. “Tell me if there’s something here you don’t like.”

I don’t like having to be here and play nicey-nice with you, Lacey. I don’t like having to pretend I don’t want to touch you. Taste you.

But he didn’t say that. He clamped down hard on the hunger and instead turned the tables, though he wasn’t sure she could tell him much that he didn’t already know.

“So who’s the overgrown frat boy?”

Her head jerked up. “What?”

“The blond pretty boy with you at the auction. He your boyfriend?”

“He’s…” She glanced away. “We date. He’s a doctor, a plastic surgeon named Philip Forrester.”

Dev laughed without mirth. “Well, if you marry him that should come in handy when you reach the right age.”

Her frame tensed, her eyes sparking, but her voice was smooth as glass. “I suppose you’re referring to a face lift, but I don’t plan to ever do that.”

“You’ll be drummed out of River Oaks, you know.” He softened the earlier insult with a teasing tone. “I think it’s in the deed restrictions.”

Her mouth quirked. “I saw an acquaintance when I took Christina to another plastic surgeon the other day. This woman is only twenty-nine, and she’s already making plans.”

Dev snorted. “That’s pathetic. Wrinkles show you’ve lived. Lines of character don’t make a woman ugly.”

Lacey’s eyes softened. “You really believe that?”

“You’ve lived in the glass bubble too long. In the real world, appearances aren’t everything, Lacey.”

To his surprise, she didn’t get offended. She merely shook her head sadly. “Sometimes they matter too much, even in the real world.”

Dev frowned. “Why do you say that?” He thought back to her earlier words. “Who’s Christina?”

Her whole face changed. He saw affection there, and sorrow.

“She’s an eight-year-old girl for whom I’m an advocate.”

“What kind of advocate?” He thought back to a family court cased he’d worked. “You mean a child advocate for abused kids?”

Lacey nodded. “It’s one of the projects of the Junior League. Volunteers represent the abused or neglected child’s best interest, monitoring them in either substitute care or foster care, coordinating with the caseworker, doing the background work to help the judge decide the best place for the child to wind up.”

Dev looked at her through new eyes. This wasn’t playing Lady Bountiful and donating canned goods at Christmas. “So why did you have Christina at the plastic surgeon’s?”

Anger warred with sorrow on her lovely face. “One of her mother’s boyfriends beat her badly when she was four. He broke bones in her face and she didn’t get proper care. The bones healed wrong, and her face is distorted. She’s been taken away from her mother and is in foster care, but once she’s available for adoption, her condition will greatly reduce her chances because the surgery she needs is very expensive.”

Her gaze lifted to his, pain stark in those lovely eyes. “Other children make fun of her, and she gets stared at on the street.” Her look was almost pleading, her hands gripping one another so tightly her knuckles were white. “She’s the sweetest child, and it’s so unfair. If only people could see past—” Her voice broke.

“So you’re going to get her the surgery.” It wasn’t a question, and once again, Dev frowned. She didn’t sound like the princess.

Her shoulders sank. “I want to, but it’s complicated by her legal position.” Then she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “But I’ve gotten the assessment that I needed. We’re not supposed to get personally involved, but what she needs can be done, and I’m going to find a way to make it happen.”

“So what do your parents think about this?”

Her mouth pursed. “It doesn’t matter.”

I doubt that. But he wanted to cheer for the signs of a Lacey who might not be so docile.

“And the fiancé?”

She drew right inside her Margaret DeMille shell. “We’re not engaged.”

“Everyone else seems to think you are.”

“What everyone else?” Suddenly, the glass-calm surface rippled. Her eyes narrowed. “I thought you didn’t know—” She blinked in shock. “Have you been investigating me, Devlin Marlowe?”