The Devil She Knows (6 page)

“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 him Wicked Wick. She remembered hearing her sister purr his name, the single word filled with the kind of raw sensuality that, at seventeen, she hadn’t completely understood.

Oh, she did now. An unwanted shiver of memory erupted in goose bumps across her skin.

To hide her reaction, Willow climbed from the bed, making sure the sheet stayed tightly wrapped around her body. With the bed between them she felt a little steadier. Until those midnight eyes full of banked heat and promise raked across her.

“Why are you here?”

Standing, Dev rounded the bed, never breaking his hold on her gaze. She grudgingly gave him credit. After that one brief singeing glance, he kept his focus squarely on her face.

He closed the space between them. Willow shifted, trying to get far enough away that she could think clearly. And deal with the situation. But there was nowhere for her to go.

Her back hit the edge of the dresser. Behind her, several bottles and trinkets trembled at the contact. Straightening her spine, Willow pulled the shreds of her composure around her like a shield. She refused to let him see that he got to her.

But he didn’t stop. His body crowded into her space. Her back bowed under the pressure of his presence. The heat of him overwhelmed her. He didn’t touch her, but he didn’t have to.

The wide expanse of his naked chest spread out before her. She couldn’t swallow. She wanted to touch, but somehow found the force of will to clench her fists tighter into the sheet instead.

Even in the light of day, the dark, wicked edge that made him irresistible was there. She fully understood why every girl within a certain age range—and several outside of it—had thrown themselves at Wick...Dev...when he’d lived in Sweetheart.

Not even she had been immune to the draw of him. She’d hardly been worldly, but that kind of tense beauty was hard to miss. He’d always exuded a sensuality that just begged to be tamed.

Apparently the pull had only gotten stronger. At least, on her.

The flat of his palms pressed against the mirror behind her. She reacted to him, every cell coming alive with remembered pleasure and hopeful anticipation.

Traitor.

This man had ruined her sister’s life. And if she wasn’t careful he’d hurt her, as well. Again.

Dark blue eyes bored into hers. She couldn’t read his expression. Gone was the sensual, giving man of last night. He’d been replaced by someone harder and more perilous.

Whatever he called himself now, he had no moral compass. Because if he did, he would have told her last night exactly who he was. Not given her a name she wouldn’t recognize.

“Why am I here?” His voice was soft and dangerous. A prickle of unease shot down her spine. “In your bedroom or in town?”

“Either. Both. Ten years is a long time. Why are you back now?”

“I’m in town because I’m the landscape designer for the new resort.”

Willow pulled in a shallow gasp. A devilish grin played across his lips, but it didn’t quite fully form. He was holding back. And enjoying her shocked reaction.

Bastard.

What kind of game was he playing? And why was he using her? Had last night been some kind of sick payback for what had happened between them?

God, she hoped not. But she was afraid she’d played right into his hands.

He lifted a lock of her hair, running it through his thumb and finger from crown to tip. The back of his hand brushed against the side of her breast. Willow sucked in a breath. His eyes sharpened. And her body burst into life.

His voice was a caress all its own, low and sultry. She couldn’t help remembering the sinful words he’d whispered to her last night. “I’m in your bedroom because you asked me to take you to bed.”

God, she wanted him. Still. Even knowing what he’d done and how he’d deceived her last night, her body craved his touch.

Somehow she found the strength to say, “You should leave.” But the words trembled. She hoped he didn’t hear the waver.

Something sharp flared deep in his eyes. His mouth tightened and beside her head the fingers pressed hard to the mirror flexed dangerously. His eyelids slid down, hiding the rest of his reaction from her.

He smoldered with anger. This close to him, she could practically smell the brimstone and fire of it. But he didn’t move. Instead, he let his hot eyes travel across her face for several seconds.

Willow couldn’t breathe. She waited.

“We aren’t done, Willow.”

“Oh, yes we are. You ruined my sister’s life, Wick. Dev. Whoever the hell you are.”

