Moonlight Scandals by Jennifer L. Armentrout

“Gabe told me that he loved me,” Nikki announced on the phone Saturday morning, and Rosie let out a squeal, dropping the jeans that she was folding. Nikki laughed, sounding a million times better than the last time Rosie chatted with her. “I can tell you’re happy.”

“I am!” Rosie was on her knees in front of her narrow closet, having woken up early with the random need to organize raging through her. “Okay, so remember what I was trying to tell you when I visited, but Gabe walked in?”

“Yeah?”

Shifting the phone to her shoulder, she picked up the jeans she dropped and began folding them. “I was trying to tell you that Gabe was officially off the Boyfriends Who Needed to Get Their Shit Together list.”

“I think he’s definitely off that list,” Nikki agreed. “But why did you think that? Pretty sure you wanted to smack him.”

“Oh I still want to smack him for all his past misdeeds.” There was also another de Vincent she wanted to smack into next week, but she refused to even think of his name at the moment. She reached inside, grabbing another pile of jeans she hadn’t worn in, like, a year but wasn’t ready to part with. She cleared off the floor. “But it will be a friendly smack.”

She laughed in Rosie’s ear. “I should be back in my apartment in the next week. Gabe wants me to wait, but I need to do it now.”

“I totally understand. The longer you wait . . .” She trailed off as she saw something she’d never noticed before. There was a thin gap in the back of the closet, where it connected with the wall. Was the section coming apart? That meant a call to the landlord.

“I know. The longer I wait, the harder it’s going to be,” Nikki finished, reclaiming her attention. “But Gabe is going to be there and that’s going to make it easier.”

Smiling, Rosie plopped onto her butt and reached for the next pile of jeans she hadn’t worn in a while. “Nikki, I am so happy for you I could cry.”

“What? Don’t cry!”

“I can’t make any promises, because I’m feeling all kinds of hormonal right now, but honey, you got a second chance with a man you’ve been in love with for freaking years,” Rosie said, sighing happily as she started folding the jeans. “Do you know how impossible that is? You’re like a unicorn.”

Nikki laughed again, and each laugh sounded lighter than the one before. “I feel like a unicorn. Seriously. Anyway, did you end up going to the Masquerade last night?”

Holding on to a pair of jeans, she lowered it to her lap as she straightened her head and took ahold of the phone. “Yeah. I went.”

“Did you have fun?” Nikki asked. “Doesn’t sound like you had fun.”

Rosie wasn’t sure how to answer the question, because she did have fun, lots of fun, and then she didn’t. She was really trying not to even think of him, because when she did, she wanted to start throwing things.

Or organizing.

Which was why she was up tearing apart her closet at dawn.

Worst part, when she had first woken up, the anger from last night hadn’t returned yet. Oh no, she woke up feeling something entirely different, as much as she hated the world for it. Her mind immediately replayed the night before, the part in the bedroom and at the tree, the part before everything took a sharp turn into Crapsville, which left her hot and needy and digging around in her nightstand for the delightful little toy known as the Womanizer.

But now that she was up and moving around, what she felt when she thought about him wasn’t lust and desire. More like a hefty dose of rage at him and herself, because she should’ve known better. A douchebag was a douchebag, even if there were moments of nondouchery.

“Rosie? Are you there?” Nikki asked.

She blinked. “Sorry. Zoned out. Yeah, I had a lot of fun. So did Sarah. I think she met a guy last night.”

“Really? That’s good.”

Rosie thought it was good for her, too. Not that Sarah was looking for anything long-term right then, but she was happy to see her friend enjoying herself after experiencing such a nasty breakup.

“What about you?” she asked, and Rosie’s eyes widened.

There was no way Nikki knew about Devlin, because she was more likely to give up beignets before Devlin told anyone about what happened between them. Not that she believed Devlin would hide what happened for nefarious reasons, and she wasn’t giving him credit where it wasn’t due, but she had a feeling Devlin rarely shared anything with anyone.

Which was why she was so surprised that he’d talked openly with her—her of all people. And that was why she’d felt like she could tell him about what happened with Sarah during her reading.

Boy, had she been wrong.

“I just had a really good time,” Rosie said finally. She wanted to tell someone—hell, anyone—about what had gone down with Devlin, but it felt way too six degrees of de Vincent to talk about it with Nikki. “The house was absolutely beautiful. I’m sure you’ll get to go next year.”

