Moonlight Scandals by Jennifer L. Armentrout

“What are you doing here?” Rosie blurted out.

Devlin looked down at her with a hint of curiosity settling into the coldly handsome lines of his face. His hands were on the counter, his long fingers splayed, and it wasn’t until that moment she realized how large those hands were. It was an odd thing to notice, especially considering she’d been up close and personal with those hands and fingers, but it was an odd day—odd couple of days.

“What are you doing sitting on the floor?” he asked, sounding like he couldn’t fathom why there’d ever be a reason for her to be sitting on the floor.

Irritation spiked. “I’m meditating.”

He tilted his head to the side. “Seems like an odd place to do that.”

“Now, she’s telling you a fib. She actually fell over,” her mom clarified, all helpful like. “She’s a little clumsy, but my girl is well educated. Did you know she has three degrees?”

“No.” A flicker of surprise made its way across Devlin’s face. “I did not.”

“But I am sure you know she’s stunningly beautiful.”

Rosie slowly turned her head toward her mother—her soon to be dead mother.

Her mother smiled, flashing those pearly whites. “Well educated and pretty as a peach pie, but she’s about as clumsy as a three-legged alligator.”

Rosie’s mouth dropped open. A three-legged alligator? First off, she wasn’t clumsy and second, a three-legged alligator ?

“She is beautiful,” Devlin replied, and he did this in the same monotone voice he used the first couple of times they met. She felt this weird, totally uncalled-for lurch in her chest. There was no need for that lurch, because she did not like this man. Not at all, and it was really time for Devlin to leave.

Because she saw her mother’s face soften, saw her mother shift her gaze to where Rosie was still sitting on the floor and then back to where Devlin stood.

Her mother was hearing a brass band’s second line and no doubt already picturing fluttering handkerchiefs and twirling parasols.

It was official.

Devlin had obviously crawled out from the bowels of hell to torture her, because apparently she’d racked up some bad karma or something.

“Do you have a moment to talk?” Devlin asked, and her gaze flew back to his. “That is, if you’re done meditating?”

“She has time,” her mother answered for her.

“So much time,” Bella piped up.

Oh my God, she was going to hurt both of them! “Actually, I don’t have any time. I’m very busy—”

“Sitting on the floor?” A single dark eyebrow rose.

“Yes,” she snapped. “I have stuff to do down here.”

“Like what?” he asked.

“Stuff.” She crossed her arms. “Important stuff.”

Bella was suddenly beside her. “She’s just being funny. She has nothing to do.”

“Bella,” Rosie snapped, unfolding her arms and putting her hands on the floor. “As you can see, I’m very—”

“Talented at fixing plastic cling wrap,” Bella cut in as her sneakers got awful close to smashing Rosie’s fingers. “Which is what she has been working on all afternoon, but guess what?”

“Hmm?” Devlin murmured.

“It’s her dinner break!” Bella announced this like Rosie was just nominated for a Nobel Prize, and it was ridiculous. All of this was ridiculous.

Rosie and Bella didn’t even have assigned lunch or dinner breaks.

“Perfect,” Devlin said.

Her mother moved in on her and she had that look she often got when the teen version of Rosie didn’t want to get out of bed. The look that said she would haul her ass out of said bed and kick it all the way to school.

She didn’t for one second doubt that her mother wouldn’t yank her off the floor and all but throw her into Devlin’s arms.

Rosie popped to her feet, and immediately realized there was an audience of sorts on the other side of the counter. Beyond Devlin stood three regulars, customers who came into Pradine’s so regularly they could practically work there. Cindy and her husband, Benny, with their matching gray hair and lined faces, were watching Devlin and them like they were at a tennis match. Standing next to them was Laurie, a quiet younger girl who spent a good part of her afternoons studying at one of the small tables near the windows. She went to college at Loyola.

Rosie smiled at them.

Laurie grinned as she ducked her chin, letting her thick black hair fall forward and hide her face.

“Good afternoon, honey.” Cindy wiggled her brows in Devlin’s direction as she curled her arm around her husband’s. “What a lovely change of scenery today.”

Her husband snorted. “Scenery is always lovely to me.” Benny winked in their direction.

“That’s my boy,” Mom replied with a big old smile. “Whatever you like, it’s on the house.”

