Yes, Lacy saw, though it hurt her. She couldn’t take her gaze from him, couldn’t turn away. Not one single muscle in her body seemed to be under her own control.
Her helpless shock seemed to amuse him. He watched her for a long, brazen moment, letting his own gaze wander over the elaborate French twist of her thick brown hair. He had always preferred it loose…. Then down the low, tight bodice, the full, flowing skirt of her evening dress. He had vowed he would buy her just such a dress someday…. And then up again, to the hand she had pressed against her breast, to the ugly square diamond she wore there. He hadn’t even been able to afford a high school ring, but…someday, Lacy. Someday.
But someday had never come. And now she wore another man’s ring. She saw his eyes harden as he stared at the diamond, and she lowered her hand nervously. She shouldn’t have. It was the sign of weakness, the hint of shame he apparently had been waiting for. He watched her hide her trembling hand in the folds of her skirt. And then slowly, with an intense and private knowing, he smiled. It was a beautiful smile. A cruel and unforgiving, diabolically beautiful smile.
He hated her.
A sudden whirlpool formed in her bloodstream, pulling down, down toward a sinking, sickening vortex. Was she going to faint? She wouldn’t allow it, wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. How dare he hate her? She pressed her fingers against the rough wooden wall as she felt herself spinning, drowning in a maelstrom of emotion.
Had she said she no longer knew how to feel? Then what was this wild barrage of sensation? Lips, bonfires, rain, hands, music, magic, tears, pain, blood, pain, pain—the memories came hurtling at her like jagged bolts of lightning. She was almost bent double from the sheer electric power of it.
“Well, I’ll be darned. If it isn’t Adam Kendall!” Just behind Lacy, Tilly’s voice was full of a delighted surprise, and in typical uninhibited fashion it carried across the arena easily. “Come here, young man, and give your old friend a kiss!”
Adam’s expression lightened as he recognized Tilly, and, with a few polite murmurs, he obediently began to move toward them. He seemed indifferent to the bevy of disappointed beauties he left behind, but Lacy could tell, from the angle of their collective gaze, which was focused somewhere just below Adam’s waist, that they were consoling themselves by admiring the geometrical perfection in the ratio of shoulders to hips.
And it was perfect. Lacy knew, much better than these women, just how achingly perfect he was, physically. Strong muscles tapered down his long, lean torso, ending in sexy, shadowed hollows just deep enough to accept a kiss. Skin tanned golden from shirtless summers at the concrete factory ran like honey down his back, falling to the paler, tight silken curves of his buttocks….
She heard herself make a small noise, and then she felt Tilly’s hand on her elbow, steadying her. Amazing, really, how much welcome strength could be conveyed through those thin, elderly fingers.
“Courage, child,” Tilly whispered, and thankfully Lacy felt her balance returning. She took a deep breath, raised her chin and, with all the equanimity she could summon, forced herself to watch calmly as Adam Kendall, the most desirable, dangerous man she had ever known, walked slowly, arrogantly back into her life.
“Mrs. Barnhardt,” he said, and this time his smile held no sting. He accepted Tilly’s outstretched hand, then bent to kiss her cheek. “It’s good to see you again. La he extranado.”
Tilly made a small scoffing noise, but Lacy could tell she was flattered by whatever Adam had said. In the old days, Tilly had given him Spanish lessons in exchange for odd jobs around the house, occasional grooming of the horses. Today his accent was flawless, a testimony to her success.
“Nonsense,” Tilly said tartly, covering her pleasure. “Dashing young men do not miss creaky old ladies like me when they set off to see the world. Not for a split second.”
Adam laughed. “The world can be a pretty rough place, Mrs. Barnhardt, even for dashing young men. I remember one particularly ugly winter when I would have traded the whole damn globe for a slice of your blueberry pie.”
Tilly blushed and scowled simultaneously. “Watch your language, young man. You know, I tried to mix a little etiquette into those Spanish lessons, but apparently it didn’t take. You haven’t even said hello to my friends.” She urged Kara forward. “I don’t think you know Mrs. Karlin. She’s the head of our hospital volunteer board.”
Kara grinned goofily, apparently struck dumb by Adam’s smile, and then overcompensated by vigorously pumping his hand. He didn’t protest. He merely raised one eyebrow in mild curiosity and allowed her to continue. Finally, Kara seemed to notice that she still held his hand and let go abruptly, apologizing in unintelligible mortification.
Tilly chuckled. Turning to her other side, she slipped her arm around Lacy’s shoulders. “And of course,” she said with just a hint of protective warning in her voice, “you must remember our little Lacy.”
Lacy forced herself to meet his gaze, bracing for the pain of recognition. She had always loved Adam’s eyes. Stunning blue dramatically framed by black brows and black velvet lashes. Clear, intelligent, audacious, sexy. Uptilted with a secret laughter he had reserved for her, glowing with a rogue tenderness that lay deep beneath the streetwise facade.
And the fire—oh, yes, the fire! Startled by the sight, she realized that she had naively assumed that their decade of separation would have extinguished Adam’s fire—just as it had snuffed her own. But it was still there, the fire that had warmed the coldest nights of her life….
Apparently it would take more than ten years to turn Adam Kendall to ice. She could only imagine the parade of women who had lined up to keep the flames alive after he left Pringle Island, and Lacy, behind.
She fought a shiver that skimmed across her shoulder blades and, somehow, with the help of Tilly’s firm embrace, held her posture erect. She offered him a smile and held out pale, numb fingers.
“Hello, Adam,” she said with extreme courtesy. “Welcome back.”
He took her hand. His tanned fingers were warm, his grip so strong her bones pressed tightly together. But she hardly felt either warmth or pain. He might as well have been shaking hands with a plastic mannequin.
“Hello, Mrs. Morgan,” he said, and she wondered whether anyone else could hear the slow, scathing emphasis on her name. “This is a pleasure. You’re looking well.”
“She’s looking well? Nonsense!” Tilly tightened her hold. “She’s looking magnificent, and you know it. Bellisima, no crees?”
Adam once again scanned Lacy slowly. “Yes,” he agreed finally. “Bellisima. She’s right, Mrs. Morgan. You’re looking particularly…prosperous. Marriage seems to have agreed with you.”
Tilly frowned. “Adam—”
But Lacy had, at long last, found her tongue. Apparently even mannequins could speak up if pushed far enough.
“And traveling has obviously agreed with you, Adam,” she observed pointedly, scanning his crisp, sinfully well-cut tuxedo in a deliberate replication of his earlier perusal of her. “You’re polished to a rather high gloss yourself.”
He shrugged, smiling. “Just window dressing.” He cocked his head sideways, proving his point by suddenly looking far more like a pirate than a gentleman. “Apparently, Mrs. Morgan,
