Moonlight Scandals by Jennifer L. Armentrout

This was not why he’d come here tonight. What he’d come for—what he suspected about her? None of that mattered. Everything in Dev’s head had clicked off the moment his mouth had touched hers and he was lost from that moment on.

It was like Rosie had some kind of superpower, silencing the constant churning of his thoughts.

And all that mattered right now was that Rosie knew what he wanted and that she wanted it, too.

His eyes drifted shut as she tugged his shirt free from his pants and then attacked his belt. She pulled it loose and then made quick work of the button and zipper. He could still taste her on his mouth as she pulled his briefs and pants down, freeing him.

“This doesn’t mean I like you.” Her voice was husky and brought a faint smile to his mouth. “I still think you’re an asshole.”

“I know.”

Rosie took him in her hand, and the smile faded from his lips as he groaned. His eyes opened and his chin tipped down. She was watching him, staring up at him as she dragged her hand along his length, from base to tip. She kept watching him as she smoothed her thumb over the head of his dick.

“Hell,” he grunted.

She leaned in, kissing the center of his chest, through his shirt, and hell if that didn’t cause this weird pressure to clamp down on him.

It was unexpected.

Potent.

Confusing as fuck.

But then she was working her way down, onto her knees just like he’d been before her. He felt his muscles tighten as her warm breath danced over his dick.

Unable to look away, he watched her as he moved his hand up into the mass of curls. She was the picture of sin. The sweater had fallen to her elbows and the tank top underneath was still up under her arms. Those mouthwatering breasts and their plump nipples peeked out from underneath the shirt. The gold chain and ring she always wore was there, the ring resting between her breasts, and she was bare the rest of the way, all the way down and between those pretty thighs.

Dev knew he could come just looking at her like this, her breasts out and all that heaven between her thighs glistening.

She leaned in and that wicked, sharp tongue of hers replaced her fingers.

A cyclone of sensation slammed into him, rocking him to his core. Watching her taste and lick every inch of him, feeling that hot, wet tongue on his sensitive skin, was damn near a religious experience.

“You really don’t like me, do you?”

A small smile appeared on her lush, swollen lips. “Not at all.”

“I can tell.” He tugged her head back, just the slightest. “Rosie?”

Her eyes were heavily hooded. “Yes?”

“Show me just how much you hate me.”

That grin increased as she squeezed him with her hand. “If you’d shut the hell up for five seconds, I will.”

A rough laugh crawled its way out of him, but it ended on a groan as she wrapped that mouth around the head of his dick and sucked him deep.

Rosie—damn, she knew what she was doing. Then again, the heat of her mouth had blown his senses right out of his head, so he wasn’t quite sure if it was just her or her talent.

Fuck.

It was just her.

But she worked him with her mouth and tongue and her hand. Both of them. One cupped his sac and she blew his mind again.

Took no amount of time for him to start moving in and out of her mouth, and he tried to keep it shallow, told himself to keep it controlled and hold himself back.

Rosie moaned around his dick, telling him she was enjoying this as much as he was, and any semblance of fucking control snapped.

He thrust into her mouth as he held the back of her head, completely, utterly lost as release powered down his spine and up the backs of his legs.

The weirdest damn thing happened. The overhead light, the one set in a ceiling fan, flickered rapidly. It went off once and then came back on, the light burning intently before settling. Had to be a power surge, but then he felt the first pulse hit his dick and he did something he’d never done with a woman before.

“Rosie,” he shouted her name, and the sound branded his skin and echoed in his head and hit him straight in the chest. He’d never called out a lover’s name. Ever.

She didn’t try to pull away and she took him, everything in him as spent himself, his entire body shuddering as he rode the release, and she kept going until nothing was left of him. Nothing.

Only then did he pull her head back, and she stared up at him with glazed eyes. She was . . . God, he struggled to find the right words to describe her in that moment. She was so beautiful, like an angel cloaked in sin, and he wanted . . .