“I don’t know.” Cindy looked Devlin up and down like he was for sale. “You guys got yourself a de Vincent in here. I feel like I need to pay you just for that.”

Bella giggled.

Devlin glanced over his shoulder at the older couple and then back to Rosie. He looked so thoroughly confused and out of his element that it took everything for Rosie not to laugh.

Did he never socialize with the common folk?

That thought made it even harder for her not to lose it, because in a way, the de Vincents were American royalty.

Except Devlin was definitely a frog and not a prince.

But then the worst possible thing happened. Rosie heard her father’s deep voice booming from the recesses of the kitchen.

“What in the world is going on out there?” he demanded, and as he spoke, his voice grew closer. “Is there a party I’m not invited to?”

Rosie’s eyes widened. There was no way she could let her father come out here and see Devlin. He’d have questions. Lots of them. Awkward ones. She sprang into action, bolting out from behind the counter. “You want to chat, we’re going to do it outside.”

“Why?” Bella called out. “There’s plenty of space here.”

Rosie shot her sister a scowl and then turned to Devlin. He stared at her like she’d spoken in code, but he nodded at those gathered around the counter and followed her outside, to a cloudy, overcast sky. It was going to be another rainy day.

Stopping under the black-and-gold-striped awning, she crossed her arms, tipped her head back, and glared death rays up at him. She opened her mouth.

Devlin beat her to it. “Do you always speak to people like you’re barking at them?”

“Barking? Are you calling me a dog?”

His head tilted to the side. “That’s not what I’m saying, but you do remind me of one of those little dogs. The fluffy ones that nip at people’s ankles when they want attention.”

Rosie could not believe him. She seriously could not believe him. “Did you seriously just say that I remind you of a Pomeranian?”

“I wasn’t thinking of a Pomeranian, but now that you mention it . . .”

“Did you come here just to insult me more?” she demanded, keeping her voice low as people passed them on the street. “Like you searched me down using some sort of nefarious means just to tell me I’m like a small, yappy dog?”

His chin dipped and his lips twitched as if he wanted to smile. “I didn’t have to use nefarious methods to find you.”

“Oh really? Then how did you know I was here?”

“You actually told me you worked here.”

She opened her mouth then snapped it shut. He was right. She had mentioned it.

Devlin smirked.

“Whatever. Did you not get all your insults out last night? Pretty sure I made it painfully clear that I never want to speak to you or see you again.”

“You did make that clear, but it looks like our paths are just destined to keep crossing,” he replied blandly.

“No. Absolutely not. Our paths are going in two very different directions. You’re east. I’m west. So, peace out—”

“I wish that was the case.”

Her lips thinned. “Do you realize you’re standing in front of me, at my parents’ bakery, after accusing me of being a scheming liar and basically a lunatic, and you just insulted me again?”

“How did I just insult you again?”

“You just said you wished our paths wouldn’t cross.”

One side of his lips kicked up. “I did say that, but do you realize you’ve been insulting me since you opened your mouth?”

“I do, but I’m allowed, because you’re a giant—”

“Dickhead,” he finished for her.

“Yes. And if you remember correctly, you’re officially beyond undicking yourself. Goodbye—”

“I’m here because of our deal.”

Rosie’s eyes narrowed. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Those thick, dark lashes swept up and that intense, pale gaze met hers. “Do I look like I’m kidding?”

“You look like you need a foot up your ass.”

He laughed, sounding surprised. His expression smoothed out so quickly, though, that she wondered if she’d heard the laugh or not. “You asked for Lucian’s number.”

“I did.”

“So you could get into his house.”

“Sounds about right.” She glanced at a woman leading a small girl into the bakery. “So, I’m still confused by why you’re here.”

“I’m here, because you’re not going to involve my brother—”

“I’m not involving your brother in anything,” she cut him off. “And I swear if you suggest that I’m somehow up to anything other than what I told you about Lucian’s house, I am going to lose my mind right here and I will not be responsible for my actions.”

His tone was dry. “I wouldn’t want that to happen.”

“No.” She held his gaze. “You would not.”

Something shifted over his features. “On second thought, I think I know what happens when you . . . lose your mind a little. Perhaps I would be interested in that happening, Rosie.”

