Moonlight Scandals

by Jennifer L. Armentrout

“Do you see us?” he asked.

  At first she didn’t understand what he meant, but as her gaze darted over the room, she saw them, in the standing mirror.

  She drew in a shallow breath. “I do.”

  “I want to know.” One hand skimmed down her arm, over her waist, to her hip. The other roamed down and those long, elegant fingers of his curled around her breast. Liking that—liking it too much—she bit down on her lip. “What are you thinking when you see us in the mirror?”

  What was she thinking? She gave a little shake of her head. Their reflection was nothing less than decadent sin. Him towering behind her, one hand on her hip, the other opening and closing around her breast. Their masks in place and their lips parted.

  “I’m thinking that I . . . I want to find out what your amendment is,” she said.

  “You’re impatient, aren’t you?”

  “Always.”

  Devlin made a sound that reminded her of a rough, unused chuckle and then he stepped into her and using the hand at her hip and her breast, he pulled her back against his front.

  She felt him, all of his iron-clad strength. He was so much taller, but somehow he lined their bodies up, pressing his hips against her ass, and she felt him there, hard and thick.

  “Tell me, Rosie, are you going to pretend again?” His breath drifted over her temple. “Pretend you don’t feel how badly I want you?”

  Instead of using words, she pushed her hips back and rolled them. His deep groan turned into a grunt and his hand tightened on her hip as he swiveled his hips against her ass.

  “Okay,” he breathed. “You’re not pretending.”

  “Nope.” She let her head fall back against his chest. “Are you pretending?”

  He seemed to shudder against her. “No. Yes. Both?”

  “That sounds confusing.”

  “And complicated, Rosie. So very complicated.” His teeth caught her earlobe, nipping at the tender skin. She gasped and shivered. “I want you to watch us.”

  She could barely catch her breath. “I’m watching.”

  “Good,” he murmured, kissing her neck as he fisted the skirt of her dress. “I don’t want you to miss a moment of this.”

  Neither did she, so she watched him pull up the skirt of her dress, inch by inch. Revealing first her calf and then her knee, until her one thigh appeared in the reflection and her legs went weak. He stopped.

  Devlin kissed the space behind her ear and then pressed his cheek against hers. She could see him watching in the reflection as he lifted the skirt to her waist, pulling the material to the side, baring her.

  He growled out, “Fuck.”

  She liked the way he said that, so her hips wiggled a little in response.

  “No panties?”

  “I didn’t want a panty line,” she explained, feeling her face start to heat. “And I hate thongs.”

  “Mmm.” His hips pushed against her rear and she felt him straining against her. “Naughty.”

  She let go of her bottom lip and grinned. “You don’t approve, Devlin?”

  He squeezed her breast, eliciting a moan from her as the wicked bite of pain was immediately followed by a flood of pleasure. “I’ve never fucking approved of anything more.” He turned his head then, dragging his lips across her cheek as he still stared at her. “Beautiful. Just beautiful. Lift your leg.”

  A harsh exhale left her. Resting her hand on his arm, just above where he held her dress, she balanced herself as she lifted her leg, placing her foot on the edge of the bed.

  She was bare and open to his eyes, and oh God, his stare was greedy and devouring and she wanted to be devoured. Consumed. Taken.

  “You are . . .” He kissed her jaw and then straightened his chin so he was looking at the reflection again. “You are exquisite. Absolutely delectable. Look at you.”

  She was looking.

  “You are . . . complicated.”

  That word again. “Complicated.” She felt that to her core. Yes. Felt it as her thighs quivered—as her entire body quivered. She held herself very still, letting a man who filled her with equal parts irrational rage and lust look his fill, letting a man who was a stranger with the ability to cut deep with words and make her lose her mind with kisses. Complicated. And she wasn’t a shy woman. She liked to think she was quite adventurous when it came to sexy, fun times, but this was different and new to her. It left her feeling vulnerable and raw and strung too tight. She’d never felt like that, not with anyone. So, yes, this was complicated.

