Dev gripped her shoulders. “Maybe he didn’t deserve you.”
Her head rose as shock tripped across her features.
Just as quickly, the Margaret DeMille mask dropped into place. She shrugged elegantly and stepped back. “It was a long time ago.” Then Lacey glanced around them. “I don’t see any donuts, but I could swear I smell them.”
Let it be, Dev. Just a job, remember?
But that didn’t seem to stop him from wanting to hold her. To do whatever it took to erase the sadness that dogged her when she didn’t have her mask fully on. To protect her from her own vulnerability.
But if he couldn’t give her comfort, he could at least give her donuts. He crooked his arm. “This way, madam.” He leaned down and waggled his eyebrows. “But the chocolate ones are mine.”
Lacey took his arm, and her smile almost reached her eyes. “Not if I get there first.”
Dev led her down the side of the building to a nondescript door. He knocked five sharp raps, then waited. Lacey looked at him curiously, but he merely shrugged. “He’ll get here, don’t worry.”
As if he were prophetic, the door opened just then. Shorty’s broad smile peered out of his grizzled, coffee-colored face. “Well, bless my soul, if you ain’t a sight for sore eyes.” Then he caught a glimpse of Lacey and whistled low. “Dev, my man, you comin’ up in the world. Mornin’, ma’am.” He tipped an imaginary hat.
Margaret DeMille would freeze Shorty dead for such familiarity. To Dev’s relief, Lacey only smiled shyly. “I guess it is close to morning, isn’t it? Are you really making donuts at this hour, you poor man?”
Shorty shot a glance at Dev. “Hear that, boy? ‘Poor man.’ The woman has proper respect for my hard work, unlike some people I know.” He winked at Lacey and held out his arm. “My name is Shorty, ma’am. Come along and I’ll treat you to the best donuts that ever hit your tongue.”
To her credit, Lacey only hesitated a second, then took his arm like they were old friends. “Please call me Lacey.” She smiled back at Dev, the devil in her eyes. “I like chocolate donuts best.”
Dev stopped dead in his tracks when she stuck out her tongue at him. He laughed out loud.
“Then ol’ Dev’s luck just ran out ’cause I’ll feed a beautiful woman every chocolate donut in the place. You go on back to the car now, Dev. Me and your lady, we’ve got some fat to chew, most of it about how bad her judgment is, bein’ here with a young rascal like you. She needs a mature man to treat her right.”
Dev snorted. Shorty was mature all right—seventy if he was a day. A comeback was on his lips—
When Lacey giggled.
Giggled. Like a teenage girl. When she glanced back at him, her eyes sparkled.
Dev could only stand there, holding the door in wonder. He’d half-expected to shock her by bringing her here—instead she was stealing his donuts.
His heart lightened, and he moved to follow them. “Oh no, you don’t—you’re not giving away my donuts, Shorty. She can’t even find her way back here without help.”
Shorty snorted as they walked. “She won’t need to if she’d run away with me and leave your sorry butt behind.”
Lacey giggled again. Shorty’s deep chuckle joined her as he brought her through the door to his domain, seating her with a flourish at the scarred table Dev had haunted for many a dawn when he was a kid throwing papers.
“Go turn that batch, Dev, while I make this pretty lady some fresh coffee.”
Dev saw Lacey’s surprised glance and shrugged. “I spent half my teenage years here, helping Shorty make donuts in return for all I could eat.”
Shorty called back. “The boy had a hollow leg. Ate twice as many as he ever made, I promise you that. Snitched more when he thought I wasn’t lookin’, then headed out on that paper route early every mornin’.”
Lacey looked surprised again. “You were a paperboy?”
“Yeah.” Dev waited for it to sink in that after his father’s death, he had lived not far away, in a part of town where she wouldn’t be caught dead after dark.
Instead she rose and came to stand beside him, watching. “Was it hard, having to get up so early? What about school?”
The last thing he wanted was to discuss those years with her. He pointed to the donuts floating in the boiling grease. “Better stand back. This can splatter on you.”
