What the Moon Made

NOCTURNE

The door opens before I can reach for the handle.

Theo stands on the other side, one hand resting against the top of the door, the other extended toward me.

For half a second, I just stare at it.

His hand.

Large. Strong. Tattooed fingers disappearing beneath the cuff of his black shirt.

Then I place mine in his.

The instant our skin touches, a strange tingling sensation travels up my arm.

I suck in a quiet breath.

It isn’t static.

Static snaps and disappears.

This lingers.

Warm little sparks dance beneath my skin, curling around my wrist and climbing toward my elbow. My fingers tighten around his without permission.

Theo goes completely still.

His eyes drop to our joined hands.

For one strange second, neither of us moves.

He felt it too.

I know he did.

His gaze lifts to mine, darker than it was a moment ago.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing.”

Liar.

But he closes his hand around mine and helps me from the SUV.

And I decide I like the feeling too much to argue.

The bass reaches me before we even enter the building, a deep rhythmic pulse that seems to vibrate through the sidewalk.

I tilt my head back to look at the glowing silver lettering above the entrance.

LUPUS NOCTURNE.

I’ve heard of this place.

Everyone has.

Nocturne is one of those clubs people mention casually when they want everyone within hearing distance to know they have money. Reservations are supposedly impossible to get on weekends, drinks cost more than my electric bill, and according to Jamie, celebrities occasionally disappear into the VIP levels upstairs.

I’ve never been inside.

Obviously.

My idea of nightlife usually involves half-price appetizers and whatever bar doesn’t charge a cover.

A line stretches halfway down the block, velvet ropes corralling people dressed like they stepped directly out of a fashion campaign.

Theo doesn’t even glance toward it.

He keeps my hand in his and walks straight toward the entrance.

“Well, that’s one way to make everyone hate us,” I mutter.

The corner of his mouth should lift.

It doesn’t.

That’s when I notice the change.

The man who teased me upstairs is gone.

Theo’s shoulders are rigid beneath his jacket. His jaw is tight. His eyes move constantly, scanning faces, doorways, shadows.

Watching.

Assessing.

A massive security guard steps aside the moment he sees him.

“Mr. De Luca.”

Theo gives him a single nod.

The guard immediately unhooks the velvet rope.

I look from him to Theo as we pass.

“So, how often do you come here that they know you by name?”

“Enough.”

I wait.

Nothing else comes.

“Very informative.”

His eyes flick toward me.

Normally, that would earn me something. A smirk. A smart-ass comment. Maybe one of those infuriatingly sexy little looks that makes me forget what I was saying.

Instead, his hand settles against the small of my back.

“Stay close to me.”

My amusement fades slightly.

“Okay.”

The main floor is enormous.

Music pounds through the room, vibrating beneath my heels. Hundreds of bodies move beneath flashing lights, the dance floor packed shoulder to shoulder. Black marble bars line either side of the room, bottles glowing beneath amber lights. Above us, a second level circles the entire club behind smoked glass and wrought iron railings.

Theo guides me through the crowd without anyone touching me.

Mostly because people seem to move out of his way.

Interesting.

We reach a set of black doors where another security guard is waiting.

He opens them immediately.

Behind them is an elevator.

I glance at Theo.

“Private elevator?”

He presses the button for the second floor.

“Private floor.”

“Of course.”

The doors slide shut.

I look at our reflection in the mirrored wall.

God.

We really do look like we belong together.

Which is dangerous thinking, considering I barely belong in this dress.

Theo catches me looking.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

His eyebrow lifts.

I smile sweetly.

“See? Annoying, isn’t it?”

For the first time since we arrived, something almost resembling amusement flickers across his face.

Almost.

Then the elevator doors open.

The second floor is quieter, though the music still pulses beneath our feet. Private booths curve along the balcony, each separated by dark partitions. From up here, we have an unobstructed view of the dance floor below.

Theo leads me toward one tucked into the far corner.

Naturally.

The man probably considers corners tactical advantages.

I slide onto the curved leather seat.

Theo sits beside me.

Not across from me.

Beside me.

Close enough that his thigh presses against mine.

I pretend not to notice.

I fail.

My eyes wander toward the balcony.

