Moonlight Scandals

by Jennifer L. Armentrout

  “I’m fine,” she said, looking around as she placed her beaded clutch on the table beside his keys. His living area was the same size as Gabe’s and followed the same minimalistic design. There was a couch and a large TV mounted to the wall. With the exception of the entryway table and the end table, there was nothing else. No paintings. No additional seats. “You don’t have a lot of guests, do you?”

  “No.” A small smile appeared as he made his way to a kitchen area outfitted with all the typical kitchen stuff. There was a fully stocked bar, and he picked up a bottle of what appeared to be bourbon. “Do you mind if I pour myself a drink?”

  “Of course not.”

  He turned back to the bar. “Is it obvious that I don’t have a lot of guests?”

  “Well, you only have a couch and one barstool at the bar, so . . . yeah, it’s obvious.” She laughed.

  “There’s not many people I want in my personal space.” He poured himself a drink and then placed the bottle back. “I want you here, though.”

  Her breath caught as he turned to face her. “Why?”

  “I like you, Rosie.” He came around the bar. “And I don’t like a lot of people.”

  She snorted as she tucked a curl back behind her ear. “Never would’ve guessed that.”

  He chuckled. “Do you want to see the rest?”

  Rosie nodded.

  Sipping from his glass, he turned to his left and started down a narrow hall. The walls there were also bare. “You know what the first thing I liked about you was?”

  “My shining personality?”

  “Shockingly no,” he replied, and she grinned at his back. “It was the peonies.”

  “Ah.”

  He opened the door at the end of the hall. “It was kind of you to do that. You were kind.”

  “So, you now believe that I didn’t know who you were?”

  “I should’ve believed you then,” he said, stepping aside. “This is, obviously, a bedroom.”

  That it was, and she knew that only because of the large king-size bed in the middle of the room. But like with the living area, there was nothing personal about the nightstands or the long, narrow bureau. No photos or paintings. There wasn’t even a book on the nightstand or a piece of clothing lying on the bed.

  “Do you actually live here?” she asked, turning to him.

  “What?”

  “Do you live here?” she repeated, gesturing to the room with a wide sweep of her arm. “I mean, it’s a beautiful room, but it’s empty. There’s nothing . . . intimate about it.”

  Devlin stared at her for a moment and then said, “That’s the second thing I like about you.”

  Her brows lifted.

  “You speak your mind.” He walked over to the bed and sat down. “You’re not afraid to say anything to me. Even if you know I won’t like it or if it’s uncomfortable to hear, you speak your mind.”

  “Most people don’t like that.”

  “Most people are idiots.”

  A laugh burst from her. “Wow.”

  “It’s the truth.” He lifted a shoulder and took a drink. “You stand up to me. You get in my face. You tell me what I don’t want to hear but maybe need to. That is . . . unique in my experience.”

  She glanced to the curtained French doors that led out onto the balcony and then her gaze fell back to him. “You’re starting to make me feel special.”

  His gaze lifted to hers. “You are special.”

  Feeling her cheeks warm, she inched closer to him. “Thank you.”

  Devlin didn’t look away as he took another drink. “Probably the most special thing about you is even after how I behaved toward you, you’re still standing here. I’ve given you very little reason to be here, right now, with me.”

  “That’s not true.” Drawing in a shallow breath, she walked over to him and stopped in front of him. “Yeah, there were a lot of times that I didn’t like you. At all.”

  He was silent as he stared up at her.

  “But I . . . I always felt like there was more to you than just being an arrogant asshole.”

  A grin tugged at his lips.

  “There. That small smile.” She plucked his glass out of his hand and placed it on the nightstand. “The first time you smiled in front of me, the first time you laughed, I could tell it wasn’t something you did often.”

  “You’re very observant.”

  “I am.” She placed her hands on his shoulders and then sat in his lap, straddling him. He made this low growl as his hands came to her hips. “We didn’t get along, but there were moments when we did, and during those moments, I . . . I liked you. A lot.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yeah.” She lifted her hands to his face and dragged her fingertips along his jaw. “I still like you a lot and I know . . . I know that liking you isn’t always going to be easy, but I want . . .”

