What the Moon Made

DRESSED IN TEMPTATION

I barely recognize the woman staring back at me.

The black dress fits like it was made for my body—which, considering Theo somehow knows my exact measurements, it very well might have been.

Thick straps frame my shoulders before meeting a square neckline that dips low enough to reveal far more cleavage than I would ever willingly display at work. Bands of black fabric cross over the sheer bodice, concealing just enough to keep the dress from becoming indecent while still leaving glimpses of skin beneath.

From the waist down, the fabric clings to every curve.

And I mean every curve.

It smooths over my hips and hugs my thighs before ending midway down my calves. Paired with the delicate black heels, the entire outfit makes me look taller. Sleeker. Like the kind of woman who walks into a room knowing every eye will follow her.

Not like a woman who spent this morning arguing with a billionaire about whether he had the right to buy her an entire wardrobe.

I turn slightly, studying my reflection from another angle.

“Are you sure this isn’t too much?”

Dot stands several feet behind me with her hands folded neatly in front of her and her expression remains pleasantly unreadable.

“The dress is appropriate for the occasion, Ms. Bennett.”

I sigh. “Willa.”

“Yes, Ms. Bennett.”

My eyes narrow at her reflection. “You’re doing that on purpose.”

“I don’t know what you mean, Wilhelmina.”

A laugh escapes me before I can stop it. It is the closest she has come to admitting that she possesses a sense of humor since entering the room.

“You know, for someone who hardly says anything, you’re surprisingly difficult.”

“I have been told that before.”

“By Theo?”

Dot smooths an invisible wrinkle from the blanket folded at the end of the bed.

She doesn’t answer.

I watch her in the mirror. “That was definitely a yes.”

Her expression doesn’t change, but I swear I see the corner of her mouth twitch.

Getting ready with Dot has been an unusual exercise in one-sided conversation. I teased her about the absurd number of dresses hanging in the closet. She responded by asking which one I preferred. I accused her of being part of Theo’s elaborate scheme to take over my life. She calmly informed me that dinner would be served at eight.

When I asked whether she had ever seen Theo smile, she became intensely interested in arranging the makeup brushes.

The woman is a vault.

A very well-dressed, mildly judgmental vault.

I turn back toward the mirror and lean closer to examine my face.

I managed to conceal the last fading traces of the bruise with careful layers of color corrector and foundation. Unless someone knows where to look, they would never guess that Kyle’s hand had been there.

The thought threatens to hollow out the confidence the dress has given me.

I push it away.

Not tonight.

Dark charcoal shadow has been blended across my eyelids, deepening to black at the outer corners and softening into a smoky haze just above the crease. A thin sweep of liner sharpens the shape of my eyes, while several coats of mascara make my lashes look impossibly thick. The dramatic makeup should overwhelm my face, but somehow it only makes my eyes appear larger—and far more daring than I feel.

I kept the rest understated. Warm color softens my cheeks, a subtle sheen catches along my cheekbones, and my lips are painted a muted nude with the faintest hint of rose. My freckles still show across my nose beneath the light foundation.

My hair falls in loose, glossy waves around my shoulders, auburn strands spilling over the black straps of the dress.

I lift my chin.

The woman in the mirror doesn’t look frightened.

She doesn’t look like someone who recently lost her home, her relationship, and whatever fragile illusion she had constructed about the direction of her life.

She looks composed.

Confident.

Dangerous, even.

I place my palms against the edge of the vanity and stare at her, trying to decide whether the dress has transformed me—or whether this version of me has been hiding somewhere beneath the oversized sweaters and careful smiles all along.

“Well?” I ask softly.

Dot comes to stand beside me. Our eyes meet in the mirror.

For once, she doesn’t call me Wilhelmina.

“You look beautiful, Willa.”

The sincerity in her voice steals every clever response from my tongue.

I look back at my reflection.

Beautiful.

I’m still trying to believe her when a knock sounds at the bedroom door.

The knock sounds again.

“I’m coming,” I call, giving myself one final glance in the mirror.

Dot gathers the discarded makeup brushes from the vanity while I cross the bedroom. I expect to find Sin waiting on the other side, or perhaps one of the countless staff members who seem to appear whenever Theo needs something.

I open the door.

And forget how to breathe.

Theo stands in the hallway.

“I thought you were going to wait downstairs.”

“I was.”

That is the entirety of his explanation.