That’s when I see Charger.

He stands about twenty feet away near one of the pillars.

He isn’t looking at us.

He’s looking at everyone else.

His eyes move constantly through the crowd, scanning the floor below, the staircases, the other booths.

Laser focused.

I turn slightly.

Sin stands on the opposite side.

Same posture.

Same expression.

Same unsettling attention to everything happening around us.

My stomach tightens.

I look at Theo.

He’s doing it too.

Not as obviously.

But he’s watching.

“What exactly are you expecting to happen tonight?”

His gaze slides toward me.

“Nothing.”

“Your bodyguards look like they’re expecting an assassination attempt.”

“They’re doing their jobs.”

“And you?”

His jaw shifts.

“I’m doing mine.”

Before I can ask what the hell that means, a server appears.

Theo orders several appetizers without opening the menu, then a whiskey for himself.

He looks at me.

“Margarita?”

I blink.

“You remembered?”

“You ordered one the night we had dinner.”

Something ridiculously warm settles in my chest.

“Oh.”

His eyes stay on mine.

“I remember things about you, Willa.”

Well.

That was unnecessarily devastating.

“One margarita,” I tell the waitress quickly.

She disappears.

I look over the railing again.

The dance floor below is packed.

People move beneath the lights, laughing and drinking and grinding against one another.

“This place is insane.”

“You’ve never been here?”

I stare at him.

“Do I look like I regularly spend forty dollars on cocktails?”

“No.”

I narrow my eyes.

“That sounded insulting.”

His mouth finally twitches.

“There she is.”

“There who is?”

“The woman who argues with everything I say.”

“I do not argue with everything you say.”

“You argued with me about breakfast.”

“You told me eggs weren’t enough food.”

“They weren’t.”

“You argued about my apartment.”

“You shouldn’t have gone back.”

“My job.”

“You needed time off.”

“My security.”

“Necessary.”

“My clothes.”

“Also necessary.”

I stare at him.

“You’re exhausting.”

“And yet you came out with me.”

I open my mouth.

Close it.

Theo’s smirk finally appears.

There he is.

The waitress returns with our drinks.

She’s stunning.

Of course she is.

Tall. Dark hair. Legs approximately seventeen miles long.

She sets Theo’s whiskey down first.

“Mr. De Luca.”

Her voice somehow drops an entire octave when she says his name.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

Then she looks at me.

And the temperature drops ten degrees.

She sets my margarita down.

Hard.

I blink.

“Thank you.”

She gives me a tight smile.

Theo doesn’t even look at her.

His hand slides along the back of the booth behind me.

The waitress notices.

Her eyes narrow.

Then she walks away.

I watch her go.

“Friend of yours?”

“No.”

“She looked like she wanted to poison me.”

“She won’t.”

I turn toward him.

“That is not nearly as reassuring as you think it is.”

His gaze follows the waitress until she disappears.

“She won’t come near you again.”

Something about the way he says it makes me believe him.

I take a long drink.

The tequila burns pleasantly down my throat.

Maybe I need that.

Because Theo is tense again.

His fingers tap once against his glass.

His eyes move toward the entrance.

Then the balcony.

Then Charger.

I watch him for another moment.

Without thinking too much about it, I reach over.

And place my hand on his thigh.

Theo freezes.

Oh.

That is very much his thigh.

Hard muscle beneath expensive fabric.

Maybe I should have chosen his arm.

Too late now.

His eyes drop to my hand.

Then slowly rise to my face.

“I…” I swallow. “You looked tense.”

His gaze stays on mine.

“You thought touching my thigh would help?”

“When you say it like that, it sounds inappropriate.”

“It is inappropriate.”

I start to pull my hand away.

His hand covers mine.

Stops me.

“But effective.”

My heart trips.

Theo’s shoulders loosen.

Then his arm slides around my waist.

Before I fully understand what he’s doing, he pulls me closer.

My hip presses against his.

My breath catches.

His mouth lowers near my ear.

“Better?”

I blame the margarita for the shiver that runs down my spine.

“Much.”

“Good.”

I finish the drink considerably faster than I intended.

Which is how margarita number two happens.

And somehow margarita number three.

