Changing Lanes (The Lone Stars Book 3) (9 page)

“What are you doing?” Devon sounded honestly scandalized.

“Cutting my way out of this dress.” She continued. She’d love to do something sexy right now, but she had scissors in her hand and she was pretty sure that running with scissors was actually safer than sexy with scissors, at least in her hands.

“You’re ruining it.” It was sweet that he was more worried about her clothes than she was.

“It’s the only way out. Unless you have another plan. And, it’s not that great of a dress to begin with.” She was waist high now and working her way up to the neckline. When she finally made it to the neckline, it was a huge relief. Now her dress hung open in front and back. Did she step out of it and parade around naked? It’s not that she was prudish or self–conscious; it’s just that she didn’t do things like that. Would that be sexy or just awkward? She bit her lip puzzling through it.

“I promise to close my eyes like a gentleman if you want to change into something else.” Devon’s voice rumbled next to her ear.

It was better than standing here indefinitely. “I don’t have anything else like this. I only own two dresses and the other one has pizza stains all over the butt.”

Devon was hell on her wardrobe—not that her clothes were anything special. In fact, he was a very good excuse to go shopping for new ones. Except that she’d rather remove her own appendix with a dull knife than go shopping.

“Okay.” She slid what had been a serviceable black dress down her arms and stepped out of it. She was halfway out of the kitchen when she turned back to find Devon’s eyes glued to her body. “What happened to keeping your eyes closed?”

“I’m no gentleman.” He was at her side in two strides. His hands went to her waist, he picked her up, wrapped her legs around his hips, and backed her to the wall. His lips were hot and demanding on hers. Not bruising, but not gentle either. His tongue thrust into her mouth and explored. His hands cupped her butt setting her firmly against him. She fisted his hair and pulled him to her. Through the thin trousers of his suit, she could feel how much he really liked her lacy underwear.

His mouth left hers and trailed angel kisses down her throat.

“Are we about to have crazy gorilla sex?” She could have bitten her own tongue. Needless chatter wasn’t exactly sexy unless it was something seductive. Dirty talk … that’s what she should be doing right now. She scanned her brain and nothing came to mind. What exactly qualified as dirty talk? Surely penis was too clinical. Cock? That made her think of a roster. Would he notice if she pulled out her smart phone and Googled dirty talk? She glanced down. She was only wearing her underwear so her phone was probably next to her purse on the front entry table. Did he have his phone? Maybe she could discreetly work it out of his pocket and find a couple of really dirty phrases.

“No.” He traced her earlobe with his tongue. “No sex tonight … gorilla or otherwise.”

“I disagree.” She smiled sweetly. She would seduce him with the nastiest dirty talk he’d ever heard. God knew she could use some sex. The release would be nice after the day she’d had. “Let me borrow your phone.”

“I can’t imagine who you need to call right now.” He pulled it out of his suit coat pocket and handed it to her.

“I’m not calling anyone. I’m about to seduce you with my filthy mouthed dirty talk.” She took it, pulled up the web browser, and typed dirty talk. Several articles popped up. She pulled up the first one. “Okay, I’m supposed to make eye contact.”

She looked him straight in the eye, but then had to look away to scan the phrases. They were all stupid, but she was willing to try it. “I want you to put your giant …”

The screen went black. She tapped on it. “I think the battery died.”

“Well, I only had two percent left.” Devon kissed the tender spot underneath her ear. “Dirty talk was never my thing. But if you want to turn me on, throw me some statistics.”

“You like the random facts?” He seemed to this morning.

“I like everything about you.” He kissed her hard on the mouth.

The doorbell bing–bonged.

Laney froze. It bing–bonged again. A chill ran down her spine. “Crap.”

She’d meant to be gone by now because Daddy Dearest was coming over. Her latest tactic in daddy–daughter relations was to avoid him like the plague. She’d just pretend not to be home.

“I know you’re in there. Your living room light is on.” Her father’s voice was brusque. It was always brusque because the man had that down to a science.

Devon unwrapped her legs from around his hips and gently slid her down his body. “What’s wrong?”