“Maybe,” she said, and then there was a sharp, audible inhale that brought a frown to Rosie’s face. A second later, there was a laugh and she heard Nikki saying, “Gabe , I’m on the phone.”

“Oh dear,” murmured Rosie, grinning. “I’ll let you go.”

“It’s okay. I can chat—” There was another gasp that sounded an awful lot like a moan, and Rosie’s eyes widened.

“Just call me later,” Rosie cut in, laughing since she really didn’t want to hear whatever it was that was about to go down. “Focus on making some sweet, sweet loving with your man.”

Nikki’s answering laugh was cut off when Rosie hung up. She tossed her phone onto the pile of folded jeans and then flopped back onto the furry, gray area rug. Closing her eyes, she let her arms flop to her sides.

Last night seemed like a weird dream/nightmare. She still couldn’t quite figure out how they’d gone from verbal fisticuffs . . . to his hand between her thighs and her telling him she’d let him do anything . . . to her ending the night by giving him not one but two middle fingers.

Everything sure escalated quickly.

“God,” she whispered.

Actually, she knew exactly how that happened. It all started with a kiss but boy, oh boy, that man could kiss. Rosie was a sucker for a good kisser. It was true.

If she hadn’t told him about Sarah’s reading and had just left the Masquerade, who knew what could’ve come from what happened in the bedroom. She wasn’t foolish enough to believe that a relationship could’ve arose. Before she’d met him outside, she’d seen him in the main room of the house, where they held the auction. He’d all but been swallowed by women in fancy gowns and men in masks.

Standing in the background, watching him with people like him—in other words, watching him with people who were so rich, they owned, like, six homes and had nannies and housekeepers and personal assistants. That was a pretty eye-opening experience. He blended right into them, and she did not. Her family wasn’t poor. They were hardworking middle-class people who spent every day earning what they had. She didn’t assume that none of the wealthy people at the gala had earned their money. She knew that many had, but Devlin lived and breathed in a world that was so incredibly foreign to her it didn’t seem real.

And if she had just left the gala at that moment, then last night could’ve just been a really good time. Last night would’ve been something that simply happened , because she wasn’t foolish or naive. It wasn’t the start of anything. It was just two people who really didn’t get along, getting along really well for a few brief minutes, reacting to the fact that they were obviously attracted to one another. And that’s how last night should’ve ended, but she had to do what she thought was the right thing. Ugh. She didn’t regret telling him what had happened with Sarah. If anything, she regretted being foolish enough to think the Devlin wearing the mask was really any different from the arrogant, snide, and judgmental Devlin she was all too familiar with.

The disappointment, though? It was real. There was no shaking that, because . . . because Rosie hadn’t felt like she had last night with Devlin since . . . since Ian, and that had been something so beautiful that had become something so ugly. She’d almost admitted that to Devlin last night and she was so damn grateful that she’d kept that little piece of herself hidden.

Rosie opened her eyes. They felt weirdly wet.

What did her mee maw always say? Crying did nothing but ruin your makeup. A small, tired grin pulled at her lips. Her mee maw sure loved her mascara.

It was time to pick her ass up and get over it, because there was nothing really to get over. She’d told her mom she’d help out this afternoon at the bakery and Jilly and Lance wanted to get together this evening to discuss the Mendez case.

And thanks to Devlin’s parting words, she now knew she didn’t even have to rely on him to gain access to Lucian’s new home. She would just need to talk to Lucian and she probably should’ve asked Nikki to give him her phone number.

Sitting up, she reached for her phone and typed up a not-so-quick text to Nikki, asking her to give her number to Lucian and explaining that it was about his new house. Her text sounded a wee bit bizarre, but she’d sent weirder texts to Nikki. She didn’t expect a quick response considering how Nikki had ended the call, so she got back to organizing her closet, proud that she was being smart, realistic Rosie and had completely bypassed Devlin.

And doing that meant she most likely wouldn’t see him again, especially since Nikki would be moving back into her apartment soon and it wasn’t like she and Devlin hung out at the same places.

Perfect.

After all, hadn’t her mother said she had someone she wanted her to meet? A friend of her sister’s husband? Seemed like now was the most opportune time to explore that connection.

Sweat ran down Dev’s bare chest while the hard riff from “Freak on a Leash” poured out of the earbuds as his feet pounded off the treadmill. He’d been at it for about an hour and the muscles in his calves and thighs screamed, but he pushed himself. He pushed to the point his body was about to break and then, only then, did he pull back.

He hadn’t gotten to that point yet. He was close but not there.

