Moonlight Scandals by Jennifer L. Armentrout

Dev had recognized her the moment she walked into the grand room with the tall blonde, before she even became aware of his presence. How could he not? Every woman at the ball was dressed either to entice or impress, but no one—not a single woman here—carried it off as well as Rosie. She was walking temptation and eyes followed her.

That dress . . .

God. Unlike most of the woman here, she didn’t wear the ridiculous underdress that increased the volume of the skirt. Her dress was more of a sheath of red and black, clinging to her round hips and thighs with every step, and it was cut low and cinched at the waist by a corset. That dress . . .

Fuck.

He wanted to find a burlap sack and cover her with it.

He also wanted to rip that dress off her with his teeth.

The bourbon he drank had scorched his throat as his gaze lingered on the voluptuous swell above the delicate black lace. He’d only seen Rosie in loose shirts, but the brief moments that their bodies had been pressed together, he’d felt enough to know her breasts were plump and ample. Seeing her in that dress made it nearly impossible to ignore how beautiful her body must be, with all those hidden, soft curves.

It hadn’t helped when he was finally able to drag his gaze up to her face. Her full lips were painted a soft red and those eyes were striking behind the simple red-and-black mask. She was going against the trend in many ways. Her hair was down instead of swept up in some complicated style. Those thick curls brushed her heart-shaped face and fell past her shoulders, longer than he’d expected. Rosie wore no jewelry except the gold chain—the chain that held her deceased husband’s ring—and that made her more elegant than those with thousands of dollars’ worth of diamonds adorning their necks and ears.

Rosie was simply breathtaking.

Not that he hadn’t noticed that about her before, even when she wore loose clothing and had her hair pulled back. From the moment he’d seen her in her apartment, he’d thought she was beautiful, but he recognized now how utterly stunning she was. And he’d known a lot of beautiful women, those born that way and those who achieved it through a gifted surgeon’s hands. None of them could hold a candle to Rosie, because she was a fire.

His senses sparked alive and his body burned just by seeing her, and he knew that had nothing to do with their often volatile conversations or what he suspected about her.

Dev simply reacted to everything that was her, and damn, that was rare and he didn’t like it. At all.

That he was surprised that she was at the Masquerade would be an understatement to say the least, but he was learning that Rosie had a habit of popping up unexpectedly.

He thought about what Gabe had said to him and a twinge of guilt surfaced, but Dev doubted her appearances were so random. Possibly more like extremely calculated, because how could she not think he would be here?

When she left the room, he followed even though he knew he shouldn’t. He had no idea what Rosie was up to, but he was sure it involved that damn journalist and that meant he needed to stay the hell away from her, but curiosity had quickly taken hold when she climbed the cypress staircase and made her way to a smaller bedroom in the back of the house. What in the world was she up to? Nothing good if he was to judge the wide-eyed stare now meeting his. She looked like she’d just been caught trying to steal the queen’s jewels.

“What are you doing up here?” she demanded, pulling her hand out of the clutch.

“I have a better question.” Holding on to the glass of bourbon, he leaned against the door he closed behind him. “What are you doing at the Masquerade?”

“Attempting to have a nice, lovely evening without any drama,” she retorted, and that lovely and rather distracting chest of hers swelled when she took a deep breath. “But apparently that’s not going to happen.”

He smirked. “That’s not what I meant by the question, and you know that.” He paused. “You’ve never been at this event before. I would’ve noticed.”

“Oh really?” She snapped her clutch shut.

Dev nodded.

“There are hundreds of people down there. How would you know if I’ve been to this event before and you just haven’t noticed?”

“There is no way I would not have noticed you. Not if you were dressed like that.”

She was quiet as she appeared to decipher what he meant. “I’m not sure if that was a compliment, but knowing you, it was probably an insult.”

“It wasn’t an insult,” he replied. “You look beautiful. Stunning, really. If you’d been to this event before and looked like this, I would’ve noticed you right away.”

Rosie’s lips parted, drawing his attention. He’d never been much of a kisser. Hell, he never once kissed Sabrina, mainly because he hadn’t wanted that woman’s mouth anywhere near his, but he’d never wanted to know more what a woman’s mouth tasted and felt like than he did in that moment.

“Are you drunk?” she asked.

He arched a brow. “I wish.”

She looked around the room before her gaze drifted back to his. A moment passed and then she said, “My friend had an extra ticket and she knew that I’ve always wanted to attend the Masquerade, so she invited me.”

Interesting. “The blonde you walked in with?”

Rosie eyed him as she nodded.

“But that doesn’t answer why you’re in this room instead of with your friend and enjoying the party.”

“I am enjoying the party.”

“Alone? In a bedroom upstairs where I’m sure guests were not expected to roam?” he queried.

Those tantalizing lips thinned. “Did you think that maybe I saw you and was attempting to hide?”

“Not for one second do I believe you would ever run from me.”

Rosie rolled her eyes.