Rosie started to stand.

“No.”

Her eyes cleared. “No?”

“No,” he repeated. “I’m not done with you.”

They lay side by side on the floor, both breathing in large, deep breaths. Rosie wasn’t sure she could move. Hell, she wasn’t sure exactly how they both got down here, lying on the fluffy area rug. What happened after Devlin told her he wasn’t done with her was a blur of deep, shattering kisses and greedy, grasping hands that ended in a second orgasm that was just as powerful as the first, this time with their hands. They hadn’t even had sex sex and she’d already experienced more pleasure than she had in the ten years since Ian passed.

And that was . . . God, she didn’t even know what to think about that.

But the heat and the glow of all that desperate passion was fading and as Rosie lay there, staring up at the ceiling, she wondered how two people could go from arguing like that to lying half-dressed on the floor. This was the second time this had happened. Her eyes closed as she drew in a shallow breath.

Our paths are destined to keep crossing.

Rosie trembled.

What had they just done? She wasn’t regretful. Good Lord, there wasn’t a cell in her body that could regret it, but this . . . what did this mean?

“Nothing,” she whispered.

“What?”

She opened her eyes. “I still don’t like you.”

He turned his head toward her. “You made that claim, and I just proved that not to be true.”

“What we just did doesn’t mean I like you.” Rosie wasn’t sure if she was lying or not, and that left her uncomfortable. The man could be a handful, in more ways than one, but there were moments, very brief moments, she saw glimpses of what she thought he could be if he allowed himself to. She sat up and looked around for her bottoms. They were by the beaded curtains. How in the world did they get all the way over there? Her gaze landed on him. His shirt was still rucked up, exposing the tight ridges of his abs. His pants were still open and his cock was half-exposed, glistening and semi-hard. She flushed and looked away.

The man was complicated.

The man was, she thought, a little broken.

The man was absolutely stunning.

And that was a trifecta of run for the hills, but she wasn’t running, was she? Unless going down on him counted as running away as fast as she could? Doubtful. It was also doubtful that what they had just shared changed anything significant between them.

“What we just did doesn’t mean anything.” She said that and she wished it was true, wanted it to be so true for a plethora of reasons. “I mean, I don’t think it meant anything for you either, right? It was fun and . . . yeah, it was fun.”

Devlin didn’t respond to that as she rose on shaky knees. She fixed her shirt and pulled her cardigan closed as she stepped over him. She didn’t make it very far. His hand snaked out and wrapped around her calf, halting her. “You think I’m a monster, don’t you?”

Her breath hitched as she looked down at him. “I . . . I don’t know what I think, but a monster is a pretty . . . severe thing to think about another person.”

“Yeah.” He let go of her calf. A moment passed as she made her way to where her shorts lay. “Glow-in-the-dark stars and beaded curtains.”

Picking up her shorts, she glanced over her shoulder at him. He was still lying there, staring up at her ceiling. There was a relaxed look about him she hadn’t seen before, a softening of his jaw and expression. He looked . . . human . That would be a weird thing to think about anyone except for Devlin, so it was a big deal. Innately, she knew that very few people saw him like this, relaxed and . . . loose.

And that made him—what? What did that make him to her? Rosie shook her head as she pulled her bottoms on.

“Sounds like an old country song, doesn’t it?” His hands rested on his stomach as he let out a deep breath.

“It kind of does.” Dressed and decent once more, she turned to him. “It sounds like a country song you’d hate.”

A small curve of his lips appeared. Not a full smile, but a smile nonetheless. “There’s something wrong with your lights, by the way.”

Her brows lifted. “What do you mean?”

“They were flickering earlier. Went off and came back on.”

“That’s strange. It’s never happened before.” She walked over to the bed and sat on the edge. Another stretch of silence passed between them. “This . . . this isn’t healthy, you know that, right? Arguing and then making out?”