  “Hold your dress,” he ordered softly.

  Rosie did what he asked without question. She held her dress so she remained exposed to him—to them.

  With his hand free now, he moved to her bare thigh. Her heart was trying to beat itself out of her chest. She noticed it right off the bat. Not how her skin was darker than his or how large his hand was against her thigh, but how his palm felt. How rough his hands were. They reminded her of Ian’s. Hands of someone who used them, and that shocked her, because she didn’t think he’d have palms and pads callused over. She’d thought his hands would be smooth and pampered. Protected.

  She jerked back against his erection and he grunted out, “Wider.”

  She opened up as far as she could go without losing her balance. That hand on her thigh didn’t move for the longest time. Felt like an eternity as cool air washed over her heated flesh.

  “There’s something else I remembered.” He slid his palm along her inner thigh. Drawing closer and closer to where she ached and pulsed. “From the night when I died? There wasn’t a tunnel,” he said, and she trembled as his finger trailed the crease of her thigh and then out, his palm smoothing over her outer thigh. “But it was so damn cold. Never felt that kind of cold before. It was deep, unending, and beyond physical. Do you understand? It wasn’t my skin or bones that were cold. It was me. Felt that coldness ever since.”

  She swallowed hard, and maybe under different circumstances she could recall if other people who’d had near-death experiences felt the same, but she couldn’t at the moment. There was just one thing she wanted to know. “Are you cold now?”

  “No.” His hand slipped under her thigh and he carefully moved her foot, closing her legs until just a hint of her most vulnerable place was visible to his eyes. “I’m on fire now.”

  “Good,” she whispered. “I don’t want you to be cold.”

  He stilled behind her, his hand under her leg. A long, tense moment passed and then he said, “You’d let me in you, right now, wouldn’t you?”

  She trembled, not ashamed to admit the truth, but a little afraid of doing so as he skated his fingers over her hipbone. “I’d let you do just about anything right now.”

  “I know.” He kissed her temple, and for some reason, that caused her heart to squeeze, her chest to spasm. “That makes this dangerous.”

  “Why?”

  His fingers danced over the delicate sensitive skin of her mound. “Because I want to bend you over and sink so deep inside you, that you’d feel me for days.”

  A bolt of pure lust jolted through her. “How’s that dangerous?”

  Devlin didn’t respond to that, but he lifted his head so he could see their reflection again. Their eyes met in the mirror, and then he touched her lightly, right in the center, drawing his fingers along her folds. Her breath caught as her hips twitched. That lazy finger of his trailed up over her clit, spreading her wetness. Then it slipped in her, just the tip of his finger, and she felt it coil deep inside her, a tightening of muscles that was so sharp, so swift that she thought she might come right then.

  Devlin made this ragged sound and she felt him tense behind her. She waited for him to thrust his fingers in, to fuck her that way hard and fast. She waited, her breath coming out in short, shallow pants. She waited—

  Suddenly, Devlin pulled his hand away from her. “Someone’s coming.”

  The man must’ve had amazing hearing, because all she could hear was blood pounding and the unspok
en pleas that were about to spill out of her mouth. “What?” she gasped.

  “Terrible timing.” He pulled her leg off the bed, and because she was still frozen, he pried her hand free, letting her dress fall, wrinkled, into place. “I don’t want anyone else seeing that.”

  A wild giggle crawled up her throat as he pulled her away from the bed, still keeping his front pressed against her back.

  “Dev?” a male voice called out from the hallway. “Are you up here? You’re needed downstairs, on the stage, and everyone who is anyone is getting antsy.”

  He cursed swiftly under his breath as he curled a strong arm around her waist. “Yes,” he called out over her head. “I’ll be out in a moment.”

  “All right” came the response dripping with curiosity. “I’ll be waiting. Out here.” There was a pause. “In the hallway. By myself.”

  Rosie’s lips pursed.

  “Of course,” Devlin muttered as his erection pressed into her.

  Rosie smacked her hand over her mouth, smothering the giggle that finally broke free.