  His hands tightened on her hips. “You want what?”

  “You’re a lot of things.” She cupped the back of his head. “And I want you. All of you.”

  “You have me.” He ran his thumb over her smooth cheek, tracing the bone. His touch was featherlight, but she stirred restlessly in his lap. Lust pricked her skin. He moved his fingertips down her throat, over her shoulder. A small sigh escaped her.

  Slowly, he moved his hand to the neckline of her gown, his palm pressing against the swell of her breast. “You have all of me,” he said.

  Rosie placed her hand on his side, moving it toward his back, kneading the cords of bunched muscles. He caught her wrists and replaced them on his chest. Before that could fully register, he dropped his hand to her hip and tugged her down and against him. All soft curves pressed against hard lines. His erection, straining against his trousers, pressed against her core, and when he moved her against him in a slow, undulating grind, she gasped and stiffened.

  “I want you.” He rocked his hips again. His next words came out as a low, harsh growl. “I want all of you tonight.”

  Her hips rolled down, and he lowered his head, moving his lips across the cheek he’d caressed moments before. “Then take me.”

  His remaining hand slid up the flare of her hip, up her stomach. He stopped just below her breasts, his thumb brushing over the swell. Her breath caught as his kisses reached the corner of her mouth. She turned her head slightly. Their lips brushed.

  “And if I want to keep you?”

  Her fingers curled into his shirt as she rocked against him. “I will have to take that under consideration.”

  “Or I just need to work harder at convincing you?” He dipped his head to the space between her neck and shoulder. Lowering his hands to her hips, he nuzzled her neck. He let his hand stray higher, nearly reaching the peak of her breast, and then his hand closed over her breast, the heat of his skin searing her through the thin material of her dress and bra.

  Her back arched, pressing her breast into his grasp. He answered, pushing the material aside, exposing her bra. He smoothed his thumb over the taut pebble.

  His eyes remained latched on to hers as he teased her nipple through the cloth. She moved her other hand down his chest, and her stomach muscles tightened. “I need to see you, touch you . . . taste you.”

  His words sent a dark shudder through her. “Yes.”

  Moving his hand down, he slipped it under her dress and then lifted the material up. She lifted her arms, and within seconds, the dress was lying on the floor. His sharp intake of breath was lost when he found the clasp on the back of her bra and unhooked it. That, too, joined the dress on the floor.

  “You are so beautiful.” He lowered his head, flicking his tongue over one pert nipple.

  She moaned as both of her hands now clutched his sides. And then she was tugging his shirt up. He chuckled as he pulled away from her aching breast and helped her get the shirt off. Her eyes devoured every inch of his exposed skin. He was ripped, satin stretched over rock-hard muscles. Her hands flattened against his lower stomach, and his muscles bunc
hed.

  Rosie lifted her gaze as her fingers trailed over each hard ripple. “You’re perfect.”

  “I am far from perfect.” He moved his hand to her other breast. His tongue swirled over the nipple. “That’s something you need to know.”

  Her head went back as her breath came out in short gasps. “Perfection isn’t a constant state.”

  He drew the rosy peak into his mouth as he caught her other nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

  “God,” she moaned, rolling her hips against him. “See, this is perfect.”

  Desire swirled inside her, leaving her feeling out of control and dazed. Why did she feel this way? Was it more than lust? But then his mouth tugged on her breast and his tongue rasped over her nipple, and she stopped thinking. It was all about feeling and the raw, exquisite sensations shooting down to her core, warming and dampening her. All she knew was that she wanted every part of him, the smooth, chiseled edges along with all the rough, frayed ends.

  Her hands slipped over rock-hard abs that dipped and rippled. Masculine perfection. Her hips rocked against the thick length pressed against her core. God, he was huge.

  He lifted her suddenly and turned, placing her in the center of the bed. Her heart raced as she rose onto her elbows and watched him shuck off his pants and tight boxer briefs. Within moments, he was naked and she . . . she was still wearing her heels. She started to sit up, but he caught her ankle.