His head recoiled as if she’d hit him. Bringing them nose to nose, he stared into her, straight down to her soul. “You know exactly who I am, angel.”

“Last night was a mistake. If I’d known who you were it never would have happened.”

“I know.”

Everything inside her stilled. Those two words managed to cut through the fog of desire he was weaving around her.

“What do you mean, you know? Exactly when did you figure out who I was?”

“The moment I got my hands on you. And once I touched you, I knew I couldn’t let you go until I’d had more.”

“So to hell with what I might have wanted?”

“Don’t kid yourself, angel. We both know you got exactly what you wanted last night. A taste of the wild side with a depraved devil. I did the right thing and kept my hands off you once before. I wasn’t about to make that same mistake twice.” He pushed away from her.

She felt the loss of his warmth and hated herself a little bit for the weakness.

“You really are a bastard, aren’t you?”

His mouth twisted. “Actually, no, I’m not. This town just has the ability to pull the worst out of me. Believe it or not, Willow, I had no intention of seducing you last night. I was just as overwhelmed by the friction between us as you were.”

His unexpected and candid confession left her speechless. The words deflated some of the self-righteous anger she’d been using to combat her own guilt and embarrassment.

He’d even taken that.

But before she could say anything more, he snatched the rest of his clothes from the chair in the corner and walked out.

Although not before getting in one last parting shot. “You’re old enough to know better than to believe everything you hear, Willow. You have no idea what happened between Rose and me. But I promise you, it was nothing like last night.”

* * *

W
ILLOW TRIED TO
go on with her day, to pretend nothing had happened, but it was difficult. In a bid for distraction, she barricaded herself in her design studio and tried to lose herself in the dress she was making for a country music star who had recently crossed over and become a pop sensation. She was also marrying one of the most well-known quarterbacks in the NFL.

Unfortunately, every time Willow’s fingers slipped across the sumptuous silk of the dress her mind immediately jumped to the feel of Dev’s skin beneath her sensitive fingertips, and her entire body would clench and burn.

Needless to say, after five hours she’d gotten very little work done while her frustration level had increased to critical mass.

Sundays were usually her most productive design days since she had the place to herself, but not today. Not even cranking up the music could drown out the distractions, not when they were coming from inside her own head. Which was just one more accusation she could lay at Dev’s feet. He was costing her a day’s worth of work that she couldn’t afford to lose.

Willow was staring with frustration at the yards of white clinging to the dress form when the notes of “Hell on Heels” blasted into the room. She still jumped at the unexpected interruption. Everyone in her life knew she holed up in the studio on Sundays and usually left her alone to work.

She knew from the song that it was one of her friends. Snatching up the phone she’d thrown onto the table behind her, she registered the name on the screen even as she answered.

“Hope, what’s wrong?” There were only a few reasons Hope would be bothering her and none of them were good.

“What were you thinking, Willow?”

“Huh?” She was immediately lost. “What are you talking about?”

A loud sigh echoed down the line followed by a soft swear word that did nothing to settle Willow’s suddenly frantic heartbeat.

Instead of answering her question, Hope said, “I’ll be there in five minutes. Don’t leave.”

A protest was halfway out of Willow’s mouth but it didn’t matter. Hope had hung up, the harsh buzz of the broken line echoing through Willow’s head.

She didn’t have to wait long. A knock on her studio door boomed through the eerily quiet space. But it wasn’t Hope who waited on the other side when she swung open the door. It was Tatum.

“Oh, shit. This must be really bad if she called in reinforcements. What is going on?”

Willow hadn’t realized Tatum was carrying a laptop tucked under her arm until she brushed past and set the thing on the nearest table, popping it open. The screen blinked to life, and Willow’s legs wobbled for a few seconds before she stiffened them.

Her eyes devoured the words that accompanied the photographs she couldn’t seem to tear herself away from.

Dev, half-dressed, his amazingly ripped chest clearly on display, was leaving her house right around dawn. His dark eyes were furious and his harsh mouth slanted in a dangerous frown.

