The Devil She Knows

by Kira Sinclair

  And then he found her. His fingers slipped through her sex, diving deep. She groaned with the bliss of his touch. He found her hidden spot and stroked. Over and over, until she was delirious with the need for more.

  Her hands played mindlessly across his body, the pleasure of touching him increasing her own. He was solid and real. Hers to enjoy. Her mouth rained down kisses on every inch of skin she could reach.

  Blindly, she fumbled in the bedside table for the box she kept there, not that she needed it often. Grabbing a condom, she used her teeth to open it and then rolled the tight latex over his pulsing hardness.

  She wanted him inside her. Now.

  Understanding her unspoken urgency, Dev gave her exactly what she wanted. Rearing back, he brought them together, positioning the swollen head of his erection at the aching opening of her sex.

  Slowly, he pushed inside, letting her take him inch by inch. He stretched and filled her. His breath came in short gasps as he slid all the way home. His body trembled. She could feel the tremor straight to her center.

  He was everywhere. Surrounding her. Over her. Deep inside. His hips flexed against her, drawing a moan and giving her just a little more.

  And then he was moving. With slow, deliberate strokes, he pulled out and then thrust back again. Her hips pumped in time with his. He drove her crazy, bringing her to the brink only to push inside and stay there, motionless, while she writhed.

  Every muscle in her body was wound tight. Every nerve ending quivered, waiting for the moment when her world would finally break apart.

  When it came, the release hit with a force she’d never experienced before. Was it Dev, or was it the edge of danger? She didn’t know and didn’t care. Everything went black, the tiny bursts of color across her eyelids the only thing in her universe. That and the spot where they joined. The relentless waves of satisfaction.

  The frenzy of his release pierced the fog. He thrust into her, his entire body bowing back with tension right before the snap. And then he was calling her name, a guttural groan that echoed deep inside her.

  Watching him let go was beautiful, and she wished she’d let him take off the mask so she could see more. See all of him. Before, it had felt right, the barrier she’d kept in place. Now, after what they’d just shared, it felt wrong to have anything between them.

  Her body pulsed. Pleasure and something more fizzled through her veins. He collapsed beside her. Willow’s body quivered, a spent mess.

  Their legs tangled together, but she was too drained to try to unravel the knot. His arm, draped across her waist, tightened to pull her closer.

  “You are definitely no angel.”

  * * *

  HE WAS IN serious trouble.

  Dev stared down at Willow as she slept. He couldn’t settle. His conscience wouldn’t let him. What had he done?

  She was going to be pissed when she realized who he was. And, really, he wouldn’t blame her. But the moment he’d followed her inside...he’d been lost.

  The sight of her standing in the dark hallway, moonlight falling across her pale skin and those wings...he’d had to touch. And once his fingers slipped across her smooth skin he couldn’t stop.

  When she’d told him to keep the masks on he’d been relieved...and guilty as hell. He knew, without a doubt, that the moment she saw his face that would be the end of it. And he’d waited to touch her for so long.

  But that didn’t change the fact that he’d royally screwed up. It had been a very long time since he’d let his dick do his thinking. Damn thing tended to get him into serious trouble. The question was, how to fix this? If that was even possible.

  With a sigh, Willow rolled onto her side. The skin between her eyes crinkled. Then she burrowed into his prostrate body and her entire face smoothed out into sleepy contentment.

  Oh, yeah, he was in deep shit.

  Her shocking-red hair spread across the pillow. Staring down at her, Dev was careful not to pull as he threaded his fingers through it. He wanted to know what it would look like without the artificial color. His memory of her told him it should be a deep, rich brown that reminded him of fertile, fresh-tilled soil.

  She smelled so good. Pressing his nose close to the exposed crook of her neck, he breathed her in. Something soft, sweet and subtle, like honeysuckle on a perfect summer morning.

  He wanted more.

  And that was really the crux of the problem. One night with her wasn’t enough. But when she realized who he was...

  The thought of that conversation had dread tightening his gut.

  He had two choices. He could leave now and avoid the issue all together. Play this off as the one-night stand she probably thought she’d just had. But that really wasn’t going to work for him. Not only did he not want to leave, but he couldn’t avoid the confrontation.

  Eventually she was going to see him in town and realize who she’d had amazing sex with.

  Or he could stay. Brazen it out and try to convince her that he hadn’t set out to take advantage of her. That screwing her hadn’t been about revenge, but heat and long-denied attraction.

  Sliding down, he tucked her body tighter, enjoying the way she fit perfectly against him. Her hair was still clutched in his fist, an unconscious attempt to hold on to what he fully expected to lose.

  Had she dyed it for the costume or did she keep it red all the time? He hoped it was temporary. It didn’t suit her. At all. Not that it was bad...it just wasn’t Willow. Or at least, the Willow he remembered.

  Although why he thought he understood her at all he didn’t know. Ten years was a long time. He was proof of that. Look at how different he was from the rebellious and angry boy he’d been.

