Читать книгу The Devil She Knows - Kira Sinclair - Страница 10

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APPARENTLY TIRED OF waiting for her to make up her mind, the devil took the decision from her. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he pulled her tight against his body and led her to the center of the dance floor.

Languid heat spread through her when his palm slipped down her spine, ruffling feathers as he went, to settle at the small of her back. Bringing her close, he flattened her other hand against his chest and engulfed it in his own.

Was it an accident that she could feel the accelerated thrum of his heart against her palm?

Rough stubble scraped her temple. The heavy beat of the music slipped into her blood, settling as a steady and agonizing vibration deep in her belly.

Moist heat tickled across her cheek when he said, “I’m Dev.”

“Willow.”

His entire body hardened. His back stiffened and the pectoral muscle beneath their joined hands turned to stone. She didn’t understand and tried to pull back, but his tight hold on her waist wouldn’t let her.

Desperate to find some way to ease the tension, Willow licked her lips and said, “You aren’t from here.”

Gradually, his body relaxed, although she could still feel the tight muscles beneath her hands. With relief, her body melted into him.

She didn’t want him to pull away.

He’d barely touched her, and her skin felt hot enough to flame right off her body. Every nerve ending was alive with anticipation. Every shift of his body against hers registered deep inside. The friction was unbearable. Never in her life had she been this...inundated by her physical response to a man. To a stranger.

She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. All she could do was want. Him.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I know everyone and I don’t know you.”

A deep rumbling sound rolled through his chest. It reverberated straight into her, making her internal muscles pulse and ache.

Around them, the people faded away. Willow couldn’t concentrate on anything but the sensations bombarding her. The music changed. He put more space between them. She wanted to protest, to grab him back and close the gap.

But she didn’t.

The dark, earthy scent of him washed over her and she liked it. Pine, soil, wood. Unlike men who relied on something artificial, he was all musky, sinful, primitive male.

The pad of his thumb ran across the center of her palm and up the underside of her left ring finger. Goose bumps erupted up her arm.

“You aren’t married?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

“I think I’d remember something like that. I hope.”

Dev chuckled softly against her temple. “What do you do?”

“I’m a wedding-gown designer.”

“That explains the dress.”

Willow frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

The dimple at the center of his chin twitched. The thick stubble on his face almost obscured it. Almost, but not quite. Willow wanted to touch. To put her tongue right there and taste.

Holy crap, what was this man doing to her?

“This dress is hardly a costume. It stands out.”

It was Willow’s turn to stiffen beneath his hold.

“In a good way,” he quickly assured her. “Everyone else’s costume is a cheap imitation of yours.” His mouth found her ear. “I recognize quality and appreciate it when I get my hands on it.”

A shiver rippled through her. As close as they were, there was no way he hadn’t felt her reaction. Willow fought the tide of embarrassment.

Closing her eyes, she tried to find some self-control. She was usually so good at suppressing her reactions—to everything. But this man seemed to have a knack for breaking through all of her armor as if it didn’t even exist. Only one other man had ever affected her that way....

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what,” she asked, her voice breaking on the words.

“Don’t hide.”

“I’m not.”

“You are. My little angel, pulling the edges of her virtue back around her. Why? Are you worried about what these people will think?”

His dark, glittering gaze darted around the room to encompass the crush of people surrounding them. For the first time, Willow realized they’d become the center of attention. Other people twirled, talked, drank and ate...but eyes kept straying back to the angel and devil pressed against each other.

God, she hoped no one realized she was the one making a spectacle of herself. Her costume was good, but was it that good? Tatum had known who she was.

“Yes. I live here.” These people were her neighbors, her friends, her customers. Of course she cared what they thought. She’d seen firsthand just how cruel they could be.

She didn’t want that for herself. Would do just about anything to avoid the agony of losing their respect. Losing her own respect.

“So you do. Do you think these people have never sinned?”

“Of course I don’t.”

“Then why do you have to be perfect?”

“I’m not.”

He stopped. In the middle of the dance floor. His arms tightened, leaning her off center. His gaze bored into hers, searching for something. She couldn’t breathe. She didn’t want to.

Her lips parted anyway, trying to pull more oxygen into her lungs. He made a sound deep in the back of his throat. His body loomed over hers, dangerous and tempting.

And then he was kissing her.

There was no easing into the moment, not with him. He devoured her, his mouth hard and demanding. She couldn’t say no. Didn’t really want to. The undertow of sensation pulled at her, blocking out every other thing.

