“Go away,” she said too quietly.
She looked like hell, but she was breathing. Blessed anger did a tap-dance through his veins. He strolled to her bedside and studied her, shocked at the damage. Her skin was translucent, her eyes dark holes in her face.
The fault lay squarely at his doorstep. He had started her down the road to this hell.
He had to find a way to bring her back.
His apologies would have to wait. She was too raw to talk about this now, even if he had any idea what to say. She needed the basics first.
“When’s the last time you ate?”
“I don’t know.” Her voice was hollow. He’d sell his soul to hear that snotty princess-to-peasant tone right now.
Without a moment’s hesitation, he swept her up in his arms and strode across the room.
She stirred only faintly. “How did you get in here?”
“I picked your locks,” he drawled. “Wanna make something of it?” He kept striding, heading back toward her kitchen. Once there, he set her down on the counter between refrigerator and sink. “Answer me—when’s the last time you ate something?”
“I don’t know…the picnic maybe,” she whispered. Her eyes were dull and haunted.
Dev wanted to smash something. Wanted to howl out his own anguish.
“Go away, Dev.” Her voice broke.
His heart cracked right along with it. Ruthlessly, he clamped down on the urge to fall to his knees. “The phone’s over there. Call the cops. I’m not leaving.” He bent down and began rummaging through her refrigerator.
“What are you doing?”
He straightened, holding eggs, milk, butter and cheese in his hands. With two long strides, he crossed to the island and dumped his booty.
She started to get down.
“You move from that spot and you’ll regret it.” His voice went fierce.
She didn’t respond. She was scaring the hell out of him.
“I broke into your house. Don’t you care?”
She didn’t answer, staring at the floor.
Dev studied the part in her hair and wished she would scream at him, curse him—anything but this defeat.
He decided to push. “I know you’re a pampered princess, but surely you have more guts than this.”
Her head rose swiftly, the quick spark of anger the best thing he’d seen in days. “Get out of my house.”
Then he grinned, quick and crooked and rakish. “Make me.”
When she slid off the counter, her knees buckled. In a split-second, he was by her side, steadying her against him.
“Sit down. Damn it, sit down.” Fear made him rough. He helped her to a chair, then carefully stepped back because he wanted to hold her too much. “I’ll have an omelet ready in a minute.”
Lacey watched him, those big eyes studying his every move. “I don’t know what to do,” she said so softly he almost didn’t hear it.
Dev wondered then, just how many times a heart could break. How he could ever fix this.
When he could finally speak, his voice was gentle. “Eat first, Lacey. Let your mind rest.”
He scooped the omelet onto a plate and poured her a glass of milk, setting both in front of her. Pulling out the chair beside her and turning it backwards, he straddled it. When she made no move, he picked up the fork.
She opened her mouth to speak, but he was too quick with a forkful of omelet.
“No more talking. Eat.”
Rebellion leapt into her eyes.
He welcomed the heat, the spark. She would need all of it and more as she rebuilt her life.
Then Lacey opened her mouth. The sight of those lips parted…the pink of her tongue…
Memory scorched Dev down to his toes.
When she took the fork from his hands and averted her gaze from his, Dev was painfully aware of what he’d lost.
But at least Lacey was eating her eggs.
“You need to sleep. I’ll clean up.” Dev took her empty plate and headed for the sink.
The relief from that piercing green gaze was welcome. Every bite had come at a cost, but Lacey knew he was right. The basics were important. She had decisions to make, a new life to build.
The burning returned.
She wanted to sink into the comforting darkness of sleep, to see if all this would vanish before she must wake.
But that’s what she’d always done. Hide behind what was proper, what was safe. She couldn’t sleep yet. “I want answers, Dev.”
He finished loading the dishwasher and took his time drying his hands before he turned. For a long moment he watched her, his expression shifting from the dark shadows of guilt to a painful longing—and back again.
Why, Dev? Why was revenge more important than my love?
His gaze dropped to the hand that was rubbing her stomach. “Why don’t you sleep first?” he asked gently.