By the time I’m halfway through it, the music downstairs sounds fantastic.

Actually, everything sounds fantastic.

“You know what your problem is?” I ask Theo.

He takes a slow sip of whiskey.

“I suspect you’re about to tell me.”

“You’re too serious.”

His eyebrow rises.

“You’ve known me for approximately five minutes.”

“Longer than five minutes.”

“Barely.”

“Long enough.”

“And what have you concluded?”

I lean toward him conspiratorially.

“You need to have more fun.”

“I have fun.”

“When?”

His expression turns thoughtful.

“Tuesday.”

I burst out laughing.

And there it is again.

That tiny change in his face.

Like he likes making me laugh.

Before I can analyze that thought too deeply, movement near the entrance catches Theo’s attention.

Every trace of amusement disappears.

A man is approaching.

Tall.

Broad.

Dark hair swept neatly away from his face. He’s wearing a charcoal suit with no tie, his shirt open at the throat.

He’s not as handsome as Theo.

Few men could be.

But there’s something about him.

Something dangerous.

The kind of man who enters a room and immediately makes you wonder which exits are closest.

A woman walks beside him.

She’s gorgeous.

Long dark curls tumble over one shoulder, and her fitted red dress hugs every curve. Her hand rests comfortably around the man’s arm.

And the way she looks at him?

Good Lord.

That woman is gone.

Hopeless.

Utterly head-over-heels.

The man looks at Theo.

Theo looks at him.

Something silent passes between them.

Then the stranger smiles.

“Theodore.”

Theo stands.

“Dante.”

Dante.

Of course his name is Dante.

The universe wasn’t going to name this man Kevin.

The woman notices me immediately.

Her face brightens.

“Oh, thank God.”

I blink.

She releases Dante’s arm and slides into the booth beside me.

“I thought I was going to spend the entire night listening to them talk business.”

Dante looks mildly offended.

“You love listening to me talk.”

“I love listening to you talk about things that aren’t shipments, contracts, or men who mysteriously stop returning phone calls.”

My eyebrows rise.

Dante looks at her.

She smiles innocently.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

Her attention turns back to me.

“I’m Sofia.”

“Willa.”

Her eyes light up.

“So you’re Willa.”

I pause.

“I’m sorry?”

Theo’s head turns sharply.

Sofia’s eyes widen.

Dante clears his throat.

“Sofia.”

“What?” She looks between them. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You were about to.”

“I absolutely was not.”

She absolutely was.

I look at Theo.

He picks up his whiskey.

I narrow my eyes.

We are discussing that later.

Sofia suddenly grabs my hand.

“Do you dance?”

“Poorly.”

“Perfect. So do I.”

Dante gives her a look.

“You do not dance poorly.”

She beams at him.

“See? Head-over-heels.”

I laugh.

Then she gestures toward the dance floor.

“Come dance with me. They can do their brooding business thing without us.”

“That sounds amazing.”

“No.”

Theo says it immediately.

I turn.

“What?”

“No.”

I stare at him.

Sofia looks between us.

Dante looks suspiciously entertained.

“You’re not going downstairs,” Theo says.

Three margaritas apparently remove whatever survival instinct usually prevents me from arguing with terrifying billionaires.

I put my drink down.

“He’s not my man.”

Theo’s jaw tightens.

Something flashes in his eyes.

Dangerous.

Possessive.

Very, very interested.

“No,” he says quietly. “I’m not.”

For some reason, the words don’t sound like agreement.

I turn toward Sofia.

“And yes. I would love to dance.”

Her grin is instantaneous.

“Excellent.”

She grabs my hand.

“Willa.”

Theo’s voice follows me as I stand.

I glance over my shoulder.

He is staring at me.

Not angry.

Something worse.

Something hotter.

I smile.

“Have fun doing business.”

Then Sofia pulls me away.

We reach the elevator before I dare look back.

Theo hasn’t moved.

He’s still standing beside the booth, whiskey in one hand.

Watching me.

Dante says something to him.

Theo doesn’t even turn his head.

The elevator doors begin to close.

And just before they meet, I see his eyes change.

For one impossible second, beneath the flashing lights of Nocturne, they almost look gold.

Then the doors close.