The Devil She Knows - Kira Sinclair Mills & Boon Blaze

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shrugged. “What do I always do at these things? I’ve been watching. The real question is, what are you going to do about it?”

      “What do you mean?”

      “Are you going to stay here in the corner, or are you going to get out there and flirt?” Shifting to stand beside her, Tatum crossed her arms over her chest, leaned against the wall and stared into the pulsing crowd. Tatum hated these things, and still she always came.

      “Corner,” Willow answered without a second thought.

      “I’m not sure he’s going to be satisfied with that answer.” Without bothering to look, Tatum tipped her head sideways.

      Willow followed the gesture, her eyes scanning the crowd for whatever her friend was talking about.

      And then she saw him.

      Even from behind the barrier of his red-satin devil mask, she could feel the intensity of his stare as it ran slowly over her body. And she reacted. Her body buzzed with the recognition of a virile, interested male.

      Through the space and the shield of his mask she couldn’t tell the color of his eyes, but they were dark. People brushed past him on both sides. The cacophony of voices and music swirled between them. Someone bumped his shoulder. But he didn’t move. None of the chaos touched him.

      Willow’s throat went dry. Her pulse fluttered uncomfortably. She wanted to look away, but couldn’t.

      Then he moved. Toward her. Willow reached for Tatum, hoping to use her as a deflection, but her friend had disappeared. Damn her.

      Dressed all in black, the only colors he wore were the shocking red mask and a slate-gray tie. Willow recognized expensive material and tailoring when she saw it. His suit hugged him perfectly, highlighting the beautiful body beneath.

      Whoever he was, he had money. Not that Willow particularly cared about that.

      “Like to dance?” He held out his hand, palm up.

      Willow stared at it for several seconds, torn. Slowly, her gaze traveled up his body to his eyes. They were a dark, midnight-blue.

      Licking her lips, she said, “That’s all?”

      “That isn’t enough?”

      “Every other guy here has had some cheesy line about angels or sin.”

      “You’re too intelligent for that.”

      “How do you know?”

      During the entire exchange he held his hand steady between them, waiting. There was a...stillness inside him. A patience she instinctively recognized. He’d show that same patience in bed as he drove her crazy with precision and skill.

      Willow fought the urge to squirm. She found herself nodding but didn’t reach for him, vacillating between what she wanted to do and what she should do. She wanted to let this handsome, dynamic and mysterious man sweep her off her feet. And he so could. Her skin tingled. Her body fizzed with anticipation.

      But what she should do was turn around and walk away. Everything inside her told her that was the smart, responsible, correct response. Years of doing the right thing and choosing the safe course were hard to ignore.

      Good habits were just as hard to break as the bad ones.

      But tonight she’d come here to be daring, to do something different and shake up her life. At least for one night.

      The perfect opportunity to do that stared at her with dark, sensual, bedroom eyes.

      2

      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.”

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