Moonlight Scandals

by Jennifer L. Armentrout

  “Now, that’s a lie,” he murmured, taking a step toward her. “I doubt there’s a single thing about you that’s boring.”

  Her gaze met his and a long moment passed before she said, “Do you really want to know what I was doing up here?”

  His interest was more than piqued. “I do.”

  She watched him for a second longer and then turned, walking back to the nightstand to place her glass there. His gaze drifted over her, lingering on the sway of her lips.

  Christ.

  Was his mouth watering? Because it felt like that.

  Rosie faced him. She was opening her clutch. “This room is haunted.”

  Dev opened his mouth and then snapped it shut.

  “Legend says that a bride was murdered by a jealous lover in this room, the night before her wedding,” she continued, pulling out a slim black rectangular object. “Supposedly, you can pick up EVPs of her voice. That’s why I came up here.”

  He shouldn’t have been surprised, but he was. “EVP?”

  “Yes. Electronic—”

  “I know what it means.” He walked over to where she stood beside the bed. “Did you find anything?”

  She didn’t answer immediately. “No. You interrupted me. But you know what an EVP is?”

  He nodded as he reached his hand out. “May I?”

  She hesitated for a moment and then handed it over. Their fingers brushed as he picked up the simple black recorder. Turning it over, he checked to see if it was turned off. It was, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t been on this entire time.

  God, even he knew he sounded paranoid.

  Dev shook the thought out of his head as he handed the recorder back to Rosie. When she slipped it back into her clutch, he asked, “You’re not going to try to . . . investigate the room now?”

  She pinned him with a droll look. “With you in the room? Yeah, I’d rather get a lobotomy.”

  “That’s excessive.”

  Closing the clutch, she placed it on the bed, and he liked that, because it meant she wasn’t planning to leave right then. He shouldn’t like that, because he needed to be downstairs at some point, when they started the auction.

  “You don’t believe in ghosts,” she said, glancing to the right of them. Their reflection was in the standing mirror. “So, having you here would make the whole endeavor not only pointless but also painful.”

  Dev didn’t know why he said what he said next, giving voice to words he never said to even his brothers, but tonight . . . yeah, tonight was different. “I never said I didn’t believe in ghosts.”

  Her eyes widened behind the mask. “I’m pretty sure you did.”

  He shook his head as he stared down at her. “I don’t believe in a lot of what ghost hunters do or psychics and that kind of stuff. I think most of them are scammers or delusional, but I never said I didn’t believe. There is just a lot of crap and very little truth when it comes to that kind of stuff.”

  She looked like she didn’t know what to say at first and then she asked a question she’d asked before. “Is your house haunted, Devlin?”

  He dragged his teeth along his lip, considering how he could answer the question. “Things . . . things have a way of happening there. Stuff that cannot be easily explained.”

  Excitement sparked in those lovely eyes. “Like what kind of stuff?”

  “Unexplained noises. Things move without anyone interacting with them.” He sat on the high bed and stretched his legs out. “I’ve seen . . .”

  She sat next to him, her posture stiff due to the corset. “Seen what?”

  His gaze slid to hers. “I’ve seen shadows. Movement out of the corner of my eyes when no one else is in the room or hallways.”

  She leaned toward him, placing a hand on the bed next to his thigh. He inhaled deeply, catching the scent of . . . coconut. “So, you think your house is haunted? Then why the attitude when I first asked you?”

  He looked at her mouth again and had to spread his thighs. “Because I’m a dickhead?”

  A tiny grin appeared. “Sounds about right.”

  “I can only believe what I’ve seen and what I’ve experienced,” he said.

  “But if you’ve seen things and heard stuff at your house, how can you be so dismissive of ghost hunters and other people’s experiences?”

  “Because like I said, I think most of them are scammers or delusional.”

  The grin faded. “Do you think that about me?”

  He didn’t know what he thought about her. “I think you believe in what you’re doing.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Nice choice of words.”

  He lifted a shoulder.

  “I don’t get it,” she said after a moment. “You’ve experienced supernatural activity and yet universally doubt anyone else’s claims? I don’t get that.”

  Dev leaned back, resting on his arm as he angled his body toward hers. “I saw something just this week.” He felt one side of his lips curl. “A black shadow at the other end of the mudroom. I thought of you when I saw it.”

  “I’m sure that filled you with happy thoughts.”

  “I wouldn’t exactly say happy,” he murmured, shifting his gaze to the mirror. “Have you ever seen anything, with your own eyes?”

  “Yes,” she said quickly. “I’ve seen ghosts and I’ve heard them.”

  For some reason he thought about that Saturday afternoon when he was a kid, the last time his mother’s friend brought Pearl to the house. “So, you believe in life after death?”

  Rosie dipped her chin and several curls fell over her shoulders, brushing the tops of her breasts. “There is something after death. If there wasn’t, there wouldn’t be spirits. And if there wasn’t, then what would be the point of all of this? All the joy and sadness, all the failures and successes? We go through all this life and then for us to just die and that be it? I don’t want to believe that.” There was a pause where she pressed her plump lips together. “I can’t.”