  God, he’d been a prick when he’d moved to Sweetheart, defiantly wearing the label on his sleeve. Consumed with pain he didn’t want anyone to see. His mom, a drug addict who’d only cared about her next fix, had died from an overdose. He’d been the one to find her pale body, lifeless and cold. And even if she’d been a shitty mother...she’d been his. And it had hurt.

  Everyone looked at him and judged. The other kids he went to school with. The teachers who should have been a source of knowledge and help, but were too busy to notice he was lost. Although, it really hadn’t been their fault. It wasn’t like he was ever around long enough for anyone to put the pieces together.

  Dev had lost count how many times his family had been evicted because neither parent could hold a job or bother to pay rent. Moving from place to place meant school to school. After his dad went to jail there’d been several months he hadn’t bothered going to class at all. And no one had noticed.

  Before Sweetheart he’d never really had a home. A roof over his head, sure. Not a home. But his grandfather had given him one...at least for a little while.

  No matter how long he’d lived there, he’d never quite let himself relax. Five years in one place was unheard of for him. And he just kept waiting for it to end. It was almost a relief, when the look in his grandfather’s eyes changed from exasperated love to enraged disappointment and the fairy tale was finally over.

  Once again, everyone had judged him, looking for the worst and finding only what they expected.

  But they’d all been wrong. Sure, he’d floundered for a few months trying to find a way through the mess he’d landed in. Who would have known that picking up an odd job on a construction site could change his life so drastically? He’d never forget the man who’d given him a chance and seen beneath the grimy exterior to the potential lurking deep inside.

  He’d gone back to school, finished his degree, and started Devlin Landscaping & Design. At any given time he had hundreds of people working for him all over the country.

  Willow had lived in the world he’d wanted desperately to be a part of, but couldn’t quite believe he had the right to. She’d been d
ifferent. Or so he’d thought. But in the end, she’d pushed him away just like his grandfather, easily believing the lies.

  Once he might have known the sound of her laughter and the way her eyes darkened when she was angry, but that obviously wasn’t enough.

  He should probably feel remorse for what he’d just done, but he couldn’t muster up the emotion. It would mean he regretted tonight, and he didn’t. Maybe he would later, when the piper had to be paid, but for the moment the satisfaction was too close to the surface.

  Trouble would find him soon enough, anyway. It always did. Besides, with her naked body pressed close he wanted another taste. There was no point asking for absolution if he fully intended to sin again.

  He hadn’t gone to that party with the intention of picking someone up. Considering what had happened, sleeping with anyone his first day back in Sweetheart was probably the worst decision he could have made. The fact that it had been Willow just compounded the stupidity.

  She really was nothing like her sister, which was a good thing. Rose had been provoking and selfish, caring about no one but herself. Willow was soft and quiet. Giving. Reserved, even if tonight she had wanted to pretend she was daring.

  But, God, beneath all the polished restraint she was passionate. And nothing like the women he normally connected with.

  He liked to get down and dirty, in his job, in bed and in general. Life was too short and too much shit happened. Shit that no one could predict or control.

  So tonight he was going to enjoy the moment. Tomorrow would be soon enough to deal with the rest.

  4

  WILLOW WOKE SLOWLY, a delicious smile curving her lips before she’d even opened her eyes. Stretching, her body protested in the strangest places.

  And then she remembered.

  She sat bolt upright, clutching the lavender sheet to her naked chest.

  “Oh, my God,” she breathed out to the empty room.

  It hadn’t been a dream. She’d really been that wanton and unabashedly reckless.

  Her face flamed with delayed embarrassment. The things she’d done...and let him do to her.

  With a groan, she dropped back into the pile of pillows, shielding her face with her arm.

  Was it a good thing that she was alone? Or should she be pissed that he’d left while she was asleep? Maybe she should call Tatum and ask her just what morning-after protocol called for.

  Memories of last night flashed across her closed lids. A dark head between her open thighs as pleasure spiraled ruthlessly through her. Silky strands clutched between her demanding hands as she kept him right where she wanted him.

  His body sliding sinuously against hers in a relentless rhythm that drove her crazy.

  Her body hummed, electrified by nothing more than the ghosts of what they’d done to each other and the lingering scent of sex that still clung to her skin.

  “Well, that’s certainly a nice vision to walk in on.”

  With a startled yelp, Willow jackknifed up off the bed. Her hair fell into her eyes, obscuring her vision. The velvety-smooth sound of his chuckle slipped down her spine, sending tingles of awareness with it.

  Her internal muscles contracted with remembered pleasure and the need for more. Willow ignored their demand.

  Pushing her hair out of her face, she realized two things at once. First, the sheet was puddled in her lap leaving her bare from the waist up.

  Snatching at the edge, she pulled it up to her chin.

  His sinfully sculpted mouth twitched and the dark slash of a single eyebrow rose. “Little late for that, isn’t it?”

  Ignoring him, Willow gathered the sheet around her like a shield. It was about the only one she had left.

  Pushing away from the door frame he’d negligently propped himself against, he moved into her private space with a powerful grace that made her want to hate him. His black pants were slung low on his hips, leaving the top slashes of the V of sculpted muscle visible.