“What are you doing in here?”

“I’m measuring the door space for beaded curtains. What are you doing?”

A surprised laugh burst from him, the sound unfamiliar even to his own ears. “I’m sure the homeowners will be appreciative of the additional decor, but I seriously doubt that’s what you’re doing, or at least I hope not.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You didn’t answer my question. Why are you up here?”

“I followed you,” he admitted.

She blinked. “Well, not only is that creepy, that’s also annoying.”

“Why is that?” He took a sip of the bourbon, watching her through half-open eyes.

“Because I’m sure you followed me just so you can insult me, and I’m not going to give you that luxury.” She picked up her wineglass and stepped forward, lifting her chin. “So, could you move away from the door?”

“I didn’t follow you so I could insult you. Pretty sure we’ve established that when I said you looked beautiful.”

“Really?” came her dry response. “Considering every conversation I’ve had with you, with the exception of the day in the cemetery, has ended with you insulting me. Why would tonight be any different?”

Tonight was different. He didn’t know why he knew this. Maybe it was instinct, but he knew tonight was like no other that came before. “Are you always this argumentative?”

“Are you always such a douche canoe?” she snapped back. “Oh wait. Don’t answer that. I already know. You are.”

“Douche canoe? I haven’t heard that word since I was . . . thirteen.”

“So?”

“So who still says that?”

“Me.” She smiled then, and it went straight to his dick, hardening him. “I’m bringing it back in style.”

He smiled faintly at that. “Thought I was a dickhead.”

“You’re both. A dickhead and a douche canoe.”

“That’s rather impressive.”

“Not really.” She took a drink of her wine.

He watched her run her finger along the stem of the wineglass and found himself oddly jealous of the wineglass. He wanted her to touch him like that, but considering the fact she most likely hated him, that wasn’t going to happen . . . then again, she’d felt him the morning in her apartment, and he would swear that he saw arousal in her eyes and in her shallow, short breaths.

“I think . . . I think I should apologize to you,” he said, lifting his gaze to hers.

“For what?” she asked, taking another sip of her wine.

He felt his dick harden when her tongue darted out, catching a droplet of wine on her lower lip. “You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you?”

“Is the sky blue? Yeah.” She smiled tightly. “Because when you said ‘apologize,’ it sounded like you were choking.”

“It did not.”

“Choking on your arrogance,” she added.

“Okay. I acted like a dick.”

“Which time? In my apartment when you insulted my interior design or when you suggested that I had ulterior motives for giving you flowers at the cemetery?”

He opened his mouth, but he didn’t get a chance to say anything, because apparently Rosie was not done.

“Or when you insinuated that I was out to do something nefarious to your family just because I introduced my friend to a guy?” She stepped toward him, lowering her glass, and for a second he thought she might throw the contents at him. “Or are you apologizing for making me move my car and feel completely unwelcome while visiting my friend? Wait. There’s more. Are you apologizing for saying that the mere idea of having sex with me was laughable?”

He was learning Rosie had a remarkable memory. “Yes. I am apologizing for all of that. I’m . . . sorry.”

She tilted her head. “You could not sound less genuine if you tried.”

“It was genuine.” And that was—well, it was true. Maybe he’d misread Rosie? Maybe he was making her guilty by association? He wasn’t sure, but he did . . . feel guilt, and he didn’t feel guilt about a lot of things. “I was a dick to you.”

“Yeah, you were, but you can’t undick yourself.”

He blinked. “Undick myself?”

A giggle snuck out of her, and he didn’t even fight it. Didn’t hesitate. He grinned in response to the sound, surprising himself.

“Yeah, undick yourself.” She finished off her wine and then lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “I don’t think it’s possible.”

“Anything is possible when I put effort into it.”

She snorted.

He tipped his head back against the door. “So you don’t accept my apology?”

“Not really. Words are meaningless. Actions are everything.”

“That I will agree with.” He raised his glass to her and then finished it off, welcoming the bite of bourbon. “You’re a mystery to me, and that’s . . . different,” he admitted, setting his glass on the dresser. “I could find out everything I ever wanted to know about you by making a single phone call, and yet, I haven’t. That alone is a mystery.”

She opened her mouth, closed it, and then said, “Okay. I don’t even know where to start with all that, so I will just go with wow, that would be a huge violation of privacy.”

“It would be.”

Rosie stared at him for a moment. “And that’s all you have to say about that?”

“It is,” he replied, straightening and pulling away from the door. “But I haven’t done it.”

“Do you think you deserve a gold star by your name for not being a stalker?”

It happened again. The smile he couldn’t stop and didn’t even try to. “I think so.”

“Wow.” Rosie laughed, and it wasn’t bitter or cold sounding. “You are . . . something else.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Of course you would.” She lifted a shoulder. “Well, if you did make that creepy phone call, you’re not going to find out anything interesting. I’ve lived a pretty boring life.”

“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.”