  Dev felt his chest tighten as she lifted her gaze to his. Just like before, words formed on the tip of his tongue. Words he’d never spoke out loud to another human being.

  Maybe it was because she was a stranger to him but at the same time she wasn’t. Maybe it was because she knew so little about him and he knew so very little about her. And maybe it was because she wasn’t impressed by him. She wasn’t enthralled or wasn’t trying to entice him. He knew there was a good chance that she could be working with Ross, but what he did know for sure was that she was not remotely afraid of him.

  So maybe he knew why he said what came out of his mouth next. “I died once.”

  “What?” She reached up, her fingers going to the thin cord securing the mask in place.

  “Don’t.” He caught her wrist. “It’s . . . easier this way.”

  She stared at him and then her gaze dropped to where he brought her hand to the bed. A long moment passed. “You died?”

  “I probably should’ve elaborated.” A wry grin tugged at his mouth. “When I was young—a young boy, actually—I was . . . I was injured quite gravely. I died, but I was revived.”

  “Oh my God.” Her body rocked forward as she placed both hands on the bed by his thigh. “I’ve never experienced anything like that. I mean, I’ve spoken to people who have, but . . . What happened to you?”

  His brothers hadn’t been born yet and they didn’t even know about this. The only people alive besides him who knew what happened that night after he found Pearl’s mother in the room with his father were Besson and his wife, Livie, and it was going to stay that way. “I was a kid, messing around. Got myself hurt.”

  She stared at him for a moment as she reached up with her free hand, fiddling with the chain around her neck. “Do you remember what happened when you . . . ?”

  “Died?” Dev’s fingers seemed to move on their own accord, finding their way under the sleeve of her dress. “It was many years ago and some of the memories have lost their clarity, but I remember bits and
pieces. As cliché as it sounds, there was a white light. No tunnel. But there was a bright light. It was all I could see and . . .”

  Her fingers stilled around the necklace. “And what?”

  Part of him still couldn’t believe he was saying any of this and he couldn’t even blame the bourbon. “I heard my grandmother’s voice.”

  Even with the mask still in place, he could see her face soften as he dragged his finger along the inside of her wrist. “That had to be very special, wasn’t it? I mean, I’m sure as a young boy you were scared and confused, but to hear a loved one who’s passed? That . . .” She drew in a heavy breath and when she spoke, there was a wistfulness to her tone. “That had to be amazing.”

  Suddenly, there was something he wanted to know—no, needed to know. “How did your husband die?”

  Rosie pulled and he let go. She straightened as she dropped her hands into her lap. “We don’t know each other like that for that kind of conversation.”

  “I just told you that I died and heard my grandmother’s voice. How much more do we need to know each other before you tell me that?”

  She was quiet and then she laughed. “That’s a good point and I hate even admitting that to you.”

  “I always make good points.”

  Rosie wrinkled her nose. “That’s yet to be seen.” She stared down at her fingers and then looked up and over at him. “I have . . .” She bit down on her lip and looked away.

  “What?”

  She shook out her shoulders. “I have a favor to ask. You’re probably going to say no, but you just told me that your house is haunted and—”

  “You’re not investigating my house,” he replied dryly. “And you haven’t answered my question.”

  “I’m not asking to investigate your house. Not really.” She narrowed her eyes. “Your brother is renovating a house over in the Garden District. I want to get into that house, along with my team.”

  Devlin tilted his head back. “To do what?”

  “We have a client who lives next door and has been experiencing a pretty dramatic haunting. We think it’s stemming from the house Lucian is having renovated,” she explained. “Can you talk to Lucian and get him to let us check out his house?”

  “Let me get this straight. You want my brother to let you into his home to see if it’s haunted?”

  She nodded.

  Dev honest to God had no idea how to respond to that, but then he watched her suck her bottom lip between her teeth. As shitty as it was, he realized he had bargaining power, and there was something he wanted. Lots of things he wanted, actually.

  “I’ll get you into the house.”

  “What?” Surprise pitched her tone. “You’re for real?”

  A half grin tugged at his lips. “On one condition.”

  “What condition?”

  He sat up and leaned in close enough that he heard her inhale. The scent of coconuts teased him again. “It’s a pretty big condition.”

  “Okay? What is it?”

  What he was about to say was not planned. It was not calculated in the ways he wanted it to be and how he was accustomed to. His condition was . . . simply something he desired.

  “Kiss me,” he said, voice low. “That’s my condition. Kiss me.”

  Chapter 14

  Rosie was almost positive she hadn’t heard him correctly. “I’m going to need you to say that again.”

  Those thick lashes lowered. “The condition is a kiss.”

  Okay.

  She had heard him correctly.

  “You want to kiss me?” she repeated, feeling foolish for even asking that question and for the flutter that picked up in her stomach.

  That small grin appeared again. “I do.” He paused. “Very badly.”

  The flutter now moved to her chest and felt like a nest of butterflies was going to beat its way out. “It’s the dress, isn’t it?” she said, half joking.

  “It is.” He lifted one hand and placed just the tip of his finger on the black lace that rested against her shoulder. The light touch caused the muscles in her stomach and much, much lower to tighten. “And it’s so much more than that.”

  “Really? How so?”

