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,”
