Moonlight Scandals by Jennifer L. Armentrout

Dev lost himself.

He lost himself every time he was with Rosie, and each time, he found a piece of himself that had been hidden away. This time was no different, even though her father had plied them both with enough liquor and pralines the night before that both him and Rosie were made of nothing but sugar and alcohol, so much so that any physical activity seemed unreasonable when they both collapsed into her bed, him grumbling about the damn glow-in-the-dark stars and her giggling like his drunken curses were the funniest thing ever. They’d passed out together in a tangle of arms and legs, arguing over whether or not the stars would adorn the ceiling of the bedroom in the house they were building together. There may have been a discussion about particleboard, and Dev had already accepted that there’d be beaded curtains in his home.

Now their arms and bodies were tangled in a much different way.

Dev moved above her and in her, one arm curled under her head, the other lower, his hand gripping her hip as he thrust between her thighs. Her legs were wrapped so deliciously around his waist, dragging him in as she lifted up, meeting every plunge. Passion soaked their skin, drenched their muscles and bones, and he wanted more.

He always wanted more of her and he was never not ready for her—never not seconds away from tearing off his clothes and baring his body and his soul to her warm, welcoming arms. He could never get enough of the taste of her mouth or the salty musk of her skin. He could just never get enough of Rosie and her glow-in-the-dark stars, her ghost investigations that he now knew way too much about, and her damn beaded curtains.

Being with Rosie was a revolution of the soul, and who in the hell would’ve thought he’d be so damn poetic now?

He chuckled as he dragged the bridge of his nose down the elegant slope of her neck.

“What are you laughing about?” she asked, her hands skating over his back, tracing the ropy lines of the scars with a care that nearly broke him each time.

“Just . . .” He lifted his head and stared down at her, his thrusts slowing as he went deep enough to cause her to gasp. “Just thinking we’re probably sweating sugar and liquor.”

“True.” She giggled.

“And I was also thinking that you’re . . . you’re a revolution of my soul,” he admitted, pressing his hips flush to hers and feeling a little silly for speaking it out loud, but there were no secrets between them now. None at all.

A wide, beautiful smile tugged at the corners of her lips as a sort of wonder filled her gaze. “You . . . you really think that?”

“I know that.”

Lifting her head, she curled her arm around his neck and kissed him—kissed him in a way that almost caused him to come right then. “I love you, Devlin.”

He groaned as the words skated down his spine and he lost all semblance of control, just like Rosie knew he would, just like he did every time she said those words. He lifted her to him as he thrust in her, over and over, his mouth finding and claiming hers, and when she tightened and spasmed around him, there was no holding back. He lost himself in those moments of bliss, and as his heart slowed and their bodies stilled except for the heavy, sated pants of breath, he discovered that he had no problem with the power her love had over him.

No problem at all.

Who knew how much time had passed before he rolled off her. He didn’t go very far, snagging an arm around her waist and pulling her along with him so that her cheek rested on his chest.

Staring down at the mess of curls, he idly dragged his fingers up and down her back as he thought about who he was and who he was now becoming. It had been a year since the night he’d started to lay his demons to rest and everything had changed. Not just for him.

Julia and Lucian had married—eloped, actually—and were planning to welcome their first child in the summer in a ghost-free home. Gabe and Nikki had also married, but in a ceremony that had dominated the local news for weeks. They’d moved to Baton Rouge, to be closer to his son, William. After all, Nikki wanted William to spend as much time as possible with his younger half sister. Livie, who had been named after Nikki’s mother, was only three months old.

Even Payton, his twin, was starting to come around. He was in town, staying at Dev’s place at the Port, and tonight they were all going to have their first family dinner. It was a beginning.

And Dev . . . well, he was a different person . . . mostly.

He felt no remorse nor shame for what he’d done to stop Lawrence and his father. Maybe that made him a bad person, but he didn’t care and he knew Rosie didn’t, either. He wasn’t haunted by his actions even if his past still followed him into his sleep, but Rosie had always been there for those nights. With her kisses and her touches, her sighs and her very breath, she chased away those ghosts.

Dev had to say he was a better man because of Rosie, but he would utterly destroy without a second thought anyone who harmed one strand of hair on Rosie’s head. That brutal part of him still existed. Always would for those he loved and cherished, and there was no one he was more in love with than Rosie.

And it was time he proved it.

“Hey.” He scooped a few of the curls from her face. “Could you do something for me?”

“Depends.” She shifted so that her breasts pressed against his side in the most distracting way possible. Resting her chin on his chest, she grinned. “If you’re going to ask me to cancel the ghost investigation of Waverly Hills—”

“I would never dream of doing that.” He laughed as he crooked his arm behind his head. “Can you lift your pillow up for me?”

The corners of her lips turned down. “Um, what for?”

“You’ll see.”

She stared at him for a few moments and then she raised up onto an elbow as she reached over and lifted the pillow, revealing what he knew was under there, and he knew the exact moment she saw the small black box. She became so still, he wondered if she breathed. “Devlin . . .”

He bit down on his lower lip. “Open it.”

Her gaze swung back to him and then she sprang onto her knees, snatching up the box as she rested back on her haunches, completely comfortable in the nude. Slowly, she opened the box and gasped. “Devlin ,” she repeated.

Sitting up, he, too, rose to his knees as he took the box from her trembling fingers and plucked the ring from the velvet interior. His heart started pounding as he met her gaze and saw that her beautiful eyes were gleaming.

“How long was that under there?” she asked, voice hoarse with emotion.

The corners of his lips curled. “Just two days.”

“Two days!” She clasped her hands together. “You had that under my pillow for two days and didn’t say anything?”

“I was waiting for the perfect moment.”

“Every moment is the perfect moment!”

His grin spread. “I’m making this the perfect moment right now if you let me speak.”

“Go ahead. Speak. I’m waiting.”

He chuckled as he cupped her cheek with his other hand. “I never believed in love until I met you, Rosie. At least not for me, but you proved me wrong. I wasn’t lying when I said you’re a revolution for the soul, but what you don’t know is you’re so much more than that. You’re a balm to my soul, and while I know I don’t deserve you, I will spend every damn day of my life becoming worthy of you. Will you marry me, Rosie?”

“No,” she whispered.

“No?” He blinked.

“You already are worthy of me,” she insisted, and the tightness in his chest loosened. “You already deserved me and that is why I will marry you.”

“Thank God,” he growled.

Devlin de Vincent wasn’t sure who moved first or how the ring got on her finger, but he was kissing her and guiding her back to the bed, sinking into her, the woman who was to become his wife—the woman who stood up to the Devil and proved that even he could love.