  “Keep them on,” he ordered in a smoky, thick voice.

  Her stomach twisted.

  Devlin reached for the nightstand. A drawer opened and a condom landed on the bed beside her. He climbed over her and then lowered himself onto his side beside her.

  Reaching for him, she gasped when he caught her hands and pinned them to the bed. He shifted over her and then he let go of her wrists, letting his hands trail down her arms and over her breasts as he worked his way down. When he caught her nipple between his teeth, she cried out again, wantonly rolling her hips against his hardness. Tension between her legs built quickly, stealing her breath, shocking her. She’d never come this way before, but oh—oh sweet Jesus—the coil tightened deep inside her womb. Her movements became almost frantic. His growl of approval burned her skin, igniting the fire as he lifted his head to stare down at her.

  She reached for him again, but this time she ran her fingers along his smooth jawline. Their eyes met, and her throat tightened with unexpected emotion.

  He dipped his head as his hand slipped down her stomach, resting just below her navel. “You make me want . . . so much, Rosie. You have no idea.”

  She lifted her head, brushing her lips against his. “Show me.”

  His large, powerful body shuddered beside her, and hot, sweet darts of fire sped through her blood. Her lashes lowered and her breath caught in her throat as his hand slipped farther down, gently palming her.

  “There’s just one problem.” He kissed her and then pulled back. His tongue slid over her lips, then inside, matching the slow, languid thrust with his fingers. Tremors started in her stomach. Muscles quivered.

  “What problem?” she gasped.

  “When I want something, I don’t let it go.” He tormented her until she moved her hips against his hand, but anytime she tried to get more, to take control, he nipped her lip, her throat. “Ever.”

  That one word stirred so many raw emotions in her that for a moment she was lost. A small, keening whimper escaped her as her release came out of nowhere. Devlin pulled her to him, holding her close as her body shuddered. Sweat coated his skin, muscles taut and rigid from holding back. And then he turned her around, easing her onto her side. He used his thigh to separate hers. She arched her back, grinding her rear against the length of his erection. “What if I don’t have an issue with your problem?”

  “Don’t make a promise you won’t keep.” His warm breath danced over her cheek. He cupped her breast, running his thumb over the hard nipple.

  Her breath was quickening. “I don’t make promises I don’t plan on keeping.”

  Devlin slowly slid into her, inch by inch. It had been a while, so it took a few moments for him to stretch her, but when he did, she felt so unbelievably full. He was moving so deep that she felt like she’d come apart in a shower of sparks. The steady friction sent her body blazing. Slow and steady strokes soon became not enough. More—she wanted more. She moved her hips, and his low growl had her blood pressure skyrocketing.

  “Harder,” she whispered. “Please.”

  The things he whispered in her ear as he shifted her onto her knees and thrust into her from behind, each stroke harder and faster than the one before, could probably be classified as depraved, but they excited her. Every thrust mounted her pleasure and deepened her cries. And when she started to spasm around his cock, he caught her chin and forced her head back and to the side, claiming her mouth with his as he spent himself.

  “God, that was . . .” He dropped his forehead against her shoulder and shuddered again. “That was fucking amazing.”

  “Hey,” she murmured as she wrapped her arm through his. “We agree on something again.”

  Devlin laughed quietly against her shoulder and then he lifted his head, kissing her cheek. “I’ll be right back.”

  She pouted as he pulled away from her and rose from the bed. Not one to miss a prime opportunity of seeing him in all his glorious nakedness, she rolled onto her back. The first thing she saw was that unbelievably firm ass that just begged her to take a bite out of it, but then she lifted her gaze.

  “My God,” she gasped, jerking upright.

  Devlin halted, looking over his shoulder at her. Realization dawned in his shadowy expression. He whipped around, but it was too late. She’d already seen.

  “Your back,” she said, scooting to the edge of the bed. His back was a mess of scars, old faded scars that crisscrossed over one another, forming a disturbing map of what could only be one thing. “Dear God, Devlin, what happened to you?”

