Texas Heroes: Volume 1 (70 page)

“You’re beautiful,” she whispered. And he was, fiercely beautiful in the way of a warrior’s body. Dark hair curled on his chest, tapering down his flat belly and disappearing inside his briefs. His legs were long and well-made, his shoulders broad, his arms muscular. He made her toes curl with longing.

Dev slipped his thumbs inside the waistband of his briefs, and Lacey rose quickly. “Let me.” Was that her voice, so husky?

He was so hard, so ready. As if unwrapping the best Christmas present of her life, Lacey traced the length of him. He groaned, and she smiled up at him while she slid her fingers beneath the band where his eager body strained the elastic. He sucked in a breath when he realized what she was doing.

Swirling one slow lick over the head, Lacey savored the taste and the texture of him. She slid the briefs down further and took him in her mouth.

Dev’s fingers tightened in her hair. “Wait—Lacey, wait.” He tried to pull away, but she slid her tongue down the shaft.

“Let me have you,” he growled, pushing her away. “I have to have you, Lacey. Don’t do this.”

She lifted her head and smiled.

Dev growled and gently lifted her, kicking off his briefs and following her down to the bed, sealing her mouth in a kiss so scorching that she felt it to the soles of her feet.

Then he returned the favor, tormenting his way down her body, inch by inch.

“Dev…” She tried to bring him back up, but he wanted this to be as unforgettable for her as for him. The rest of his life had been a dress rehearsal for this moment, this chance to make love to her as he’d dreamed so often as a boy.

He taunted her, tantalized her with slow licks along the crease, darting near by never exactly where she clearly craved him to touch, carefully building the small flames until her pelvis rocked toward him in a plea he desperately wanted to answer. Until at last he slipped his tongue into her and threw kerosene on the fire until it blazed into the inferno that would consume them both.

When Lacey came with a most unladylike scream, Dev was too far gone himself to sit back and relish the moment. Instead, with trembling fingers, he somehow managed to cover himself before Lacey dragged him upward. He wanted to be inside her so badly he thought his heart would explode.

“It was you who taught me what passion was, Dev. Finish the lesson. Make me the woman I should have been long ago.”

Dev kissed her with all the longings that had been bottled up for years. “You’re the one, Lacey,” he whispered. “The only one.” He held her face in his hands in a promise he wanted badly to keep. “Look at me, sweetheart.”

She opened those witchy silver eyes, the pupils huge and dark, and she was so open to him that he felt his heart tear. “Mine,” he vowed. “Then and now.” And with one smooth thrust, he joined them.

They both went still in a hushed, silent moment where past pain was annealed by the present.

Tears slid into Lacey’s hair. “So long,” she whispered. “I’ve waited for you so long, Dev.”

A shiver rippled over her skin. An answering thrill moved over his heart. And then he let the madness take them, desperate to bind her to him, to make up for so many years of being without her. Stars burst behind his eyes and his chest burned with the force of all the words he couldn’t yet say, the memories that pounded his heart.

She should have been mine
, was all he could think.
All this time, she should have been mine
.

His own eyes were damp. He pulled her closer, drove deeper, desperate to remove the barrier of skin, to make them one body. One heart. One soul.

And through his thoughts threaded a prayer.
Please. Don’t take her from me again
.

Then the stars went nova—and sent them soaring into uncharted space.

Chapter Ten

D
ev sped through the streets as dawn pearled the sky. Everything in him wished that he hadn’t checked his voicemail when he’d been unable to sleep, filled with dread. Waiting for Lacey to wake up so he could do what he could no longer put off: tell her about her past.

He wanted to be back in that bed with Lacey, savoring the fire and sweetness between them. Instead, he was on his way to his brother’s after Connor’s urgent message.

This had damn well better be life or death, buddy
. His brother, who could sleep through a nuclear blast, who never got up before noon on Saturday, had been awake when he’d returned the call—and agitated. He insisted that Dev come to see him, said he could not discuss the matter on the phone. Dev had left Lacey a note, but he hoped to be back before she woke. He’d wanted to kiss her, but if she awoke when he did…well, he already knew where that would lead.

So sweet and hot, that slender body. So rich and open, that gentle heart. Dev had imagined making love to Lacey a thousand times since that long-ago night, but his imagination had been far too puny. They’d made love all through a magical, star-drenched night. He wanted to stay in that magic forever.

But he still had news to deliver. Dev raked anxious fingers through his hair. The ante had just gone up because now he didn’t kid himself that he’d be able to walk away whole if she despised him for being the messenger.

Too many years had gone by, and all of them a wasteland. After last night, he realized he’d been starving to death. Lost in the desert and parched down to his soul.

Lacey was it. The one. He’d been waiting for her all his life. What he’d told himself for all these years was complete self-deception.

Everything in him longed to turn around and climb back in that bed, pull her into his arms, and hold on tight. But chances were far more likely that she’d never want to speak to him again once he’d done his duty.