But Lacey just moved closer, watching him turning two at a time as Shorty had taught him. “May I try turning one?”
Dev shot her a glance. She was serious. He shook his head. “That dress is too expensive to ruin.”
“The handles are long enough. I’ll be careful.” She glanced up at Shorty. “May I?”
Shorty was watching both of them, his look assessing Dev as much as Lacey. “Don’t know why not. Show the lady how it’s done, boy.”
Dev glanced around, saw Shorty’s spare apron hanging nearby. With quick steps, he snatched it down and returned to slip it over Lacey’s head, then stood behind her, realizing it was far too big for her.
So he wrapped the strings around her narrow waist twice, then tied them behind her, the rich scent of her perfume tracing through the sugar-laden air.
And he recognized that his hands were unsteady with the need to touch the sweet line of her hips, to pull her back against him and bury his face in her hair, to kiss her nape.
Shaken, he glanced up and saw sympathy in Shorty’s eyes. It pulled him back to what was real, what made sense. He didn’t know this Lacey who had layers and hidden depths, and the bald fact was that he probably never would.
But tell that to the rebel inside who had never cared very much what was sensible—or forbidden to him.
He pulled her back slightly to his left side, shielding her with his body while he demonstrated the fine art of judging when a donut is done. He pulled two out, flipped them neatly into the chocolate glaze, then went back for more. Then he reached for the first two and flipped them up on the shelf above, where the glaze dripped back into the pan. Then he handed the sticks to Lacey.
She worried at that lush lower lip with her teeth while she concentrated, and Dev was hard-pressed to pay attention to the donuts. She executed the first two perfectly, her smile of triumph real and bright. When she turned toward him to exult, her breasts brushed lightly against his arm, and Dev felt it all the way down to his bones. She froze but she didn’t move away, her gaze locked on his.
Shorty’s voice cut through the haze. “Coffee’s done.”
Dev and Lacey all but leapt apart. Dev cleared his throat and turned back to the dough. “If we want more, we’d better get cracking. Shorty does his the old-fashioned way, and he’ll have people standing in line when morning comes.”
A tiny frown winked between her elegant brows. Dev saw the confusion in her eyes and wished he could make himself walk away from her right now. There was nothing confused about his body’s response to hers, nothing at all.
His mind was another matter altogether. Light and easy, Dev. Remember who she is, who you are. What she did.
So he busied himself finishing a batch for them, studiously trying to forget that she stood a heartbeat away. Then they each loaded a stack of paper towels with the fruits of their labor and moved to the table where two cups of coffee sat, leaving Shorty behind to go on with his work.
Dev watched her closely as she took her first bite of a donut almost too hot to touch.
Lacey closed her eyes in bliss, moaning softly. Dev’s body tightened at the sound. Then those witchy silver eyes opened, and she licked her lips. “That is the single best thing I’ve ever tasted in my life. Pure, raw sin. It surely must be illegal.”
Her smile was little short of wicked. “I’m going to eat at least a dozen.” She took another bite, and a breathy sigh escaped.
One glistening drop of chocolate lingered at the corner of her mouth. Dev fought the bittersweet temptation to lean across and kiss the chocolate away.
Instead, he forced himself to take a bite of his own, but he mig
ht as well have been eating sawdust. It didn’t matter, though. He’d eaten a thousand of Shorty’s donuts. Lacey’s delight was more than enough.
So they talked and drank coffee and ate more donuts than either could count. Shorty popped over and visited between batches, but mostly Dev and Lacey talked about everything under the sun.
Everything, that is, but themselves, perhaps she as eager as he to avoid the minefield of their past, of the differences between them. She kept their breakfast talk superficial, switching topics with the ease of an accomplished hostess…but as time wore on and the first touch of giddiness faded, she inched back into being more Margaret DeMille’s daughter than the woman who’d run across the lawn in high heels. He wished he could figure out how to bring the jailbreak girl back.
Then the first deliveryman showed up, and they could stave off real life no longer. The magic island of the night was vanishing as dawn approached.