Not that I’m capable of demanding a better one while he looks like that.

He is dressed entirely in black. Of course he is. The tailored jacket stretches across his broad shoulders and narrows perfectly at his waist. Beneath it, he wears a black shirt with the first few buttons left undone, exposing a small section of his chest. No tie. No unnecessary accessories. Just an expensive watch at his wrist and the faintest glimpse of ink disappearing beneath his cuff.

The trousers fit closely through his legs before meeting polished black shoes. Somehow, the absence of color should make him look understated.

It doesn’t.

He looks dangerous.

Elegant, controlled, and so unfairly attractive that staring at him should qualify as an act of self-harm.

At least I’m prepared for that part.

What I am not prepared for is the way he looks at me.

Theo’s gaze catches mine for only a moment before it lowers.

Slowly.

He takes in the smoky shadow around my eyes, the neckline of my dress, and every strip of sheer fabric crossing my torso. His attention continues over my waist and hips, following the dress down my legs to my heels.

Then it travels back up again.

Even slower this time.

Heat spreads across my skin in its wake. The hallway suddenly feels smaller, the air too warm and my dress far more revealing than it looked in the mirror.

Theo doesn’t touch me.

He doesn’t say a word.

But the intensity in his eyes makes it feel as though he has already placed his hands everywhere his gaze lingers.

I resist the urge to fold my arms over my chest. I liked the woman I saw in the mirror a minute ago. She looked confident. Dangerous, even.

That woman apparently has no survival instincts, because standing in front of Theo now, I feel painfully shy.

“Well?” I ask, because the silence has become unbearable.

His eyes finally meet mine.

Something dark and hungry moves through them before his expression slips back under control.

“You look—”

He stops.

I wait.

Theo De Luca, a man who always appears to know exactly what to say, seems momentarily incapable of finishing a sentence.

A tiny spark of confidence returns.

“I look what?”

His jaw tightens.

“Beautiful.”

The word is quiet. Rough.

Far more intimate than it has any right to be.

“Thank you.” I smooth my hands down the sides of my dress, mostly so I have something to do with them. “You look nice too.”

Nice.

He looks like sin dressed for dinner, and I tell him he looks nice.

One corner of his mouth lifts as if he can hear everything I’m refusing to say.

Behind me, Dot clears her throat.

I had nearly forgotten she was in the room.

She passes between us carrying the makeup case, her expression as composed as ever. “Have a pleasant evening, Mr. De Luca. Ms. Bennett.”

“Willa,” I correct automatically.

“Of course, Wilhelmina.”

She continues down the hallway without looking back.

I stare after her. “She enjoys tormenting me.”

“Yes.”

My attention snaps to Theo. “So you admit it?”

“I admit nothing.”

There is the smallest hint of amusement in his voice, but the way he continues watching me makes it impossible to relax.

I reach for the small black clutch Dot left near the door. “We should go.”

Theo steps aside and offers me his arm.

The gesture is so formal that I almost tease him for it, but the words disappear when I slide my hand around his bicep. Even through the layers of his jacket and shirt, I can feel the solid muscle beneath my fingers.

My pulse stumbles.

Theo glances down at my hand.

His body goes unnaturally still for half a second.

Then we begin walking.

My heels click against the hardwood as we make our way through the upstairs hallway. Theo adjusts his pace to mine without comment, moving slowly enough that I don’t have to struggle to keep up with his much longer stride.

As we approach the staircase, a question that has been bothering me since this morning slips out.

“Where are you sleeping?”

Theo’s eyes shift toward me. “Tonight?”

“No, next February.” I give him a look. “Yes, tonight. You said I’m staying in your room, but I never asked where that leaves you.”

“The guest room.”

I stop at the top of the stairs.

He takes one more step before the hand resting on his arm pulls him to a halt.

“The guest room?”

“Yes.”

“In your own home?”

“It is generally where my guest room is located.”

“Theo.”

“Willa.”

I suppress a smile. “You should sleep in your own room. I can take the guest room.”

His eyes hold mine.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Dr. Vale instructed you to rest. You are already familiar with the room, and everything you need is there.”

“I’m sure your guest room has a bed.”

“It does.”

“Then the problem is solved.”

“It was never a problem.”

A small crease forms between my brows. “I don’t want to push you out of your room.”

His gaze dips briefly to my mouth.

“You are not pushing me out.”