If he stopped now, it was only a matter of time before he found himself with his hand wrapped around his dick, pissed off at the world while jacking himself off, and wasn’t that a messed-up combination?

Truth was, though, he’d had a damn hard-on since last night, even had it when he stood there and heard Rosie say that shit about Lawrence, and even knowing that he got played like a damn fiddle, it took almost nothing for him to get as hard as a rock.

He’d already taken matters into his own hand, literally, three times since then. Once when he got back here, then in the middle of the night, and once again when he woke up this morning, and still, if he allowed himself to even think about how she felt under his hands or how her mouth tasted, he immediately—

“Fuck,” he grunted, feeling it happen right then, even as he ran, even when he was so damn pissed off. Arousal powered down his spine and into his groin.

Slamming his thumb down on the controls, he upped the speed until the entire damn treadmill rattled.

Dev’s jaw clenched as he tried to shove thoughts of Rosie and all that untapped sweetness out of his mind and failed—failed fucking spectacularly.

What the hell had he been thinking? Keeping an eye on her did not involve his tongue and his fingers.

Goddamn himself.

He’d slipped up last night, making mistakes he really couldn’t afford, and he didn’t make mistakes. Not ever. But damn if he hadn’t . . . hadn’t what?

Kissed her? Touched her? Opened up to her? All of them and more?

He’d told her shit he never should have, things he didn’t even talk to his brothers about, and even more bizarre was the fact that he’d wanted to take her back to his place. Not this place, the de Vincent manor, but the place he had that his brothers didn’t even know about, and she’d been fucking playing him.

Obviously, Ross put her up to it.

Or did he?a really annoying voice whispered in the back of his head. Rosie seemed genuinely angry and upset when he brought up Ross, but then again, for all he knew, she could just be a damn good actress. That could’ve all been an act.

All except her moans and the way her body responded to him. That hadn’t been an act.

But that didn’t mean anything at the end of the day, now did it?

A person could hate you and want you all in the same breath. Look at Sabrina. Dev was confident that woman despised him. Hell, she’d been obsessed with his brother Gabe since college, and yet, she’d wanted Dev. Well, she wanted to fuck him and fuck with him, and often, too. And it hadn’t just been her doing what she could do to get the last name de Vincent.

Blinking the sweat out of his eyes, he cursed under his breath. Maybe that was why he was rocking what felt like a permanent erection. He hadn’t been with Sabrina since everything went down. Actually, a good month or so before that.

Hell, he hadn’t been with anyone.

He wanted that to be the reason, but he’d never lied to himself before, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to start now.

It was because of her—of Rosie, and she was under Ross’s thumb. That was the only logical explanation, because the idea of Lawrence coming through a psychic reading to tell her, a complete stranger, that he was murdered was the definition of preposterous.

He might acknowledge that there was some weird shit going down at his home, that he himself had experienced that weird shit, but the spirit of Lawrence out there telling random people who just happened to have a connection to Ross Haid that he was murdered?

Fucking absurd.

Pressure clamped down on Dev’s chest, warring with the steadily increasing burn.

Ross was playing a dangerous game and he was involving Rosie in it.

That pressure on his chest doubled. God, he didn’t want to think about it. Either way, this wasn’t going to end well for Ross.

It wasn’t going to end well for Rosie.

But what if she wasn’t—

He cut that thought off. Didn’t matter. He’d find out soon enough, when and not if Ross came skulking around again, suddenly knowing about Dev’s near-death experience. There was no way the journalist wasn’t going to bring that up.

And if, however unlikely, she was telling the truth, then . . .

Wouldn’t that be even worse?

A better question, then—was Rosie a threat?

Dev didn’t like the idea of that and he sure as hell didn’t like that he had a problem with that idea. The woman should mean nothing to him—she didn’t mean anything. His hands curled into fists as he ran. No one but his family mattered. That was the way it had been. That was the way—

His phone suddenly rang, cutting through the heavy thump of drums. A quick glance and he knew it was Archie. Stopping the treadmill, he answered the call.

“What do you have for me?” he asked, riding the treadmill belt to the edge and then off, onto the floor.

“She messed up” came the gravelly reply. “She used a credit card in Texas on Tuesday. Booked a hotel in Houston. Sabrina checked out yesterday. It’s not much, but I know what car she’s in. Apparently she didn’t tip the valet, so he was more than willing to talk shit. She’s in a black Mercedes. Got the tag number from the hotel.”

