The tight bodice, flared mermaid skirt, flowing sleeves and naked shoulders showed off more of her body than she was usually comfortable with. Willow had worked hard to build the image of a quiet, accomplished businesswoman. She clung to it, wrapping the familiar shield around her. Flaunting her body went against years of trying to live down the scandal of her sister’s disgrace.
Rose had always worn the smallest, tightest things she could get away with. She’d stayed out all night, drunk excessively and embraced everything their parents had warned her to avoid. Everyone had hoped her older sister would outgrow her penchant for pushing boundaries and making mistakes, especially when she eloped with an older man who had an established, settled life. Perhaps his love would be enough to curb her destructive behavior.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t.
Not only hadn’t he settled her, he’d been betrayed by Rose in the worst way. Then, after the divorce, her sister had headed as far as she could get from Sweetheart, taking the settlement and becoming a showgirl in Sin City. Willow cringed every time she thought of Rose on stage, topless in front of thousands of strangers. But Rose refused to cash the checks Willow sent, insisting she didn’t need the help.
Forcing the unhappy thoughts away, Willow realized maybe it was inevitable that Rose would pop up in her mind tonight. Even as she’d put the dress and mask on, part of her had felt as if she was betraying the reputation she’d fought hard to build.
Needing a break from the blatant sexual come-ons, Willow worked her way into the corner. It was her default position for these types of events. Having the solid support of the wall behind her was comforting and familiar.
She was seriously considering calling it a night when her friend Tatum, the local florist who had designed the amazing red, orange and yellow centerpieces, sidled up beside her.
“Do I want to know what prompted this little outfit?”
Willow cut wary eyes to her friend. If any of their group would understand, it would be Tatum. She was a no-nonsense, make-no-apologies kind of person. Willow admired her for that self-confidence. Tatum didn’t need anyone’s approval.
After spending her entire life worrying what others thought, Willow was envious. But she had no idea how to adopt Tatum’s cavalier attitude. It just wasn’t her.
“What do you mean?” she asked, still uncertain if Tatum knew who she was. She hadn’t told any of her friends what she’d planned to do tonight. She’d been apprehensive about their reactions. She wasn’t interested in being razzed for the decision...or talked out of it.
Tatum’s pale green eyes raked Willow from the tip of her head to the toe of the designer heels peeking out beneath her hem.
“Well, let’s start with the hair. I really hope it’s temporary. While I’m all for taking a risk, you’ve never struck me as a red kinda girl. And the dress. Don’t misunderstand, it’s gorgeous—how could it not be? You designed it—but a little revealing for you, isn’t it?”
Oh, Tatum knew it was her. “Thanks, Mom.”
Her friend chuckled, sipped on the glass of punch she held. “Don’t get me wrong. If you really want to go there, I’ll support you one hundred percent. But as long as I’ve known you, this—” her hand waved up and down to take in Willow’s entire ensemble “—has never been your thing.”
Tatum turned, giving her back to the room and blocking out everyone else. Her stare was serious and sharp. “I’ve had my fair share of one-night-stand regrets. I just want to make sure you know what you’re getting yourself into.”
Willow shook her head. “No one said anything about a one-night stand.”
“Please, honey, that dress screams ‘screw me.’ Right along with the underlying air of innocence that not even your amazing creation can completely cover up. You’re like catnip, and every single man here is sniffing.”
Willow wanted to dismiss her friend’s observation—she wasn’t catnip for anyone—but the barrage of bad lines she’d heard tonight had her swallowing the words.
“Right now, there are at least six men who can’t take their eyes off you.”
“How do you know? Your back is to the room.”
Tatum shrugged. “What do I always do at these things? I’ve been watching. The real question is, what are you going to do about it?”
“What do you mean?”
“Are you going to stay here in the corner, or are you going to get out there and flirt?” Shifting to stand beside her, Tatum crossed her arms over her chest, leaned against the wall and stared into the pulsing crowd. Tatum hated these things, and still she always came.
“Corner,” Willow answered without a second thought.
“I’m not sure he’s going to be satisfied with that answer.” Without bothering to look, Tatum tipped her head sideways.
Willow followed the gesture, her eyes scanning the crowd for whatever her friend was talking about.
And then she saw him.
Even from behind the barrier of his red-satin devil mask, she could feel the intensity of his stare as it ran slowly over her body. And she reacted. Her body buzzed with the recognition of a virile, interested male.
Through the space and the shield of his mask she couldn’t tell the color of his eyes, but they were dark. People brushed past him on both sides. The cacophony of voices and music swirled between them. Someone bumped his shoulder. But he didn’t move. None of the chaos touched him.
Willow’s throat went dry. Her pulse fluttered uncomfortably. She wanted to look away, but couldn’t.
Then he moved. Toward her. Willow reached for Tatum, hoping to use her as a deflection, but her friend had disappeared. Damn her.