“My father is here.” She shook her head. “I’d planned on being gone before he got here.”

If Santa Claus had a polar opposite, her father was it. He was tall, athletic, condescending, and hated all people in general.

His face blanched and then he turned angry. Did he know her father?

“Why don’t we hide in the bedroom?” She didn’t expect him to say yes, but it was worth a try.

“I don’t hide from anyone. It’s about time I met your father.” Devon shrugged out of his coat, wrapped it around her, and smacked her on the bottom. “Go get dressed.”

What did he mean it was about time he met her father? That was odd.

Her father started banging on the door. He’d never been much of a knocker.

Devon checked his watch. “We’re going to miss our dinner reservation. How about take out?”

She kissed him lightly. “You read my mind. That sounds perfect.”

The banging got louder.

Devon turned to the front door. “I’ll answer the door. You get dressed.”

She hesitated. “My father … let me apologize upfront.”

“Go.” He winked. “I can handle myself.”

“My hero.” She winked back.

Devon’s face lit up.

Her pulse kicked up a notch, and she shoved the medical explanation aside and enjoyed the moment.

She escaped to her bedroom and threw on a T–shirt, a pair of jeans, and a fluffy pair of socks. Since her father always expected for her to look professional, even as a teenager, she’d dressed down. Rebellion came in all shapes and sizes.

The rumble of male voices carried into the bedroom. She zipped up her jeans, pulled on the socks, and took a deep breath. If was funny, she wasn’t nervous to introduce Devon to her father, but to introduce her father to Devon. There shouldn’t be a distinction between the two, but there was … a huge one.

Her father was cold, unyielding, and imperious, but Devon, well he made her happy. It was as simple as that.

Chapter 7

Having never actually met Laney’s father until now, Devon didn’t like him anymore than he had fourteen years ago. It was more than just coldness, there seemed to be an anger boiling in the depths of the man that didn’t fully make sense. Was he angry at the world in general, his daughter for not waiting by the door for him to drop by, or because she had a man in her house?

Devon sat back, crossed his legs at the ankles, and continued the stare down he was currently having with Laney’s father. Devon’s eyeballs would dry up and fall out before he blinked or looked away first.

Silence crackled through the room, but he wasn’t about to chat up a man who in his mind had taken Laney away from him.

Through his peripheral vision, he saw Laney walk into the living room and came up short. Because he couldn’t analyze her face, he couldn’t judge her emotions.

“Father.” She called.

Her father turned to her, his eyes raked up and down her in disapproval.

Devon practically jumped up to go to her. Her father didn’t have the right to disapprove of Laney in any way, and Devon wouldn’t stand for it. She was lovely in jeans and a T–shirt.

He kissed her lightly on the mouth. “You look beautiful.”

Laney blew out a slow, calming breath and laced her fingers through his. Nervousness radiated off her in waves.

“Want me to beat him up for you?” Devon whispered close to her ear. “I totally would.”

Her father sighed loudly. “I came by to drop off your birthday present. I thought we might go to dinner.” There wasn’t the least bit of emotion in his bland tone.

Laney’s whole body tensed like she was preparing for a fight and a forced smile contorted her lips. “Thanks, but I have plans.”

Clearly, Dr. Giles Nixon wasn’t in the habit of being rejected. “Your friend,” he spat out the last word, “may come with us.”

It was an order not a request.

“Sorry, we can’t.” Laney was firm. “Another time.” Which sounded a lot like over her dead body.

Devon made a big deal of checking his watch. “So sorry, we have to go or we’ll be late.”

They’d already missed their dinner reservation, but he did have tickets to Ballet Austin, though it didn’t start for another two hours.

Her father eyed Laney’s clothes and shook his head. A muscle ticked in his jaw, but reluctantly he stood, pulled an envelope out of his breast pocket, and handed it to Laney. “Happy Birthday.”

Her smile went from forced to fake. “Thanks.”