“But—”

“I’ll sleep in my room,” he says, his voice dropping, “if you’re willing to share it.”

Every coherent thought leaves my head.

Theo waits.

There is no smile on his face now. No trace of teasing to soften the offer. He watches me with the same unsettling intensity he wore outside the bedroom, as though he wants me to understand that he means it.

My lips part, but nothing comes out.

His gaze falls to them.

The air between us tightens.

“I thought so,” he murmurs.

He turns and leads me down the stairs before I can force my brain back into working order.

“That was inappropriate,” I inform him.

“Yes.”

“You shouldn’t say things like that.”

“Then stop trying to decide where I sleep.”

“I was being considerate.”

“And I answered your concern.”

“With indecent propositions.”

“It was an invitation.”

I look up at his profile. “There’s a difference?”

“An invitation allows you to say no.”

Something in the way he says it causes warmth to curl low in my stomach.

I face forward before he can see the effect he has on me.

We reach the bottom of the staircase and cross into the living room. Floor-to-ceiling windows turn the city beyond them into a sea of glittering lights. For a moment, they reflect across Theo’s black suit like stars caught against the night.

Then we pass the tall mirror beside the entryway, and our reflections stop me.

Theo notices immediately. “What is it?”

“Nothing.”

But I can’t look away.

We look good together.

More than good.

Theo stands tall and imposing beside me, every inch of him polished wealth and quiet power. In my black dress and heels, with my hand tucked securely around his arm, I don’t look like the frightened woman he carried into this penthouse.

I look as though I belong at his side.

As though we are the kind of couple who could enter a room and command it without speaking. The kind people would watch, envy, and whisper about long after we were gone.

A power couple.

The thought is so absurd that I nearly laugh.

If only those imaginary people knew the truth.

I am not Theo De Luca’s equal.

I’m his charity case.

A bruised, temporarily homeless woman wearing clothes he bought, sleeping in his bed while he exiles himself to a guest room, and walking beside him only because he has decided that rescuing me once wasn’t enough.

Theo’s eyes meet mine in the mirror.

Whatever he sees on my face causes his expression to sharpen.

“Willa?”

“We should go,” I say again.

This time he doesn’t question me.

We take the private elevator to the parking garage. Neither of us speaks during the descent, but I remain acutely aware of every inch separating us.

Theo stands close enough that the sleeve of his jacket occasionally brushes my bare arm when the elevator moves.

Each accidental touch sends a spark across my skin.

By the time the doors open, my nerves are stretched painfully tight.

Sin is waiting beside a large black SUV with dark windows and a gleaming exterior. I don’t recognize the make, but it looks expensive enough to cost more than my entire apartment building.

Or former apartment building, I remind myself.

Sin opens the rear passenger door as we approach.

“Good evening, Ms. Bennett.”

“Hi, Sin.” I offer him a grateful smile. “Thank you.”

He dips his head, but not before I catch the faint flicker of surprise in his expression.

Apparently, people don’t usually thank Theo De Luca’s driver for opening doors.

I gather the skirt of my dress and slide into the leather seat. The interior smells faintly of cedar, clean leather, and something darker that I immediately associate with Theo.

Sin closes my door.

Through the opposite window, I watch Theo walk around the rear of the SUV. A second later, the door beside me opens and he climbs in.

The space changes the moment he settles into the seat.

The SUV is enormous, but Theo makes the back feel impossibly confined. His thigh is only inches from mine. His shoulder nearly brushes me when he fastens his seat belt. The warmth of his body reaches me despite the cool air blowing from the vents.

Sin takes his place behind the wheel, and the SUV glides out of the parking garage.

Neither Theo nor I speaks.

There is no teasing.

No banter.

Not even one of our usual arguments.

The silence isn’t uncomfortable. It is something worse.

It is charged.

Thick enough that each breath seems to drag through it. Energy gathers in the narrow space between our bodies, hot and restless, until I become convinced that if I moved my hand even a few inches and touched him, the contact would electrify us both.

I keep my hands folded tightly in my lap.

Theo rests one hand on his thigh and turns his face toward the window, watching the city pass beyond the tinted glass.

But I see the tension in his jaw.

I see the way his fingers curl once against the dark fabric of his trousers before slowly relaxing.

He feels it too.

The realization makes the air even harder to breathe.

So we sit in silence, close enough to touch and careful not to, while the city lights sweep across our faces.

It feels less like restraint.

And more like a countdown.