He slammed the car to a stop outside Connor’s and emerged, grim and determined. He’d get Connor settled, whatever this was about, then go back to Lacey and try his damnedest not to screw up this miracle that he didn’t deserve—but would fight to keep.

Connor pulled open the door, ushered him inside.

“You look like ten kinds of hell. What’s going on?” Dev asked. “Are you in trouble, Connor?”

“No.” His brother frowned at the insult. “It’s not about me. It’s about Dad.”

“What about him?”

Connor fell silent, his face troubled.

“I came here instead of going back to a bed I didn’t want to leave, bud. Spit it out.”

Connor exhaled sharply. “Dad was framed.”

“What?” But though the words rocked him, Dev knew how much he wanted it to be true. “Innocent,” Dev said grimly. “He was innocent all along.”

“No—not innocent, not from what I can tell here. He cooked the books, there’s no question about that. He kept his working papers.”

Dev felt sick. “So what are you telling me?”

“He did it at someone’s direction. He left notes to cover himself.”

“Why?” Dev couldn’t square it. “Why would he do it, even if someone asked?”

“It was a bad time, Dev. Houston was just coming out of massive waves of foreclosures and businesses going under by the hundreds in the wake of the oil bust. Big accounting firms had laid off people right and left. Dad had four kids.”

And a wife with expensive tastes, Dev thought. Connor was too young to remember the trips, the jewelry, the big house. “Whose direction?” But his gut was already starting to twinge.

“The firm’s biggest account needed financing to keep them afloat. The real books couldn’t survive a lender’s scrutiny. DeMille and Marshall couldn’t afford to lose the account. Dad made the fraudulent entries. The client got the loan. Everything was fine until the Securities and Exchange Commission did an audit. Dad took the fall.”

“Who, Connor? Dad wouldn’t have done that on his own. Who made him sign the working papers?”

But his gut already knew before Connor said the words.

“The senior partner. Charles DeMille.”

Dev squeezed his eyes shut against the roaring in his brain. Finally, it all fit. The unusual interest of Charles DeMille in their family’s plight. The false solicitousness of a man who had even more to lose than Patrick Marlowe had.

His charity took on a whole new light. It was hush money, paid just in case anything had been left behind.

“He might as well have put a gun to Dad’s head. He killed him just as surely as if he’d pulled the trigger.” Dev started pacing. He wanted to smash something, wanted to tear out Charles DeMille’s throat.

You’re nothing. You never were
.

That bastard. Dev could still see the terror on Lacey’s face from that long-ago night. Still feel the shame of being cast out for being not good enough for his princess.

The princess who was never DeMille’s blood at all. Lies. Lies upon lies.

“Dev? You all right?”

Dev looked at his watch. Six thirty. A little early to go calling, but who the hell cared?

“Will those papers hold up in court, Connor?”

“They’ll raise enough questions to force the issue. I’m no lawyer, but I’d think they’d certainly convince a judge to subpoena records.”

“Keep them safe. Don’t say anything to Mom or the girls, all right?” Dev’s head began to pound.

“What are you going to do?”

“He took our father away from us. He took our name. He took everything—” Dev’s jaw clenched. His eyes were hard as he stared into the past. “I’m going to return the favor. Show me. Show me what you’ve got. Every detail.”

“You want to get some sleep first? Where have you been?”

With the daughter of the man who ruined us
. Dev stifled a harsh laugh and ignored Connor’s question. “Sleep is the last thing on my mind.” Dev forced himself to exhale slowly, get the churning in his stomach under control. “Show me.”

He followed Connor to the dining table where papers were spread out all over everywhere. “Just to think that all this time it was sitting there, waiting for us.” He cursed softly. “All these years, we could have…”

It didn’t bear thinking. The sense of loss staggered him.

“What are you planning?” Connor asked. “I don’t like the look on your face.”

For a moment, Dev simply stared at the papers without picking them up, his thoughts careening from one stunning implication to another.

None of it had to happen. None of the pain.

His mother hadn’t had to drink away the anguish. His siblings could have had a father. They hadn’t had to be inches away from welfare.

You bastard
. Charles DeMille’s smug certainty flared in his face.
You lying, arrogant ass
.

The scared fifteen-year-old boy hadn’t had to lie awake at night in terror. The eighteen-year-old hadn’t had to leave everyone who mattered.

I hope you burn in hell. I’m going to help you get there
, Dev vowed.

“I’m going to pay a little early morning visit to River Oaks.” He shook his head and reached for a stack of papers, his jaw grinding. “You got coffee made?”

Lacey woke up wanting him. Her body tingled with the sweet hum of arousal. He’d made love to her all through the night, each time tinged with a desperation that touched her to her soul. Intense, as though he needed to make up for long years lost apart. She’d felt the same need. They’d driven each other crazy with a hunger that grew with every touch, every caress, every greedy plundering. When she’d finally fallen into helpless slumber, the feel of his strong body wrapped around hers had given her the best few hours of sleep of her life.