In silence, Lacey rose and worked at the ties of her apron, but Dev could see that his hasty knot was about to defeat her. “Here, let me.” He turned her back toward him and tried to maintain his distance. The ball was over…and he was about to turn back into a pumpkin.
His fingers grew clumsy, and it took him far too long. He could tell by her rigid posture that the real world was sinking back into Lacey’s consciousness too fast, the knowledge of what she’d done at last hitting her.
“Just a minute more,” he muttered, and wished they had hours. Finally she was free and he had no excuse to touch her again.
As she lifted the apron over her head, she avoided his gaze. “I’ll take this back to Shorty.”
He could only stand and watch.
Lacey spoke with Shorty for a few moments, then lifted to tiptoe and kissed his cheek. Behind her back, Shorty smiled sadly at Dev.
He saw it, too.
In a reverse kind of Cinderella story, the almost-real girl who’d laughed with them…was turning back into a princess.
On the drive back, Lacey sat still and quiet, and Dev could think of no way to bring back the ease of those few precious hours.
Pulling into her drive, Dev knew he shouldn’t have done it. He had only complicated things more by stealing her away, by discovering that she could be real. That she had a clever humor carefully hidden under all those layers of politeness.
Lacey might not understand it, but far more deadly than her beauty was the giggle that should have belonged to a teenage girl. Something had happened inside his chest each time he heard it.
Damn. He liked her.
That was something he’d missed the first time around. He’d started out using her to get revenge on her father, then fallen too quickly into hormone-drenched teenage lust. Somehow, the desire for revenge had faded as lust had turned to something more tender when he wasn’t looking.
He’d never taken the time to find out if they could be friends before his revenge had reversed its blade and skewered him. Now, of course, friends were all they could be—at least, until he found the right way to break the news without breaking her heart.
He was more certain than ever that she didn’t know the secret that could explode her whole world. Being a DeMille was something so intertwined with who she was that she never lost sight of it.
But he had to hand it to her. Even when faced with something like Shorty’s place, she hadn’t turned a hair, had been gracious and warm to Shorty himself. She continued to surprise him.
Yet now she seemed to be absorbing the impact of what she’d done. What she’d thrown away. As he stopped the car, the transformation was complete.
And he hated it.
“Well…” Lacey turned to him, extending one elegant hand. “Thank you for breakfast.”
He resisted the urge to growl and ignored her hand. “Sure thing. Anytime you want to go slumming, Princess, just give me a call. I know all the dives.”
Hurt skipped across her features. She turned away quickly, grasping the door handle. “I’d better go inside.”
The more composed she became, the more Dev fumed. He wished he could cancel this damn job, but he didn’t trust anyone else to do it. Dev wanted to turn back the clock, get back the woman who’d made a jailbreak, who’d turned donuts with glee.
He shouldn’t want that. This was business, and damned complicated business at that. He was here to deliver a message, that was all. There was probably no painless way to deliver it, so maybe he should quit trying.
Or maybe he would just let Maddie and Boone show up on her doorstep, after all. Turn this over to them and walk away.
Like hell, he would.
With a hard jerk, he opened his own door and rounded the front bumper of his car to open hers. He extended a hand to her. She hesitated, and he reached in to grasp her hand.
And this time he let his touch linger.
Lacey slid her legs out, the movement lifting the slim black skirt up high on her shapely thighs. Dev stifled a groan and jerked his glance to her face.
“Dev, I…” Nerves jittered in her gaze.
Inside him, something twisted. He took pity on her. “It’s not too late to go back, Lacey. Doctor Blondie would still take you in a heartbeat, I’m sure.”
She studied him silently, her eyes huge and dark. “I don’t want to go back,” she said softly. “I’m just not sure where forward is.”
He closed his eyes in pain. It didn’t seem to matter what he knew was smart. He wanted to protect her, to hold her. To kiss her again.
He almost did it, almost reached out and pulled her into his embrace.