  “You think this is funny?” he asked, turning her around so she faced him. There was a lightness in his eyes that she’d never seen in them before. “I can barely walk and I’m needed onstage where I’ll be standing in front of hundreds of people.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, fighting back another laugh as she placed her hands on his chest. “Do you want me to take care of it? I’m rather fast and good at it. Or so I’ve been told.”

  The lightness vanished, replaced by stark hunger. “God.” He cupped her jaw. “That suggestion is not helping.”

  “But it could,” she teased, starting to slide her hand down his stomach.

  He caught her wrist. “You are . . . trouble.”

  “That’s my middle name. Well, my middle name is June. Trouble is my nickname. That sounds better.”

  “Rosalynn June?” He tilted his head.

  “Yeah,” she drew the word out.

  He stared at her a moment. “Well, Rosalynn June, while I’d love to have your mouth wrapped around my dick, I have a feeling that is going to make things worse.”

  “Oh no, it will make this much, much better. I pro—”

  “I’m getting bored waiting” came the voice again, from outside. “I’m coming in.”

  Devlin spun from her. “If you come in here, I swear to God—”

  The door swung open, and there was this tall blond standing in the doorway, wearing a feathered mask that looked like someone had taken a Bedazzler to the thing.

  Devlin stepped so he stood in front of her, halfway blocking her.

  “Well, what in the world are you doing in here, Dev?” the man asked, a slow grin appearing on his lips and spreading into a wide smile. “With . . .” He leaned to the side, trying to see around Devlin. “Who is this?”

  “If you do not leave this room, I will physically and quite painfully remove you,” Devlin responded, and Rosie’s eyes widened.

  The man didn’t at all appear worried. “But I’m curious, Dev. And you know what happens when I’m curious.”

  Something clicked into place. What did Devlin say about people who called him Dev? It was only his brothers?

  “Leave,” Devlin responded.

  The man sighed quite loudly. “Fine.” He looked at Rosie, and she thought that maybe his eyes were like Devlin’s. “Bye, mystery lady, I sure hope we meet again.”

  Devlin exhaled roughly through his nose as the man backed out of the room, closing the door behind him. After a moment, he turned back to her.

  Rosie’s gaze dropped. “You’re still hard, just FYI.”

  His lips twitched. “Yeah, I’m aware of that, thank you.”

  Unable to help herself, she grinned up at him. “The offer still stands.”

  He groaned as he glanced at the closed door. “Trouble,” he repeated under his breath. “Fucking trouble.”

  “Sorry?”

  His gaze slid back to her. “No, you’re not.”

  “I’m not.” She glanced up at his messy hair. “Here. Let me fix this, at least.”

  Devlin locked up as she stretched on the tips of her toes and smoothed the strands of his hair back. As she fixed his hair as best she could, he watched her as if he didn’t understand what she was doing.

  “There.” She settled back onto her feet. “It’s not perfect, but you don’t look like . . .”

  “I was seconds away from having my fingers in a wet pussy?”

  Holy crapola, he really just said that.

  Not one to embarrass easily, she sure as hell felt her body start to burn with a mixture of that and yearning. “Well, you’re still hard, so yes, you do look like that, but hopefully you can resolve that before you get onstage.”

  Devlin huffed out a low, short laugh. “I need to go.”

  “I know.” She stepped back.

  He didn’t move for a long moment. “I don’t want to.”

  Her breath did that silly thing, catching in her throat again. Some people didn’t think that was real. The breath-catch. Rosie knew it was real, and something between them shifted in that moment. Strange that it wasn’t when he was flirting with her or when he was kissing her or even when he was touching her. It was now, when he was standing before her, open and . . . and human. Not coldly remote and detached, and she realized she . . . liked this Devlin.

  She liked this Devlin, the one who admitted that his house was haunted and told her that he’d died once. She liked this Devlin, the one who wore a mask and kissed . . . God, kissed like a man who could very well carry through on everything he’d said that day on his steps. She liked this Devlin, the one who barely touched her and nearly brought her to the brink of release, who looked at her like a man starved.