“Confident we just did more than what most would consider making out.”

“You’re right, but that doesn’t change that it’s not exactly the healthiest thing.”

Lifting his hands, he dragged them up his face and through his hair. “Isn’t just about everything that feels good not healthy?”

A short laugh escaped her as she curled her fingers around her knees. She focused on the closet as he lowered his hands to his waist. She knew what he was doing, tucking himself away and zipping up his pants. “Can I ask you something?”

He didn’t respond as he sat up.

So, she took that as a yes. “You really still don’t trust me, do you?”

“Do you really want me to answer that question?” He leaned back and his body was so long, he was able to rest against the bed, beside her legs.

“Yes.”

He was quiet for a long moment. “I don’t.”

She sucked in a soft breath and she wasn’t exactly surprised by it, but she was . . . Rosie wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

“I know there are things about me that make you suspicious, but I’ve done nothing to earn your distrust,” she said. “Being called a scheming liar isn’t exactly on anyone’s top list of things they want people to think about them, especially when they’ve been nothing but honest.”

“I shouldn’t have said those things to you,” he said after a moment. “Not that this is an excuse, but in my defense, I was a little blindsided by the whole psychic-reading thing.”

“I get that. I mean, it’s why I didn’t say anything about it at first and why I didn’t bring it up Saturday night, but there’s a football field’s length between being blindsided and being a dick.”

“I know.” He drew in a deep breath. “There’s bad history between Ross and . . . my family. You’re connected to him and I was caught off guard, so I . . . jumped to a conclusion that I hope is wrong.”

“You hope is wrong?” Rosie sighed. “It is wrong, Devlin. I wasn’t lying when I said I haven’t spoken to Ross in weeks. What I told you about the reading I did was also the truth, no matter how crazy it sounds.”

He pulled his lower lip between his teeth. A moment passed. “People hound my family, Rosie. They have for years. People try to use us. People try to make money and their careers off our tragedies. I cannot be too careful. None of us can.”

Rosie could understand all of that. She really did, because she knew how bizarre the thing with Lawrence sounded and she got that there were a ton of people out there who would want to somehow manipulate the de Vincents. After all, she was able to find what looked like his life in pictures on the internet. She understood all of that, but that didn’t excuse his behavior. “Look, I get that you have your reasons for always assuming the worst about someone, but you have been an ass to me more than you’ve been nice, and while what we just did was fantastic and amazing, it doesn’t make up for what came before that, you know? I’m not going to be anyone’s verbal punching bag.”

He fell quiet again.

She studied him. “I don’t think it’s just me. I think it’s pretty much everyone you don’t trust.”

“I trust my brothers.”

Well, at least there was that. “Why do you have such difficulty trusting people? It has to be more than strangers trying to use you. It has to run deeper than that.”

Devlin snorted. “A lot of people simply aren’t worthy of trust, Rosie.”

Her brows lifted at that. “But how do you know who is when you don’t even give them a shot?”

He didn’t respond.

“I have another question.”

“Of course you do.”

“Why do you . . . call your father Lawrence and not, I don’t know, Dad?”

His shoulders tensed so much she could see it and he didn’t respond for so long she figured he wasn’t going to, but then he did. “He was not a good man, Rosie.”

She stilled. “I . . . I didn’t know that.”

“The truth about most evil people is they are extremely skilled at making people believe that they are good,” he told her. “And Lawrence was very talented at that and he was also evil. He wasn’t just bad or mean. I think Ross knows some of it. My brothers know some of it, but they don’t know everything. They don’t know what he was truly capable of.”

Rosie bit down on her lip. She wanted to point out that he was sharing something with her that you’d have to trust someone to share, but she knew better. She stayed quiet. Maybe it was the psychology classes and training in college, but she knew if she opened her mouth and pointed that out, he would shut down, and she didn’t want him to.