There it was again, an unwanted shiver accompanying the way he said that and her name. How in the world could a man, a man she did not like, cause such a reaction?

“Me losing my mind out here would be nothing like the way I lost my mind last night,” she retorted. “I asked for your brother’s phone number to see if he’d let my team into his house. You know that.”

“What I was going to say before I was so rudely interrupted—” he stepped into her, so close that the sides of what had to be ridiculously expensive loafers brushed her cheap Old Navy flip-flops “—I don’t want you involving Lucian in some kind of paranormal investigation.”

“And why not?”

“If you knew my brother, you wouldn’t have to ask that question,” he said, his voice dry. “I made a deal with you. I plan to see it through. I will get you into Lucian’s house.”

She inhaled sharply through her nose. “I’d rather swim in Lake Pontchartrain and then bathe in the Mississippi River than even stand here and talk to you. You do realize that, right?”

He stared at her and then bit out, “Fuck.”

Rosie felt her face flush with warmth. He said fuck the same way he said her name. Deep. Husky. Hot. And she hated that—the purely physical reaction to a word, to that word. To him.

“You’re making this so difficult,” he said.

She forced her words to come out steady and unaffected. “I would say I’m sorry, but I’m not. Nothing about this needs to be difficult, because there’s no reason for you to be here and there’s no real reason why Lucian can’t just let the team into his house.”

“I think you misunderstood what I said about you making this difficult. It’s not the fact that I’m here, talking to you about Lucian’s house.” Heat flared in those blue-green eyes, and as he held her gaze, she began to feel like she was standing too close to the sun, moments away from being burned. “You’re making this difficult because I actually . . . like you.”

“Okay. You have must have issues coming out of the wazoo . . .” Movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention and she turned to the bakery. Her mother and sister stood at the window, their faces planted to the glass.

Holy balls, they were ridiculous.

Rosie grabbed Devlin’s arm and led him away from the window, out of the path of prying eyes, as she tried to ignore how solid and warm his arm was under the thin white shirt. Her hand slid down his arm when he resisted, but she kept pulling until he followed. Stopping at the corner of the street, she turned to say something to Devlin, but whatever she was about to say died on her tongue.

He stared down at where she’d grabbed him. Rosie’s heart lurched. Somehow, she’d taken his hand. She was holding his hand! What kind of voodoo magic had possessed her to do that? Because seriously, she had no idea she’d taken his hand. None. So, she wasn’t responsible for that. At all.

Rosie started to pull her hand away, but he stopped her, folding his fingers through hers.

Slowly, he lifted his gaze from her hand to her eyes. “I am sorry for . . . how things ended last night between us and I’d like to make it up to you.”

“Come again?”

There was a slight curve of his lips. Not really a smile. Not even a half grin, and nothing like the smiles he allowed while he was wearing his mask. “I would like to make it up to you.”

Rosie looked around them, half expecting someone to jump out of one of the cars parked along the street with a camera. He couldn’t be real, but when she looked back at him, she saw the truth in his gaze. He was being for real.

He wanted to make it up to her?

“We’ve moved past that point.” She tried to pull her hand free. He held on. “Like way past that point of you making it up to me.”

“You haven’t even heard how I plan to make it up to you.”

“I really don’t care.”

“Oh I think you will.” There was a slight warming to those pale eyes. “I’m making another amendment to our condition.”

Her mouth dropped open again, and she was sure she looked like a fish out of water. “There will be no more amendments. Why? Because last night didn’t happen. It was a figment of our imaginations.”

His brows knitted together. “Do you think I’m going to forget what happened last night?”

“I already have.” So not true.

And Devlin called her bluff. “Now, I know that’s a lie.” His voice lowered. “There is no way you forgot what it felt like to have my hand between your legs.”

Rosie gasped. She was the furthest thing from a prude, but they were standing on the side of the street! Then again, people in New Orleans had probably heard weirder conversations than this one.

“And I sure as hell haven’t forgotten that you said you’d let me do anything,” he continued, and much to her horror, that hot, tight shiver returned and he saw it. “There it is. You haven’t forgotten a thing, Rosie.”

God, she loathed this man.

“Do I need to remind you of how much of a dick you were? I don’t think I do, but if you’d like me to list the ways, I can.”