  Chapter 32

  Devlin couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe as he stared at Rosie. He’d forgotten. Holy shit, he’d been so lost in Rosie that he’d remembered to not let her touch his back but he’d forgotten when he walked away.

  He immediately turned, walking toward the door. Where he was going buck-ass naked, he had no idea, but he had to get out of here. Had to get away from the horror building in her eyes.

  “No. No.” She sprang from the bed, completely nude, and darted in front of him. Surprised, he didn’t know what to do when she planted her hands on his chest. “I just told you that I wanted all of you and whatever that is, it’s a part of you. You don’t get to run from me now.”

  Another ripple of shock made its way through him. He opened his mouth, but he didn’t know what to say. This was something no one saw. This was something he didn’t talk about.

  Her gaze searched his as she pressed lightly on his chest. “What happened to you?”

  Dev couldn’t find the words as his brain raced through the years. He stepped back from Rosie and kept retreating as if he were in a daze. He sat on the bed, his gaze following to the dress lying on the hardwood floors. He was so fucking stupid. How did he forget about his back? No one saw it. No one touched it. No one. And now this beautiful, strong, confident woman had seen just how weak he’d once been.

  “Please,” Rosie said as she bent down and picked up his discarded dress shirt. Slipping it on, she tugged it closed. “Please talk to me.”

  Maybe it was the way she asked him or maybe it was just because it was her asking. Either way, he found a voice—his voice—and he gave sound to something that never had words before.

  “Lawrence,” he muttered out in a coarse voice.

  “Your father?” She sat beside him. “Your father did this to you?”

  He kept staring at the dress on the floor, but he really didn’t see it. He saw the first time Lawrence had hit him. That may not have been the first time. It was just the first memory. It was before the
incident. Dev had been running outside. Lawrence had grown annoyed and had backhanded him. “He’s not . . . Lawrence is not my father, Rosie.”

  “What?” she whispered.

  It was like some kind of seal deep inside him had been snapped in two and everything—everything—he’d been holding back flowed to the surface. “He was the biological father of Lucian and Madeline, but not Gabe and me. Obviously that isn’t something widely known. Hell, we didn’t even know that until this past year, but that man . . . was not my father.”

  “Do you know who your father was?” she asked after a terse heartbeat.

  Dev finally lifted his gaze and glanced at Rosie. Another truth he hadn’t spoken rose to the tip of his tongue. “I think I know who it is and I don’t even know if Gabe thinks this or not. It’s not something we talk about, but I think . . . I think our father is Stefan.”

  Rosie’s eyes widened.

  “Twisted, isn’t it?” He barked out a short, humorless laugh. “It’s the only thing that makes sense to me. Both Gabe and I look too much like Lawrence and Stefan. Hell, I’m practically a spitting image of them when they were younger. Lucian and Madeline obviously took after our mother and I know my theory isn’t exactly scientific, but if I’m right, it’s Stefan.”

  She slowly shook her head. “Is there any hard-core proof other than that?”

  “No. We could find out, but . . . if there was a record of whose child was whose, that could affect a lot of things. Lucian could end up with the company, and he doesn’t want that. I offered it to him, but he doesn’t want that kind of life.”

  “That was . . . that’s huge of you to offer it, though.”

  Dev pressed his lips together. Was it really huge of him? He didn’t think so, not when there were days when he’d love nothing more than to leave all of this shit behind.

  “Now it makes sense. Why I’ve never heard you call him Father or Dad,” she said and then, “What did Lawrence do to you?”

  “What did he not do?” Another short, harsh laugh. “He always knew we weren’t his kids and I think he hated us for it, and for some reason, he hated Lucian and Madeline even more for being his kids. The man was a sociopath.” Tipping his head back, he closed his eyes. “He’d lose his temper quite easily and if I was nearby, it didn’t end well. The day I almost died or did die? He hit me and I lost my balance, cracking my head on the corner of his desk. Besson—Nikki’s father—had found me and provided CPR.”