A shiver—that had nothing to do with the tingle of awareness and excitement—snaked down her spine. Who would take pictures of Dev leaving her house at dawn? Why? And why the heck post them online?

“Well” was all she could say, her mind whirling with too many thoughts to process any of them.

Tatum grasped her arm and pushed her into a nearby chair.

Her eyes raced over the text one more time. The gist was that the devil had returned to Sweetheart and immediately sullied the first angel he encountered.

While no one—well, no one other than Hope and Macey—knew what had happened between her and Dev ten years ago, everyone knew that he’d seduced her sister and broken up a marriage.

She groaned, closing her eyes as embarrassment flooded through her. Was it asking too much to hope that no one else had seen this?

“I don’t understand the significance of what’s going on, but Hope was adamant that you needed to see this immediately. The blog was posted anonymously and an email sent from a generic account to just about the entire town. And from your reaction, she was right. I’m guessing those regrets we talked about last night go a little deeper than even I anticipated. Tell me.”

Willow’s mouth twisted into a dangerous frown as she looked between her friend and the email that declared her sin for public consumption.

“I know him.”

“God, I hope so. That man was made for sex. If he left before you got to know him that would be a crying shame.”

Willow shook her head. “No, you don’t understand. I already knew him before last night.”

Tatum shrugged. “So?”

“He’s the man who slept with my sister and ruined her marriage.”

Tatum’s eyes widened into large pools of shock. “Oh.” Though she’d only been in Sweetheart a few years, even Tatum had heard the story about Rose and Wick. It was the kind of gossip that circulated as a cautionary tale about what not to do in Sweetheart.

“It gets better. Only a few people know this, but...he and I...”

Tatum’s eyes widened. “The bastard gets around.”

Heat flooded Willow’s pale skin. “No. We didn’t. But it was close. Rose brought him around several times. I was seventeen. He was twenty. We danced around each other for a few months. I tried very hard to be good, but you saw him....”

“Temptation on a cracker.”

Willow nodded. She screwed her eyes closed, trying to shut out the memories. The heavy heat she’d been too young to understand or deal with. The overwhelming need. The oppressive pain of betrayal when she learned he’d slept with her sister.

“One night he came over looking for Rose, but she wasn’t there. It was late and hot. I was in tiny shorts and a tank top.”

Even now she could feel the pressure of the humid summer air on her skin. And when Wick had shown up on her porch, moonlight slashing across his hard jaw and sharp cheekbones, she’d felt as if her skin was tight enough to split. The only thing she’d known was that she needed relief.

And he’d given it to her...or a taste of it. Before she’d realized what he’d intended, her back was pressed against the house and his mouth was devouring hers. That kiss was like nothing she’d experienced before. It was hot and hard, and made her whole body ache.

She’d squirmed against him, wanting more. And he’d given it to her. Right there on the front porch where anyone could have seen. His hard body surrounded her. His hand had slipped beneath the high hem of her shorts, finding the slick heat that proved she wanted him even as she tried not to.

Just like the night before, the moment he’d touched her she was gone. She let him drive his fingers deep inside her. Within minutes he’d had her coming, hot and hard. The best orgasm she’d ever had until last night.

She’d slid back down into a boneless, panting mess, fully expecting him to take whatever he wanted from her. And she would have let him. But instead of opening his fly, he’d backed away, staring at her with hard, glittering eyes.

In that low, rasping voice that sent shivers down her spine, he’d breathed, “Little girl.” And then he’d just...left.

“Two days later the scandal with Rose broke. Apparently, he no longer wanted me. Why would he want someone so innocent and unschooled when he could have my worldly, uninhibited sister?”

Tatum blinked, one long, drawn out motion. “Jesus, Willow. And you still let him spend the night?”

Willow dropped her head into her hands and dug the heel of her palms into her eyes. “We kept the masks on. I didn’t know until this morning.”

Tatum let out a low whistle, the single sound conveying absolutely everything she’d struggled with since she’d learned just who was behind the mask—shock, anger, desire, betrayal, self-recriminations, unwanted need.