“No.” He sighed. “That will not be necessary.”

“Good. So, can we just move past all of this? Lucian can let the team into his house, and you and I never have to cross paths again. That sounds—”

“The amendment,” he cut in, the corner of his lips twitching when she narrowed her eyes. “I think you’ll enjoy this amendment.”

“Devlin—”

“I’ll get you into the house—only you. No team of people. No strangers. That is my brother’s home. I do not want random people prowling around.”

She opened her mouth.

“I doubt that you’ll find anything—”

“Just like I wouldn’t find anything in your home?” she snapped. “Or did you forget that you’d admitted that your house was haunted?”

“I didn’t forget, but that doesn’t mean I believe for one second there is a ghost using my brother’s home as a time-share.”

Well, when he put it that way it did sound dumb. “Can you let go of my hand?”

“No.”

“No?”

“I’m afraid you’ll run away from me if I do.”

“I want to,” she retorted.

“And that’s why I’m not letting go.” His thumb moved on the center of her palm in a slow, idle sweep. “When you’re done investigating the house, then that is it. You won’t have to worry about our paths crossing again and I won’t have to worry about you contacting my brother,” he said. “And you won’t have to worry about seeing me again.”

“That’s your new amendment?”

He nodded. “I’ll take you into the house tonight.”

“Tonight?” she squeaked.

“Tonight or never. Those are your options.”

She gaped at him. “I have plans for tonight.”

“Like what?”

“What do you mean like what? You say that like it’s not possible for me to have plans.” Other than meeting up with Jilly and Lance, she really didn’t have plans, but he didn’t need to know that.

“If you want in to Lucian’s house bad enough, you’d change your plans.”

She tugged on her hand again, and he didn’t let go. “What if my plans are unchangeable?”

He stared at her a moment. “Then I guess you don’t want to investigate Lucian’s house bad enough.”

Rosie clamped her jaw down so hard it was a miracle that she didn’t crack a molar. There was a part of her that wanted to tell him to forget it, but Jilly would legit strangle her if she passed up this opportunity.

“Fine,” she said. “I’ll take one for the team.”

“Take one for the team?” Devlin smirked. “You wanted in this house, Rosie. We made a deal, and I’m going to stick to it.”

“I wanted in this house without you,” she corrected. “And I would’ve had no problem with you honoring the deal if you didn’t have—”

“To be a dick. Got it. Meet me at the house tonight at nine.” He let go of her hand. “And don’t be late.”

Rosie resisted the urge to tell him she had a problem with the time. “You don’t be late.”

He started backing up. “I’m never late, Rosie. See you tonight.”

As he pivoted around and prowled off, she muttered under her breath, “I’m never late. Blah. Blah, asshole.”

Stringing together an impressive combination of curse words, she stalked back into the bakery.

Her mother and her sister were waiting for her in front of the counter. That was a problem, because Cindy and Benny were still waiting to be served, and so was Laurie.

And they were also standing there, staring at her just like her mom and sister were.

“Hello?” Rosie gestured toward the customers.

Her sister ignored that and marched straight to where Rosie stood and clasped her cheeks with her warm, sugary-scented hands. “Okay, you need to spill everything right now.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Bella’s eyes widened. “Oh no. No. No. You are going to tell me exactly why Devlin de Vincent just came in here looking for you and why it looked like you two were either seconds away from making out or punching one another.”

Pulling away from her sister, Rosie headed for the counter. “It did not look like that.”

“It so looked like that,” her mother chimed in.

Bella followed. “I want all the details. All the details, Rosie.”

“There’s nothing to tell you. We were just talking. That’s all.”

“Honey, you do not just talk with a man who looks like that.” Cindy raised her graying brows. “Trust me, I know. Bennie and I rarely talked when we first met.”

“True,” Bennie murmured as he leaned into the counter.

Rosie stared at them and then shook her head. “We were just talking, so can we please get back to work and let this go?”

“Mmm-hmm.” Her mother came behind the counter. She focused on the couple, but Rosie knew what mmm-hmm meant in Juniper Pradine speak. So did Laurie, based on the sympathetic look she was shooting in her direction. Everyone who came into Pradine’s on a regular basis knew what it meant.

Mom might be dropping the conversation, but she sure as hell wasn’t letting it go.