“He was like a . . . disease, infecting everyone he came into contact with,” he continued, his tone distant. “Sometimes they didn’t even know.”

“I’m . . . I’m sorry,” she said, wishing there was something more she could say.

“The man is dead.” Devlin tipped his head back and she saw his eyes close. “And the world is a better place because of it.”

She jolted. That was a pretty harsh thing to say about your father, no matter what, but then again, she didn’t know his father. If her dad was a serial killer, for example, she’d probably feel the same way as Devlin, and that had to leave your head a bit of a mess, wouldn’t it? To hate your own flesh and blood, even if that hate was warranted.

Devlin turned his neck to one side and then the other, as if he were working out a kink. “Lawrence was involved in things that weren’t exactly on the up-and-up, so it doesn’t take a leap of imagination for me to think there was a reason for him hiding this place.”

“He knew you knew about what he was doing?”

“I didn’t think he did.” Devlin paused. “But I am beginning to think I was wrong about that assumption.”

Rosie toyed with the hem of her cardigan. She wanted to ask him if it were possible that whatever Lawrence was involved in had led to his death, suicide or murder. “And you said Ross knows about some of this stuff?”

“Some. Yes.”

It hit her then. “That’s why you’re telling me this, because it’s not exactly anything he doesn’t know and it’s not too detailed.”

Devlin didn’t respond, but his eyes opened.

“Whether you believe I’m telling the truth or not, that’s on you. Not me. And I don’t think there is anything I can do to change that.”

Devlin pulled one leg up. “And you don’t think it’s odd that you’re living in the apartment of a building Lawrence owned but kept hidden from me?”

“I think it’s odd as fuck, to be honest. It’s also a little creepy, but I like creepy things.”

He made a noise that sounded like a laugh. “Obviously.”

“Maybe it’s . . . fate. You said our paths were destined to cross and maybe that’s true. I don’t know, but I do know there are things that happen that no one can ever explain. So, maybe there’s a reason? Some higher force at work here,” she said, feeling a little vulnerable for admitting that out loud. She then waited for him to laugh or suggest that sounded idiotic. And then she felt a lot more vulnerable.

Because what if it was some kind of weird fate? What if it was destiny? That might sound corny and foolish to some, but so did spirits and curses. So did angels and demons. There were a lot of things out there that people had never seen with their own eyes but believed in. There were a lot of things out there that no one could explain.

So, Rosie let it go.

Let all of it go when it came to them—the text she sent, the decision to put a wall up. There was obviously something there between them, staggeringly red-hot chemistry and maybe . . . maybe even something more. There was no denying that, and they could find out if he’d just let down the walls he built.

She took a deep, cleansing breath and made up her mind. “I am lying when I say I don’t like you. I do. I’m starting to . . . really like you. Not even sure why.” She let out a shaky laugh. “But I do. That’s why I stepped back from the whole Lucian investigation. It just . . . I don’t know. I’m rambling.” She let out a nervous breath. “You can trust me, Devlin.”

Silence greeted her.

Rosie squared her shoulders and tried again. “We could just start over. Hi.” Leaning forward, she extended her hand. “I’m Rosie Herpin. Ghost hunter extraordinaire.”

He didn’t say a word. Not for several moments, and in that time, there was a change in him. Almost like she could see him patching whatever holes or cracks that had formed in those walls. They were immediately paved over.

“People can’t start over, Rosie.” Devlin pushed to his feet. “I should leave.”

It was like a blast of arctic air entered the room. “I should leave.” Those words cycled over and over. Stung, she recoiled and for a moment she was frozen. Wow. That was all she could think. Wow. She just sat there, skin chilled and the back of her throat suddenly burning as she watched him walk toward the beaded curtains.

“I’ll see myself out.” Devlin parted the curtains, and the soft rattle echoed. “Goodbye, Rosie.”

She didn’t open her mouth. She didn’t say anything. And Devlin didn’t look back. Not once as he walked out of her apartment.