Dressed all in black, the only colors he wore were the shocking red mask and a slate-gray tie. Willow recognized expensive material and tailoring when she saw it. His suit hugged him perfectly, highlighting the beautiful body beneath.
Whoever he was, he had money. Not that Willow particularly cared about that.
“Like to dance?” He held out his hand, palm up.
Willow stared at it for several seconds, torn. Slowly, her gaze traveled up his body to his eyes. They were a dark, midnight-blue.
Licking her lips, she said, “That’s all?”
“That isn’t enough?”
“Every other guy here has had some cheesy line about angels or sin.”
“You’re too intelligent for that.”
“How do you know?”
During the entire exchange he held his hand steady between them, waiting. There was a...stillness inside him. A patience she instinctively recognized. He’d show that same patience in bed as he drove her crazy with precision and skill.
Willow fought the urge to squirm. She found herself nodding but didn’t reach for him, vacillating between what she wanted to do and what she should do. She wanted to let this handsome, dynamic and mysterious man sweep her off her feet. And he so could. Her skin tingled. Her body fizzed with anticipation.
But what she should do was turn around and walk away. Everything inside her told her that was the smart, responsible, correct response. Years of doing the right thing and choosing the safe course were hard to ignore.
Good habits were just as hard to break as the bad ones.
But tonight she’d come here to be daring, to do something different and shake up her life. At least for one night.
The perfect opportunity to do that stared at her with dark, sensual, bedroom eyes.
2
APPARENTLY TIRED OF waiting for her to make up her mind, the devil took the decision from her. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he pulled her tight against his body and led her to the center of the dance floor.
Languid heat spread through her when his palm slipped down her spine, ruffling feathers as he went, to settle at the small of her back. Bringing her close, he f
lattened her other hand against his chest and engulfed it in his own.
Was it an accident that she could feel the accelerated thrum of his heart against her palm?
Rough stubble scraped her temple. The heavy beat of the music slipped into her blood, settling as a steady and agonizing vibration deep in her belly.
Moist heat tickled across her cheek when he said, “I’m Dev.”
“Willow.”
His entire body hardened. His back stiffened and the pectoral muscle beneath their joined hands turned to stone. She didn’t understand and tried to pull back, but his tight hold on her waist wouldn’t let her.
Desperate to find some way to ease the tension, Willow licked her lips and said, “You aren’t from here.”
Gradually, his body relaxed, although she could still feel the tight muscles beneath her hands. With relief, her body melted into him.
She didn’t want him to pull away.
He’d barely touched her, and her skin felt hot enough to flame right off her body. Every nerve ending was alive with anticipation. Every shift of his body against hers registered deep inside. The friction was unbearable. Never in her life had she been this...inundated by her physical response to a man. To a stranger.
She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. All she could do was want. Him.
“Why do you say that?”
“Because I know everyone and I don’t know you.”
A deep rumbling sound rolled through his chest. It reverberated straight into her, making her internal muscles pulse and ache.
Around them, the people faded away. Willow couldn’t concentrate on anything but the sensations bombarding her. The music changed. He put more space between them. She wanted to protest, to grab him back and close the gap.
But she didn’t.
The dark, earthy scent of him washed over her and she liked it. Pine, soil, wood. Unlike men who relied on something artificial, he was all musky, sinful, primitive male.
The pad of his thumb ran across the center of her palm and up the underside of her left ring finger. Goose bumps erupted up her arm.
“You aren’t married?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“I think I’d remember something like that. I hope.”
Dev chuckled softly against her temple. “What do you do?”
“I’m a wedding-gown designer.”
“That explains the dress.”
Willow frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
The dimple at the center of his chin twitched. The thick stubble on his face almost obscured it. Almost, but not quite. Willow wanted to touch. To put her tongue right there and taste.
Holy crap, what was this man doing to her?
“This dress is hardly a costume. It stands out.”
It was Willow’s turn to stiffen beneath his hold.
“In a good way,” he quickly assured her. “Everyone else’s costume is a cheap imitation of yours.” His mouth found her ear. “I recognize quality and appreciate it when I get my hands on it.”
A shiver rippled through her. As close as they were, there was no way he hadn’t felt her reaction. Willow fought the tide of embarrassment.
Closing her eyes, she tried to find some self-control. She was usually so good at suppressing her reactions—to everything. But this man seemed to have a knack for breaking through all of her armor as if it didn’t even exist. Only one other man had ever affected her that way....
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what,” she asked, her voice breaking on the words.
“Don’t hide.”
“I’m not.”
“You are. My little angel, pulling the edges of her virtue back around her. Why? Are you worried about what these people will think?”
His dark, glittering gaze darted around the room to encompass the crush of people surrounding them. For the first time, Willow realized they’d become the center of attention. Other people twirled, talked, drank and ate...but eyes kept straying back to the angel and devil pressed against each other.
