“Devlin Marlowe.” Dev shook his hand firmly but didn’t explain his presence. Inside the man, she could still see the rebellious teen, chin jutting forward.
Philip seemed taken aback, but he covered it smoothly. “Lacey, you’ll need to get ready. We’ll be late.” He turned toward Dev, smooth and urbane. “You must be the fellow who bought my fiancée’s basket.”
She wanted to strangle him.
“And you’re the loser,” Dev answered.
Lacey wanted to laugh. Or maybe strangle Dev, too. Hastily, she intervened. “Dev was just returning the basket. I forgot it.”
Philip turned his attention from her to Dev. “Well, that’s done now. I suppose you’ll be leaving.”
Dev didn’t answer him. He turned toward Lacey, taking her hand and kissing her knuckles like a brand of possession. “I’m sorry I made you late for your party, Lacey. I’ll call you soon.” His mouth burned her skin.
Philip looked as if he might explode, but his impeccable manners kept him frozen in place. “I don’t think you’ll need to be doing that. Lacey doesn’t date. We’re going to be married.”
Dev looked up at her, his green eyes bright with a devilish glint. One eyebrow lifted. He squeezed her hand, then turned toward Philip. “That’s not what Lacey says.”
An unhealthy red rose in Philip’s face. His jaw hardened, his eyes sparking fire.
She cleared her throat. “Thank you for returning the basket, Dev. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll see you out before I go dress.”
Thank heaven he complied—finally. With an audacious wink, he left.
Lacey resisted the urge to slam the door. She drew a deep breath and turned to face Philip.
“What the devil was he talking about, Lacey? This is an outrage,” he spluttered.
“I have to get ready, Philip. You know how Mother gets. We’ll have to discuss this later.” Maybe there’ll be a hurricane. Maybe time will stop. Maybe I’ll never have to try to explain what just happened. I don’t know, myself. She only knew that despite her aggravation with Dev, an unwelcome thrill had raced through her at his audacity.
Without waiting for Philip’s answer, Lacey raced for her bedroom, cursing men in general.
If he had a damn suit with him, he’d crash the party. Maybe he would, anyway.
Then Lacey’s anxious features rose up before Dev again. No matter how he wanted to punch that supercilious jerk in the face, it wasn’t fair to put her under that pressure.
The memory of her delicate hand pressing her stomach intervened. As a girl, Lacey had tried so hard—too hard—to be perfect. To be everything that was expected of her. With her parents, everything was a crushing burden.
It had taken careful wooing years before to break her free. In the end, he discovered he hadn’t freed her at all. It had been an illusion.
But he could still remember her breathless shock and exhilaration the first time he’d helped her sneak out of her house. There had been a risk-taker locked up inside the princess.
Was there still?
You’re on a case, Dev. This is a job. You’re here to figure out the best way to break the news, then get the hell out of Dodge. As he sat in his car tucked away just down the block from her townhouse, waiting for her and Dr. Blondie to emerge, Dev wondered what he thought he was doing.
But all the sleepless nights since the picnic made him edgy and reckless again. Made him want to forget the Gallaghers, forget the case, forget—
Betrayal.
The thought sobered him. Why should he feel protective toward her? She hadn’t stood up for him. He’d been on a bus the next morning headed for basic training, and the next two years had made a hard man out of a boy. He’d done his stint, come back to Houston, and worked like a dog until he could move the whole family to Dallas.
Then he’d worked like a dog again.
What did the princess know of hard times? She’d chosen this life of ease over his love, and she was welcome to it. Dev reached for the ignition switch, ready to leave for Dallas, though he’d only arrived this afternoon.
A movement at the door of Lacey’s townhouse grabbed his attention. As the couple emerged, he could see the tension between them, the way Forrester’s jaw was locked, his face hard. He had a tight grip on Lacey’s elbow.
And she had her hand on her stomach again.
Damn it all. He had no right to intervene, but he really did want to smash his fist in Forrester’s face.
Stand up for yourself, Lacey. Come on. You can do it.
But he’d caused this trouble, calling Forrester a loser. Flinging it in his face, questioning their involvement.
He watched Lacey’s grace as she settled into the luxury sedan, long, slender legs emphasized by the high heels. A simple sleeveless black cocktail dress with a strand of pearls spoke of restrained elegance, of a fit that only money could buy.