  She remembered running her tongue down those matching creases straight to the Promised Land they pointed to. Her skin flushed hotter.

  He sank to the bed beside her, his hip dipping the mattress so she had to brace to keep from rolling against him.

  Silently, he held out a mug to her. Steam curled up from the surface, bringing with it the delectable scent of coffee.

  Willow narrowed her eyes, staring at it for several seconds before deciding she was really going to need the jolt.

  Because the second thing she realized was that she knew exactly who had slept in her bed last night. She didn’t like him. And he’d lied to her.

  She fortified herself with several sips before stretching to the opposite side of the bed and setting the mug down. Better not to have this conversation with hot liquid in her hands. He might just end up burned.

  He watched her, warily. Obviously he was fully prepared for the conversation they were about to have. Just one more reason to be pissed. Had he known who she was from the first moment?

  Shifting away from him, Willow glared. “Your name isn’t Dev.”

  His mouth tightened, but that was his only reaction to the accusation in her voice. “Yes, it is.”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  “Interesting. That’s what my birth certificate says.”

  “That’s not funny, Wick.”

  “Do you see me laughing, Willow? And don’t call me that.”

  No, he wasn’t laughing. At least not on the outside. She couldn’t help but think he was probably hooting and hollering on the inside about the coup he’d just pulled.

  As if ruining her sister’s marriage and betraying her hadn’t been enough for him, he’d decided to weasel his way into getting what he’d always wanted—her, naked.

  Although, she had to admit, she’d been pretty eager to shed her clothes last night and hadn’t put up much of a fuss.

  Guilt and regret mixed with her anger, blunting it in a way that was far from satisfying. Trust her conscience to surface just when she needed righteous indignation.

  She’d had a one-night stand with a stranger. A masked stranger. She hadn’t exactly expected to wake up with a paragon of virtue. But she hadn’t expected to wake up with Wick, either. The only man who’d ever tempted her to sin.

  A groan rolled up through her chest, but she cut it off before it broke free. That alone should have told her who touched her. No one had ever made her feel so electrified and alive with nothing more than a look.

  He’d always had that effect on her. But she hadn’t seen him in ten years and had no reason to expect him in Sweetheart—let alone beneath the devil’s mask.

  “Why not? What’s wrong with Wick?”

  “It isn’t my name. Never has been. The only people who’ve ever called me that are the people in this town. And, as you can imagine, I don’t like the reminder very much.”

  They’d called him Wicked Wick. She remembered hearing her sister purr his name, the single word filled with the kind of raw sensuality that, at seventeen, she hadn’t completely understood.

  Oh, she did now. An unwanted shiver of memory erupted in goose bumps across her skin.

  To hide her reaction, Willow climbed from the bed, making sure the sheet stayed tightly wrapped around her body. With the bed between them she felt a little steadier. Until those midnight eyes full of banked heat and promise raked across her.

  “Why are you here?”

  Standing, Dev rounded the bed, never breaking his hold on her gaze. She grudgingly gave him credit. After that one brief singeing glance, he kept his focus squarely on her face.

  He closed the space between them. Willow shifted, trying to get far enough away that she could think clearly. And deal with the situation. But there was nowhere for her to go.

  Her back hit the edge
of the dresser. Behind her, several bottles and trinkets trembled at the contact. Straightening her spine, Willow pulled the shreds of her composure around her like a shield. She refused to let him see that he got to her.

  But he didn’t stop. His body crowded into her space. Her back bowed under the pressure of his presence. The heat of him overwhelmed her. He didn’t touch her, but he didn’t have to.

  The wide expanse of his naked chest spread out before her. She couldn’t swallow. She wanted to touch, but somehow found the force of will to clench her fists tighter into the sheet instead.

  Even in the light of day, the dark, wicked edge that made him irresistible was there. She fully understood why every girl within a certain age range—and several outside of it—had thrown themselves at Wick...Dev...when he’d lived in Sweetheart.

  Not even she had been immune to the draw of him. She’d hardly been worldly, but that kind of tense beauty was hard to miss. He’d always exuded a sensuality that just begged to be tamed.

  Apparently the pull had only gotten stronger. At least, on her.

  The flat of his palms pressed against the mirror behind her. She reacted to him, every cell coming alive with remembered pleasure and hopeful anticipation.

  Traitor.

  This man had ruined her sister’s life. And if she wasn’t careful he’d hurt her, as well. Again.

  Dark blue eyes bored into hers. She couldn’t read his expression. Gone was the sensual, giving man of last night. He’d been replaced by someone harder and more perilous.

  Whatever he called himself now, he had no moral compass. Because if he did, he would have told her last night exactly who he was. Not given her a name she wouldn’t recognize.

  “Why am I here?” His voice was soft and dangerous. A prickle of unease shot down her spine. “In your bedroom or in town?”

  “Either. Both. Ten years is a long time. Why are you back now?”

  “I’m in town because I’m the landscape designer for the new resort.”