  Guilt surfaced, stirring to life. Because she liked this Devlin, she wanted to tell him about his father—about what happened during the reading with Sarah. It seemed so wrong that she hadn’t told him, because if she was in his shoes, she would want to know.

  But now was not the time.

  “I know,” she repeated finally.

  Devlin stared at her a moment longer and then nodded before walking away. He stopped at the door and faced her. “My condition about Lucian’s house? You just met Lucian, by the way.” There was a wicked little half grin on his face. “All you needed to do was ask him. He would’ve let you in. His girlfriend is terrified of ghosts and would definitely want to know if their new place is haunted. You didn’t have to go through me.”

  Her mouth dropped open as the loudest laugh she ever let loose erupted out of her. “You jackass.”

  Catching her gaze, he winked and then bowed. “I’ll be in touch.”

  Chapter 15

  Lucian was waiting for him in the hallway, looking bored as he leaned against the wall, beside one of his paintings. It was a painting of the bayou, captured at dusk, and rendered so realistically, it looked like a photograph instead of a painting.

  Dev’s youngest brother was annoying but he was also an extremely talented painter.

  “You really didn’t need to wait out here for me,” he said, walking past his brother.

  “Who was she?” he asked.

  Dev made it halfway down the hall before he realized Lucian hadn’t moved. He stopped and turned around. “What are you doing?”

  “Waiting.” A mischievous glint filled his eyes. “Who is she, Dev?”

  Anger pricked over his skin, making him itchy. He wasn’t sure what pissed him off more. Being so close to feeling what he knew was surely fucking heaven or the fact that he knew his brother could be like a rabid dog with a chew toy when he wanted to be. He was also self-aware enough to admit that he’d allowed desire to override common sense, something he’d never allowed before. He didn’t regret what happened. He just didn’t know how to . . . process it, especially since he knew what he’d shared with Rosie was something he spoke about with no one and what if she was somehow working with Ross?

  Really too
late to question that now.

  “Where is Julia?” he asked.

  “Downstairs, making friends.” Lucian grinned. “Not that kind of making friends I think you were just doing in that room. I’m actually sort of sorry that I interrupted.”

  Dev’s jaw hardened. “That would be a first.”

  “I know, right?” His brother’s gaze slid back to the room Dev had just come out of. He knew it was only a matter of time before Rosie walked out, and if Lucian was still out here, he would bombard the woman with questions. Lucian often had no filter and saw no need to develop one.

  “Come on,” he called to Lucian. “I need to be downstairs and I assume you want to return to Julia?”

  His brother hesitated and then pushed away from the wall. He quickly fell in step beside him. “Are you going to tell me about her?”

  Dev really didn’t want to, but he figured Lucian would recognize her if she did investigate his house. To say that he was shocked that he’d agreed to that still unnerved him. He hadn’t been lying when he’d told her that all she had to do was go to Lucian, but her relationship with Ross, whatever it was, made telling her anything a risk, but again, it was a little too late for that and there was always the chance that Rosie hadn’t been lying when she said she hadn’t known about Ross’s intentions.

  “She’s a friend of Nikki’s. We were actually talking about you,” he said as they reached the top of the stairs.

  Lucian looked over at him. “Okay. I was not suspecting that.”

  What he was telling his brother wasn’t necessarily a lie. He was just omitting a whole slew of other events that had taken place in that room. “I’ll fill you in after the auction.”

  His brother was quiet as they went down the steps and a sea of costumed people greeted them. The silence, however, didn’t last. “So, she’s a friend of Nikki’s and you guys were talking about me—the latter is interesting, but there is something I want to know. Who is she to you?”

  Dev stopped at the bottom and then, as if he was compelled, he looked over his shoulder and then up the stairs. Something stirred deep inside him as he caught a glimpse of her waiting just out of view. He didn’t know what that something was, and fuck him, he wanted to find out, and that . . . that wasn’t like him. Wanting to find out anything about Rosie wasn’t smart, not right now. Not ever.