Lacey blinked and forced herself to concentrate on the clothing arrayed before her. What could she trust of memory and the past?
This was only one night. Maybe she was a fool, but maybe Dev had changed, just as she had. She’d told him that he didn’t know her, but the same could be said of her. Regardless of how it might turn out, she wanted to see what would happen.
She wanted one night with Devlin Marlowe, a night where they didn’t have to sneak around in the darkness, fearing discovery.
And though she touched her stomach in absent habit, it was as much from butterflies of delight as from the tension that was a tight, hot ball growing larger by the minute.
Resolutely, she shook her head and reached for a hanger.
Dev pulled up in her driveway and wondered for the thousandth time what the devil he thought he was doing.
He hadn’t been nervous on a date in years, but his palms were damp and his cast-iron stomach danced.
Could he let her matter this much? How would this all end? The night could be an unmitigated disaster, no matter how hard he’d worked to make it special.
One night, he asked the Fates. Just let us have this one night to make up for what was stolen from us, regardless of who was at fault.
Then I’ll tell her.
Dev drew in one deep breath and rose from the car, walked to the door and knocked. He’d faced stone killers with less trepidation.
The door swung open, and he could see the nerves jumping in her eyes. The sight calmed him.
But “Hi” was all he could say.
She stepped aside, pulling her princess composure into place. “Hello. Would you care to come in?”
So damn polite he wanted to growl. “If you’re ready, let’s go.”
She nodded stiffly. “All right. Let me get my purse.”
As she walked away, he let out a long, low breath. Good God. She was a knockout.
The dress swirled around her ankles, something filmy in a shade he guessed you’d call lavender. It nipped in close to her slender waist, rising to a halter top that showed only the tiniest hint of cleavage and cupped her breasts like a lover’s hands. Against her camellia-pale skin, an amethyst hung on a silver chain as dainty as her slender collarbone.
It was plenty for his imagination. And not nearly enough for his eyes.
Lacey, naked in the darkness, the moon silvering her small, perfect breasts.
Dev ground his teeth and wondered if the panties she wore tonight were as tiny as the ones he’d held in his hands back then. She wasn’t wearing a bra, he could tell that much.
He closed his eyes and silently counted to ten, inhaling sharply through his nostrils, willing his body to subside.
But despite his discomfort, he wanted to laugh and cheer her on. This was nothing flamboyant for some women—the dress was classy and expensive and could easily be considered demure—but for Lacey, it was little short of a revolution.
Her mother would hate it, and her father would tear his head off if he could read Dev’s thoughts now.
Knowing that cheered Dev immensely.
“Ready?” he asked as she walked toward him.
Now that she was close, he could smell her scent and his nostrils flared. He repressed a groan. Something expensive, no doubt, that smelled like mystery and sin.
“You look wonderful,” he said.
Her tight face eased as she cut a glance toward him. “Thank you. So do you.”
His own attire was simple, a charcoal heather shirt with neck open and sleeves rolled up, topping a pair of darker charcoal slacks.
He smiled. “My kid brother said I need to snazz up my wardrobe if I want to attract babes.”
Lacey grinned, and some of the tension dissolved. “You have a brother? Does he live here?”
Dev nodded. “Yeah. He’s eleven years younger and sometimes I stay with him—when he doesn’t have one of his babes stashed in his apartment.”
“So he’s an expert?” she teased.
Dev opened her door and handed her into the car. “He thinks so.” He rounded the car and got into the driver’s seat.
“So what did he think you should wear?”
“Something sleeveless to show off my boxing muscles.” Dev shook his head and started the car. “He’s sure that’s what women want.”
Lacey turned to face him, as fascinated as she was horrified. “Boxing, did you say?”
He glanced her way, then started the car and pulled out of her drive. “Yeah. Wanna make something of it?”
Her first instinct was politeness. “Why, no, I…” Then her second instinct took over, Margaret DeMille notwithstanding. Lacey laughed in delight. “Boxing? Really?”
Dev shot her a grin. “Hey, you knew I was a mongrel. Still game to go out?”
Lacey felt the wind whipping her hair and thought about telling her parents or Philip—or Missy Delavant—that she was going out with a boxer. She laughed again.