The Devil She Knows. Kira Sinclair
up an odd job on a construction site could change his life so drastically? He’d never forget the man who’d given him a chance and seen beneath the grimy exterior to the potential lurking deep inside.
He’d gone back to school, finished his degree, and started Devlin Landscaping & Design. At any given time he had hundreds of people working for him all over the country.
Willow had lived in the world he’d wanted desperately to be a part of, but couldn’t quite believe he had the right to. She’d been different. Or so he’d thought. But in the end, she’d pushed him away just like his grandfather, easily believing the lies.
Once he might have known the sound of her laughter and the way her eyes darkened when she was angry, but that obviously wasn’t enough.
He should probably feel remorse for what he’d just done, but he couldn’t muster up the emotion. It would mean he regretted tonight, and he didn’t. Maybe he would later, when the piper had to be paid, but for the moment the satisfaction was too close to the surface.
Trouble would find him soon enough, anyway. It always did. Besides, with her naked body pressed close he wanted another taste. There was no point asking for absolution if he fully intended to sin again.
He hadn’t gone to that party with the intention of picking someone up. Considering what had happened, sleeping with anyone his first day back in Sweetheart was probably the worst decision he could have made. The fact that it had been Willow just compounded the stupidity.
She really was nothing like her sister, which was a good thing. Rose had been provoking and selfish, caring about no one but herself. Willow was soft and quiet. Giving. Reserved, even if tonight she had wanted to pretend she was daring.
But, God, beneath all the polished restraint she was passionate. And nothing like the women he normally connected with.
He liked to get down and dirty, in his job, in bed and in general. Life was too short and too much shit happened. Shit that no one could predict or control.
So tonight he was going to enjoy the moment. Tomorrow would be soon enough to deal with the rest.
4
WILLOW WOKE SLOWLY, a delicious smile curving her lips before she’d even opened her eyes. Stretching, her body protested in the strangest places.
And then she remembered.
She sat bolt upright, clutching the lavender sheet to her naked chest.
“Oh, my God,” she breathed out to the empty room.
It hadn’t been a dream. She’d really been that wanton and unabashedly reckless.
Her face flamed with delayed embarrassment. The things she’d done...and let him do to her.
With a groan, she dropped back into the pile of pillows, shielding her face with her arm.
Was it a good thing that she was alone? Or should she be pissed that he’d left while she was asleep? Maybe she should call Tatum and ask her just what morning-after protocol called for.
Memories of last night flashed across her closed lids. A dark head between her open thighs as pleasure spiraled ruthlessly through her. Silky strands clutched between her demanding hands as she kept him right where she wanted him.
His body sliding sinuously against hers in a relentless rhythm that drove her crazy.
Her body hummed, electrified by nothing more than the ghosts of what they’d done to each other and the lingering scent of sex that still clung to her skin.
“Well, that’s certainly a nice vision to walk in on.”
With a startled yelp, Willow jackknifed up off the bed. Her hair fell into her eyes, obscuring her vision. The velvety-smooth sound of his chuckle slipped down her spine, sending tingles of awareness with it.
Her internal muscles contracted with remembered pleasure and the need for more. Willow ignored their demand.
Pushing her hair out of her face, she realized two things at once. First, the sheet was puddled in her lap leaving her bare from the waist up.
Snatching at the edge, she pulled it up to her chin.
His sinfully sculpted mouth twitched and the dark slash of a single eyebrow rose. “Little late for that, isn’t it?”
Ignoring him, Willow gathered the sheet around her like a shield. It was about the only one she had left.
Pushing away from the door frame he’d negligently propped himself against, he moved into her private space with a powerful grace that made her want to hate him. His black pants were slung low on his hips, leaving the top slashes of the V of sculpted muscle visible.
She remembered running her tongue down those matching creases straight to the Promised Land they pointed to. Her skin flushed hotter.
He sank to the bed beside her, his hip dipping the mattress so she had to brace to keep from rolling against him.
Silently, he held out a mug to her. Steam curled up from the surface, bringing with it the delectable scent of coffee.
Willow narrowed her eyes, staring at it for several seconds before deciding she was really going to need the jolt.
Because the second thing she realized was that she knew exactly who had slept in her bed last night. She didn’t like him. And he’d lied to her.
She fortified herself with several sips before stretching to the opposite side of the bed and setting the mug down. Better not to have this conversation with hot liquid in her hands. He might just end up burned.
He watched her, warily. Obviously he was fully prepared for the conversation they were about to have. Just one more reason to be pissed. Had he known who she was from the first moment?
Shifting away from him, Willow glared. “Your name isn’t Dev.”
His mouth tightened, but that was his only reaction to the accusation in her voice. “Yes, it is.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Interesting. That’s what my birth certificate says.”
“That’s not funny, Wick.”
“Do you see me laughing, Willow? And don’t call me that.”
No, he wasn’t laughing. At least not on the outside. She couldn’t help but think he was probably hooting and hollering on the inside about the coup he’d just pulled.
As if ruining her sister’s marriage and betraying her hadn’t been enough for him, he’d decided to weasel his way into getting what he’d always wanted—her, naked.
Although, she had to admit, she’d been pretty eager to shed her clothes last night and hadn’t put up much of a fuss.
Guilt and regret mixed with her anger, blunting it in a way that was far from satisfying. Trust her conscience to surface just when she needed righteous indignation.
She’d had a one-night stand with a stranger. A masked stranger. She hadn’t exactly expected to wake up with a paragon of virtue. But she hadn’t expected to wake up with Wick, either. The only man who’d ever tempted her to sin.
A groan rolled up through her chest, but she cut it off before it broke free. That alone should have told her who touched her. No one had ever made her feel so electrified and alive with nothing more than a look.
He’d always had that effect on her. But she hadn’t seen him in ten years and had no reason to expect him in Sweetheart—let alone beneath the devil’s mask.
“Why not? What’s wrong with Wick?”
“It isn’t my name. Never has been. The only people who’ve ever called me that are the people in this town. And, as you can imagine, I don’t like the reminder very much.”
They’d called