“I’ll see myself out.” Her father headed toward the door and then turned around. He looked directly at Devon. “I know you from somewhere.” His hawk–like gray eyes bore into Devon. “Ah yes, rotator cuff injury. You’re a football player. The surgery took two and a half hours—five or so years ago. One of my old partners did it and I assisted.”

The man might be evil, but he had an impressive memory. He had no idea that Laney’s father had assisted with his shoulder surgery. “That’s right.”

He nodded toward Laney and then he was gone.

Silence was heavy in the room. After a few moments, Devon put his arm around Laney. She stiffened slightly, but then relaxed into him.

“Let me get a sharp stick so you can poke it in your eye.” She shook her head. “Or maybe I could run over you with my car.” Tears rolled down her cheeks and she brushed them away angrily. “Both of those things sound like more fun than meeting my father.”

More tears streamed down her cheeks. She didn’t make a big production out of them or sob loudly; they were more of an annoyance and an embarrassment. She swiped at them and looked down. He’d never felt more helpless in his life. Laney who was smart, witty, and tough was crying. He would do anything to make it stop. He led her to the beige sofa, sat down, and settled her in his lap.

“Your dad wasn’t that bad. Compared to Attila the Hun, Caligula, or the Rams defensive line, he’s a pussy cat.” Devon stroked her back.

“I like you so much and I was so worried to introduce you to my dad. I didn’t want you to run away screaming.” Her eyes squinted and sucked in her top lip. “I said that out loud didn’t I.”

Devon felt the grin all the way to his soul. She liked him. It was a start. “I didn’t hear a thing.”

She returned his smile, and he noticed that the tears were gone.

He wanted to be there for her on good days and bad. More than anything, he wanted to share his life with her, and he wanted the same from her. “Tell me about your day.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” She tensed.

If she wouldn’t share herself with him, how could they ever be together?

“I’d really like to know. You said that it was a long day, maybe talking about it would help take some of the burden off you.” He wanted to know her … everything about her.

She thought about it for a second or two. “I have a patient who is dying.”

She didn’t start off with the small and work up to the heavy. She jumped right in. He liked that about her.

She let out a long slow breath. “That’s the first time I’ve admitted that.” She shook her head. “Don’t get me wrong, I’ve lost patients before and it always makes me feel like a huge failure. But this is different. Lara is so … special. She was born addicted to crack cocaine, and her mother abandoned her at the hospital. After Lara kicked the drugs, she went into foster care, but was taken out of that home because of neglect. Before she could be placed in another home, she got sick. She beat Leukemia once, but this time it’s back, which is bad.” Laney closed her eyes for a moment and then opened them again. “She has no family. A social worker comes to see her every other week for about thirty minutes, but other than that, Lara is all alone.” Laney shook her head. “She’s so brave and funny and smart, and she won’t see the age of six.”

Devon rubbed Laney’s back. She’d retreated into herself and her voice was the controlled physician. It was telling that she shed no tears.

“I deal with death everyday and the only way I get through it is to compartmentalize, but with her, I can’t turn off the emotion. Lara’s never been part of a family, or lived in a loving home …” Laney laid her head on his shoulder. “Today, I asked her if she could have anything in the world what would it be, and she told me that she wanted a family. I wish I could give her that—at least for the time she has left.”

Devon’s eyes strung with his own tears and he batted them away. If only he could make this better for her. Now he understood why she shed no tears. It’s not that Laney didn’t feel for her patients, she did, but she buried it under layers of professionalism. The only way to do her job was to focus on the disease and not the person.

Deep inside, Laney still had the tender heart he’d remembered. At camp, all those years ago, a baby bird had fallen out of it’s nest and Laney, careful not to touch it, had scooped it up with a piece of cloth, climbed the tree, scampered out on the limb, and returned the bird to it’s nest. It looked like she was still taking care of children. Maybe he’d misjudged her after all—she was following her passion of helping children.

He may not know anything about Leukemia, but he knew a lot about family. Lara wanted a family, he knew just the lady who could make that happen.

Gently, he set her off of his lap, stood, and held his hand out to help her up. “Grab your purse and whatever else you need, I’m about to introduce you to my mother.”