Willow’s eyes closed. The bank of revolving lights flashed colors across her lids. And she held on. It was the only thing she could do.

Heat and need twisted through her, sharp and unexpected. She didn’t know what to do with it. His tongue slipped in, sliding deliciously against her own. The texture and taste of him was extreme. He’d sampled the cheap champagne someone had provided, fruity and sharp, but underneath he was rugged and robust.

Tearing away, Dev pulled her upright. The room spun lazily as she tried to get her bearings.

She blinked up at him. And then blinked again. Her hands clung to his shoulders, holding tight for fear that if she let go she’d topple to the ground.

“Why’d you do that?” she asked breathlessly.

“Because I could. Because I enjoy making a stir.” His deep blue eyes flashed dangerously. “Because I would have kicked myself if I let you go without knowing how your mouth tasted.”

No one had ever said anything that...sensual to her. “Holy hell.”

The startled sound of his laughter burst between them.

Had she said that out loud?

Willow stared at him, surprised by his reaction. She wanted to see his face. To know what his laughter looked like. Would it lighten the shadows cast by more than the mask covering him?

Wrapping his arms around her shoulders, Dev pulled her tight to his body. The embrace had none of the underlying currents of sensuality and need from moments before. It was easy and let her relax.

“Thank you,” he said, his mouth buried against the feathers of her mask.

“For what?”

“For giving me a moment to remember in the middle of all this. I didn’t expect that when I arrived tonight. Didn’t expect you.”

Willow wasn’t entirely certain what to make of that. “You’re welcome?”

Spinning her once more and setting her off center, he asked, “Do you want to leave?”

Without hesitating, Willow answered, “Yes.” This man with the dark blue eyes and red-silk mask was precisely what she’d been looking for when she’d dressed tonight.

It was finally her turn to sin.

* * *

FROM ACROSS THE room Dev watched Willow Portis as she spoke to a woman in a halfhearted cat costume. The two women couldn’t have been more different. Willow was long and slender. Not even her blatant attempts at the sexy costume could hide her inherent elegance. Her movements were deliberate, not a single motion wasted.

He shouldn’t have been surprised to find her at the masquerade, but he was. Maybe because he knew her sister and parents had moved away from Sweetheart. He’d always imagined her living somewhere else, with the perfect life.

From the moment he’d walked into the party she’d drawn his gaze. His, and that of every red-blooded male in the room. When he’d first approached her it had simply been because he was attracted and interested in learning more about the woman beneath the sexy dress and virginal angel wings.

He should have known who she was the moment he touched her, but it hadn’t been until she told him her name that realization—and long-forgotten memories—flooded in.

Part of him wondered just how long it would take her to recognize him. How far was she willing to go with this? And would she push him away when she figured it out or take the opportunity to finish what they’d started ten years ago?

Would she still hate him? Blame him? Or would time have blunted the misplaced sense of betrayal?

Some perverse place deep inside him wanted to know...what had her life become? Why was she here tonight alone? How had she spent the past ten years? And was she happy?

Even as he realized he should probably walk away from her, he couldn’t make himself do it. Just as before. From the moment he’d met her, there’d been something about Willow that had drawn him in. Made him want things he knew he couldn’t have.

Her sweet and haughty demeanor was a dichotomy that had intrigued him from the moment Rose had introduced them. Even back then he’d wanted to ruffle her feathers, to make her cool skin pink with a blush of innocence.

Until Willow, he hadn’t known innocence still existed. Dealing with his mother’s alternating rampages and drug-induced bouts of euphoria had stolen his innocence long before he’d come to Sweetheart.

She’d been seventeen to his twenty. And though he’d known he should leave her alone, he hadn’t been able to do it. Every time she was close, the need to fluster her was overwhelming. He’d push into her personal space and watch as her body reacted to him—as he knew she didn’t want it to.

Just like everyone else in Sweetheart, she was a bit condescending. But that had only made him want her more. To prove that she was no better than anyone else...no better than him.

He’d convinced himself Willow Portis was a challenge, a puzzle he wanted to crack. But it had been more than that. He’d needed to understand. And maybe let her innocence touch him so that he could feel it again just for a little while.

And after months of effort, he’d finally started to win her over. He’d even begun to think that she saw more to him than the rest of the world did—more than the hopeless son of a convicted felon and a drug addict.

Then the debacle with her sister had hit, and everything had gone to hell.