“Black Mercedes?” Dev frowned as he picked up a towel and dragged it over his chest. “Sabrina didn’t drive a Mercedes.”

“And neither did Parker or anyone in her immediate family, according to what vehicles they have registered.” The kind of data Archie could get access to made him worth any amount of money he charged. “The tags are bogus, though.”

Tossing the towel into the laundry shoot, he turned to the door. “How are you sure?”

“They were thirty-day temps that didn’t come back to any dealer,” Archie answered.

“Shit.” He ran his hand through his damp hair. “Then it’s a dead end?”

“Not necessarily.” There was a smile in Archie’s rough voice. “Luck was on our side for once. The valet is a bit of klepto and had been rooting around in her glove box. Saw her insurance card. I have the company name and I’m confident I can get the necessary info like registration and real tag number. Should take a few days, if that. Meanwhile, I got some buddies who work for the Texas State Police, and they’re on the lookout for her.”

“Perfect.” Leaning against the wall, he stretched out his aching calves. “Anything on the intern?”

“Nothing that half the world hasn’t already heard and what you don’t already know, but I’m still poking around.”

“Good.” He pushed off the wall. “Call me as soon as you have an update.”

“Of course.”

The call disconnected and Dev slipped his phone into his pocket. Some of the tension eased out of his shoulders. He may have screwed up last night, but at least they were getting somewhere when it came to Sabrina. And there was good news buried in all that. Sabrina appeared to be far enough away from here, which was good news for his brother and his nephew. He knew Gabe stressed about Sabrina’s whereabouts. Couldn’t blame him for that.

But Sabrina wouldn’t be a problem for much longer. And last night with Rosie?

He wasn’t going to make that kind of mistake again.

Needing a shower, he strode across the room and opened the door. He drew up short.

Gabe stood in front of him, his hair pulled back from his face in a bun, but he wasn’t dressed as if he were about to work out. Unless he was prepared to run in his jeans.

And barefoot.

“I was just looking for you,” Gabe said, blocking the doorway.

“Can it wait?”

“Sure, but I’m thinking you’re going to want to hear what I have to say now.” There was a grin on his brother’s face that caused Dev to narrow his eyes. “I was just sitting out in the garden, enjoying this rather cool morning with Lucian and Julia and Nic. You know, doing the family thing you never take part in.”

“Okay. Thanks for sharing.”

“You’re welcome,” Gabe replied. “The strangest damn conversation came up. You see, Nic was talking to Rosie this morning.”

Having no idea where his brother was going with this and knowing it could lead anywhere, Dev kept his expression blank. There was a chance Rosie could’ve told Nikki about what had gone down between them. They were girlfriends. They talked about shit like that. “Good to know.”

“And, well, after they got off the phone, Rosie texted her. Took Nic a bit to see the text, but Rosie had the strangest request . . . and the strangest story.” Gabe planted his hands on the doorframe and leaned in. “Rosie wanted Lucian’s number.”

Son of a bitch.

A weird sense of emotion slammed into him. Instead of being what he figured was a normal gossiping with her friend about what they’d done, ending with him being harassed by his brothers over it, that wasn’t the case. Rosie wasn’t normal. Instead of feeling relief, he was irritated . . . and amused.

“Because, apparently, she believes that Lucian and Julia’s new place is haunted and wants to investigate? Of course, I’m sure you know how Julia reacted to that. That was her one condition when they were looking for a new house. No ghosts.” An unholy light filled Gabe’s eyes. “Lucian was more than happy to give Nic his number, especially after Nic mentioned Rosie was at that gala thing last night. Interestingly, Lucian’s never met Rosie.”

Dev drew in a deep, calming breath that did fuck shit to calm him. Rosie had gotten Lucian’s number. Unbelievable.

“But then Lucian got to talking and you know how that goes. He brought up this . . . woman he saw you with last night.”

Of course he did.

Why would Dev ever have to worry about Rosie saying anything when Lucian probably already wrote a short story about what he saw and published it.

“Come to find out, Lucian did meet Rosie.” Gabe did a dramatic pause that their younger brother would be proud of. “Last night. You were all—hey. Excuse me.”

Pushing past his brother, he stalked toward the back staircase. He heard Gabe call out his name, but he didn’t stop.

Did Rosie really think she could just go around him straight to Lucian? That Dev would allow that to happen? He had said that she could’ve just asked Lucian herself, but he hadn’t been serious.

Well, this was just . . . wholly unacceptable.