  He slowly, so damn slowly, dragged his finger down the collar. “Do I really need to explain why I want to kiss you?”

  “Considering just a few days ago you said that the idea—”

  “I know what I said,” he cut in, and his finger reached the swell of her breast. Her entire body jerked as a sweet, heady flush invaded her system. “That was a lie.”

  She was finding it difficult to get enough air into her lungs, and she was totally blaming the corset for that.

  “So, what do you think?” He dragged his finger to the center of her bodice, to where her breasts met. An ache filled her, potent and swift as he curled his finger over the center of her dress, tugging lightly on it. His lashes lifted and those remarkable eyes pierced hers. “About my condition?”

  Never in a million years did Rosie think she’d be in this situation. Not even in her most out-there, impossible fantasies could she have dreamt up this moment with Devlin de Vincent.

  And she had some pretty far-out-there fantasies. One involved a Santa suit, but she wasn’t going to focus on that at this moment.

  From the moment he walked in this room, everything had turned surreal. The fact that they weren’t at each other’s throats and he’d shared something so personal with her was testimony of how bizarre tonight was turning out to be, so why was she so shocked that he wanted to kiss her?

  Tonight was . . . it was just different.

  Her gaze roamed over his face. Maybe it was the masks. As stupid as that sounded, it made her feel like it wasn’t really them. She wasn’t sure why, but the only thing she did know was that, despite all the things they’d said to each other, she wanted to kiss him.

  And Rosie had learned a long time ago to do what you wanted before you didn’t have a chance to do it again.

  “Okay,” she whispered. “I agree to your condition.”

  Devlin held very still, his breath dancing over her lips. “Then do it.”

  Her stomach pitched as if she were on a roller coaster about to plummet down a steep hill. Placing her hand on the bed, she leaned in and tilted her head. A stuttered heartbeat later, her lips touched his. It was just the lightest brush of her lips against his, but he made this sound that sent a wild, hot shiver through her. It came from the back of his throat, a deep groan that curled her toes inside her heels. His lips were soft and firm, and when she touched the tip of her tongue to the seam of his mouth, he opened for her.

  Rosie shuddered as her tongue touched his. He tasted of bourbon, and while she wasn’t a whiskey girl, she found that he tasted delicious. Sinful. Wicked. Slowly, she lifted her hand and placed it against his hard chest. She swore she could feel his heart beating under her palm. The moment she touched him, everything changed about the kiss.

  Rosie might’ve started the kiss, but Devlin now had complete and utter control.

  He deepened the kiss, tasting her just like she’d done to him. One hand slipped under the weight of her hair, curling around the nape of her neck, and those deep, slow, nerve-frying kisses changed. There was a barely restrained hunger to how he moved his mouth over hers, as if he was barely holding back.

  Another shudder rolled its way through her as heat simmered low in her stomach. Dizzy and breathless, she moaned into his mouth as her fingers curled around the front of his shirt. He kissed her as if he wouldn’t allow a single part of her to be left unexplored.

  The way he kissed wrecked her.

  Then the hand that was against the center of her breasts moved, dragging over the swell of her breast. Her body reacted, she pressed into his palm, suddenly, desperately wanting more.

  He made that sound again and he broke the kiss. “Rosie,” he sighed against her mouth. “What are you?”

  She didn’t understand that question, but it didn’t matter, becaus
e he was kissing her and kissing her until the thrumming in her core spread and her entire body pounded.

  His fingers brushed over the tip of her breast and her back arched. She did what she’d wanted to do since she saw him in her apartment. She lifted her hand and sifted her fingers through his hair. The strands were soft, not at all stiff, and longer than expected. How he got them to stay back without some sort of stiff product was beyond her, but she was grateful for it, dragging her fingers through the hair, tugging on the ends as she reached the back of his head.

  She was drowning in his kisses, falling so far, and she could feel him tumbling in behind her. The kisses were becoming frantic, deeper, and rougher. She pulled on his hair again.

  Devlin groaned, baring his teeth as he pulled back. The mask he was wearing was still in place, and those pale eyes burned. “I do not think my condition is going to cut it.”

  Swaying slightly, she held on to him as his finger moved back and forth over her breast. “It’s not?”

  “No.” The one word was harsh, guttural. It sent a thrill down her spine. “I want to make an amendment to the condition.”

  Through half-hooded eyes, she stared back at him and spoke in a voice that sounded husky. “What kind of amendment?”

  “I need more than a kiss.”

  Her heart rate tripled as she slid her hand out of his hair, vaguely pleased to see it mussed. “Do you have any idea of what you would need?”

  He pulled his hand around from her breast. “I have so many ideas.”

  This was quickly spiraling out of control. Rosie knew that and she also knew there were several reasons why she should pull the brakes, or at least pump them, but if this was a car, she was about to hit the gas pedal and drive them both off a cliff.

  Her gaze met his. “Then why don’t you show me?”

  A ravenous, predatory glint filled his eyes. Without saying a word, he took her hand and rose, pulling her up with him. She expected him to pull her into his arms, but that’s not what he did. He turned her around, so her back was to his front. He let go of her hand and placed his on her shoulders.