God, she hoped no one realized she was the one making a spectacle of herself. Her costume was good, but was it that good? Tatum had known who she was.
“Yes. I live here.” These people were her neighbors, her friends, her customers. Of course she cared what they thought. She’d seen firsthand just how cruel they could be.
She didn’t want that for herself. Would do just about anything to avoid the agony of losing their respect. Losing her own respect.
“So you do. Do you think these people have never sinned?”
“Of course I don’t.”
“Then why do you have to be perfect?”
“I’m not.”
He stopped. In the middle of the dance floor. His arms tightened, leaning her off center. His gaze bored into hers, searching for something. She couldn’t breathe. She didn’t want to.
Her lips parted anyway, trying to pull more oxygen into her lungs. He made a sound deep in the back of his throat. His body loomed over hers, dangerous and tempting.
And then he was kissing her.
There was no easing into the moment, not with him. He devoured her, his mouth hard and demanding. She couldn’t say no. Didn’t really want to. The undertow of sensation pulled at her, blocking out every other thing.
Willow’s eyes closed. The bank of revolving lights flashed colors across her lids. And she held on. It was the only thing she could do.
Heat and need twisted through her, sharp and unexpected. She didn’t know what to do with it. His tongue slipped in, sliding deliciously against her own. The texture and taste of him was extreme. He’d sampled the cheap champagne someone had provided, fruity and sharp, but underneath he was rugged and robust.
Tearing away, Dev pulled her upright. The room spun lazily as she tried to get her bearings.
She blinked up at him. And then blinked again. Her hands clung to his shoulders, holding tight for fear that if she let go she’d topple to the ground.
“Why’d you do that?” she asked breathlessly.
“Because I could. Because I enjoy making a stir.” His deep blue eyes flashed dangerously. “Because I would have kicked myself if I let you go without knowing how your mouth tasted.”
No one had ever said anything that...sensual to her. “Holy hell.”
The startled sound of his laughter burst between them.
Had she said that out loud?
Willow stared at him, surprised by his reaction. She wanted to see his face. To know what his laughter looked like. Would it lighten the shadows cast by more than the mask covering him?
Wrapping his arms around her shoulders, Dev pulled her tight to his body. The embrace had none of the underlying currents of sensuality and need from moments before. It was easy and let her relax.
“Thank you,” he said, his mouth buried against the feathers of her mask.
“For what?”
“For giving me a moment to remember in the middle of all this. I didn’t expect that when I arrived tonight. Didn’t expect you.”
Willow wasn’t entirely certain what to make of that. “You’re welcome?”
Spinning her once more and setting her off center, he asked, “Do you want to leave?”
Without hesitating, Willow answered, “Yes.” This man with the dark blue eyes and red-silk mask was precisely what she’d been looking for when she’d dressed tonight.
It was finally her turn to sin.
* * *
FROM ACROSS THE room Dev watched Willow Portis as she spoke to a woman in a halfhearted cat costume. The two women couldn’t have been more different. Willow was long and slender. Not even her blatant attempts at the sexy costume could hide her inherent elegance. He
r movements were deliberate, not a single motion wasted.
He shouldn’t have been surprised to find her at the masquerade, but he was. Maybe because he knew her sister and parents had moved away from Sweetheart. He’d always imagined her living somewhere else, with the perfect life.
From the moment he’d walked into the party she’d drawn his gaze. His, and that of every red-blooded male in the room. When he’d first approached her it had simply been because he was attracted and interested in learning more about the woman beneath the sexy dress and virginal angel wings.
He should have known who she was the moment he touched her, but it hadn’t been until she told him her name that realization—and long-forgotten memories—flooded in.
Part of him wondered just how long it would take her to recognize him. How far was she willing to go with this? And would she push him away when she figured it out or take the opportunity to finish what they’d started ten years ago?
Would she still hate him? Blame him? Or would time have blunted the misplaced sense of betrayal?
Some perverse place deep inside him wanted to know...what had her life become? Why was she here tonight alone? How had she spent the past ten years? And was she happy?
Even as he realized he should probably walk away from her, he couldn’t make himself do it. Just as before. From the moment he’d met her, there’d been something about Willow that had drawn him in. Made him want things he knew he couldn’t have.
Her sweet and haughty demeanor was a dichotomy that had intrigued him from the moment Rose had introduced them. Even back then he’d wanted to ruffle her feathers, to make her cool skin pink with a blush of innocence.
Until Willow, he hadn’t known innocence still existed. Dealing with his mother’s alternating rampages and drug-induced bouts of euphoria had stolen his innocence long before he’d come to Sweetheart.
She’d been seventeen to his twenty. And though he’d known he should leave her alone, he hadn’t been able to do it. Every time she was close, the need to fluster her was overwhelming. He’d push into her personal space and watch as her body reacted to him—as he knew she didn’t want it to.
The Devil She Knows Page 2