But from somewhere inside the bad boy rose a gentleman who knew that he would only complicate her life more if he did. Charles DeMille would stop at nothing to keep them apart. She still had to get through DeMille’s displeasure at the broken un-engagement. If Forrester had said anything at all to her parents about finding Dev at her townhouse, it was Lacey who would suffer for it.
It was the absolute worst time to want to get closer to her. He needed to back away, get some distance. Tonight had confused the hell out of him.
He would leave her alone for a few days, keep an eye on her from a safe distance just to be sure no one was making life too hard. Let her get past this rough spot, then he’d break the news as kindly as possible. Maybe he’d take her to Morning Star himself. That was it, finito. That was all he could afford to think about now, no matter what this night had made him want.
To strengthen his resolve, he reminded himself that Lacey needed a friend now, far more than anything else. She looked as alone as anyone he’d ever seen.
But he couldn’t leave her like this. Before he stopped to think it through, he spoke up. “Go out with me, Lacey.”
Her head jerked around. “What?”
She didn’t have to look so incredulous. But he persisted. “Forrester said you don’t date. But now you can. It doesn’t have to be a date date, just friends out for a night on the town. I still owe you that dinner for winning the bet.” He was making this up as he went, part of him staring in stunned silence.
Just shut up, he told the stunned part, the part clinging to remnants of sense. The part she’d abandoned once before.
“It’ll get you back in the swing of things. Doctor Blondie will tell everyone he dumped you, you know that. Show the world you’re doing fine without him.”
“Dev, I don’t think…”
The past crowded his throat. Remembered rage at a boy’s helplessness and humiliation. “What’s the matter? Afraid Daddy won’t like it?”
Her eyes clicked into defiance. “I don’t care about that.”
You did once. Too much. Dev could feel temper licking at the edges of his control. “Never mind.” He turned toward her front door.
Lacey grabbed his arm. “You think I’m such a coward, don’t you? How dare you? You don’t know me. You never did.”
The night brought one more discovery. Lacey had a temper.
Her eyes might be spitting fire now, but his weren’t far from igni
ting, either. “Then prove it. Prove that you’re not going to live the rest of your life trying to become your mother.”
If she’d had a knife, he’d be bleeding right now. “Name the date.” That delicate jaw could crunch rocks at this moment.
“I’ll be back next Friday. I’ll pick you up at seven.”
“Fine,” she snapped.
He took the keys from her hand and unlocked the door. “Fine, then. I’ll see you on Friday.” He stepped aside.
She steamed past him. Suddenly, almost like a marionette, she stopped. “Thank you for the donuts.”
Damn those perfect manners. Dev gritted his teeth and started to respond.
Lacey slammed the door in his face.
Dev heard the lock click and stood there for a moment, glaring at the closed door. Then the absurdity of it all hit him. Like a madman, he stood on the porch of Lacey’s exclusive townhouse—
And laughed his fool head off.
She was right. He sure as hell didn’t understand her. But she fascinated him more every time she crossed his path.
Chapter Seven
Dev crossed inside the Loop, headed toward his younger brother Connor’s apartment. He shook his head ruefully. It was only Wednesday, and he’d sworn to leave Lacey alone this week. But every day she’d been in his thoughts, and he’d worried about how she was doing. When one of his investigators had casually mentioned that he needed to interview someone in Houston, Dev had jumped at the chance to go in his place.
He’d been out of his mind to invite her out for Friday, and here he was, two days early. Knowing already that he wouldn’t stay away that long.
She betrayed you, idiot. Turned her back and chose the life she has. The message had been clear years ago. Marlowes were not good enough for DeMilles.
But the more he saw of Lacey, the more his instincts stirred. The woman he was learning to know had a tender heart. The boy Dev had been wounded to the core that she hadn’t chosen him, but that boy had been proud and too ready to leap at the first offense. He’d expected a lot from a sheltered girl.
His plan to even the score with Charles DeMille by seducing the perfect daughter had backfired in his face.
Texas Heroes: Volume 1 Page 42