The way she’d looked at him, her eyes filled with betrayal instead of the soft hope he’d come to expect, had hurt more than anything else.

Until she’d been in his arms tonight Dev had honestly thought he’d left the past far behind. But perhaps there was one last thing he had to deal with....

He still wanted Willow with a need so sharp it ground into his bones. Maybe, just maybe, tonight would give him the chance to exorcise those ghosts for good.

“Wick.”

The small voice, old nickname and arms flung around his chest startled him. He stumbled back, taking the weight of the woman who’d launched herself at him as if she were an air-hockey puck.

“Erica,” she said, burying her face into his shoulder. “Erica Condon.” Then she pulled away again, staring up at him with hero worship in her eyes. It made him uncomfortable. “What are you doing here? I didn’t realize you were back in town.”

Dev threw a hasty glance around the room, grateful that everyone appeared too preoccupied to pay attention. He wasn’t ready for his cover to be blown. Not yet. Not when things were just getting interesting.

How the heck had this woman recognized him when Willow hadn’t?

Wrapping a hand around her upper arm, he dragged her deeper into the shadows close to the door.

Gently, he disentangled their bodies, putting several inches between them. “Look, I have no idea who you are.” Maybe if her costume hadn’t been so distracting and unflatteringly psychedelic...

Hurt and surprise washed across her face making him feel guilty. Trying to blunt the harshness of his words, he offered her a smile. “I’d like to keep my presence quiet, at least for tonight.”

She nodded eagerly. And that’s when recognition hit. She’d been Rose’s best friend. He’d never understood what had drawn the two girls together. Erica had been short, quiet and shy. Rose was gregarious and effervescent. On the surface, the two didn’t match. Secretly Dev had always thought Erica’s eagerness to please had been why Rose kept her around.

She hadn’t fit into the crowd he and Rose had run with. They’d all been wild and adventurous. Erica had been the quiet girl that everyone sort of ignored. Dev cringed, feeling guilty for the way he’d dismissed her when he was younger.

That guilt might have kept him talking with her, but when he glanced away to find Willow walking through the crowd toward them everything else faded away. She was dynamically gorgeous. His body hardened with the immediate need to touch her. To taste her. To know her in a way he’d been denied before.

The tight cut of her dress left her little choice but to take measured steps, constricting her movements and giving him a perfect view of her sinuous body as she moved.

Several men turned to watch her cut through the crowd. Dev recognized the heat and purpose deep in their eyes, knew his own burned with the same appreciation. An unbidden growl rolled through his chest. Tossing some random words over his shoulder, he left Erica gape-mouthed and headed straight for Willow.

No one else was getting close to her. Tonight, she was his. Finally.

He understood the gazes she drew, like iron filings to a magnet, the force of her unavoidable. The need to kiss her again, right here, right now, in front of every other male, broke deep inside. He resisted. Not only wouldn’t it matter, but Willow wouldn’t appreciate a repeat performance of the public display.

She was still a walking contradiction.

The dress labeled her a siren. But the way her body had trembled when he’d pulled her close to dance, her wary expression and the hesitation in her touch told him a different story.

Her sister’s lies had taken everything from him—including Willow. He’d worked for years to rebuild his life and feel comfortable in his own skin.

She stopped in front of him, staring up through inky-black lashes and blue eyes that were bright and deep. The skin of her shoulders, left bare by her dress, was milky-white and perfectly matched the feathers that arched from either side of her shoulder blades.

He wanted to touch, to run the pad of his finger across her skin to see if it was as smooth and delicate as it looked.

But he didn’t.

The enticing pink tip of her tongue darted out to nervously wet her bottom lip.

“Take me to bed.”

The mask shielded some of her expression, so he couldn’t tell if she was as surprised by her own proposition as he was. That was not what he’d expected to come out of her mouth. He’d actually been waiting for an excuse, for her to come to her senses and realize the danger of what she was doing.

Did she already know who he was? Was she taking advantage of the opportunity fate had plopped into their laps?

“If you want to, that is.” Her voice quivered.

“I’d be an idiot if I didn’t.” Something, possibly the integrity he’d fought hard to rediscover, made him ask, “Are you sure?”

She swallowed and took a single step closer. Slowly, her gaze rolled up to his. Her chin followed until she was looking him square in the eye.

The impact of her stare hit him like a fist. What he saw made every muscle in his body tighten. Pure, unadulterated hunger. It called to him. It stirred something deep inside that had been dormant for years.

“I haven’t been this sure about anything in a long while.”