Page 1 of Devil Wears Nada
Prologue
I was hauling fifteen bolts of imported silk back from my supplier when the naked man fell out of the sky.
One second I was cursing Los Angeles traffic on Melrose, and the next—WHAM—a blur of pale flesh smacked the asphalt twenty feet ahead of me. I slammed on my brakes, sending my precious cargo sliding across the passenger seat onto the floor.
“Jesus Christ!” I yelped, heart hammering against my ribs.
But the naked man—completely, gloriously naked—just stood up, brushed himself off like he’d tripped on a sidewalk rather than plummeted from the stratosphere, and stretched. Traffic screeched to a halt around him. Because of course it did.
He was… fuck.
He was the kind of beautiful that didn’t make sense. The kind of beautiful that makes you angry because it shouldn’t exist in the real world. Tall, with skin like polished marble and hair so black it had blue highlights where the sun hit it. His face was all perfect angles—cheekbones that could cut glass, a jaw you could set your watch to, and lips that… well. They made me think things that would make my Catholic grandmother cross herself.
And the rest of him? Let’s just say proportion was not an issue. Anywhere.
I should help him,I thought, fumbling for my door handle.He’s probably having some kind of psychotic break. Or he’s a celebrity. Or both.
But before I could get out, those eyes found mine through the windshield. They were… purple? Blue? They seemed to shift like oil on water. He smiled—no, he smirked—and for a second, I swear everything around us froze. The honking cars, the shouting pedestrians, even the palm trees in the wind just… stopped.
Then he sauntered—sauntered!—over to my passenger door, opened it, and slid inside like he’d been invited.
“Hello, beautiful,” he purred, his voice like expensive whiskey over ice. “Lovely planet you have here. I’m Vanity, Prince of the Third Circle, Lord of Mirrors and Self-Adoration. But you can call me Van.” He extended a hand. “I believe I’ll be staying with you for a while.”
Oh fuck,I thought, unable to tear my eyes away from the naked perfection casually bleeding onto my passenger seat.He’s not just naked. He’s insane.
“You’re bleeding,” I said stupidly, because what do you say to a naked crazy person who just fell from the sky?
“Am I?” He glanced down at his gashed shoulder with mild interest. “Fascinating. I’ve never bled before. Does it look good on me? I feel like it does.”
And that’s when I should have kicked him out of my car. I should have called the police, or an ambulance, or an exorcist. Instead, I put my car in drive.
“I’m Lucas,” I said, wondering what the hell I was doing. “And you need pants before you need anything else.”
He laughed, a sound like expensive wind chimes. “Oh, I like you already. But I disagree about the pants. I think what I need is…” his eyes raked over me, “…a closer look at my new human pet.”
That’s when my rearview mirror cracked straight down the middle.
I didn’t know it then, but that was just the first of many things Vanity would break.
Chapter 1
Getting a naked man into my apartment without attracting attention proved impossible. Mrs. Geller from 3B took one look at Van—now wrapped in my designer jacket, which hung just low enough to keep him from being arrested—and nearly dropped her Pomeranian over the railing.
“New boyfriend, Lucas?” she called, her eyebrows reaching for her hairline.
“Fashion emergency,” I replied, which wasn’t entirely a lie.
Beside me, Van flashed her a smile so dazzling I thought the poor woman might need cardiac support. “He’s rescuing me,” he said, in that voice that somehow made everything sound like foreplay. “I’ve been very, very bad with my clothes.”
I yanked him inside my apartment before he could elaborate, slamming the door behind us.
“Okay, first rule,” I said, trying to sound firm while very purposefully looking only at his face. “No talking to my neighbors. Second rule: we’re finding you clothes.”
Van wandered into my living room like he owned it, trailing his fingers over my furniture with sensual appreciation. “Why cover perfection? Doesn’t the human art tradition celebrate the nude form? Besides,” he glanced back at me with a coy smile, “you’re enjoying the view.”
I was, but that wasn’t the point.
“Are you really trying to tell me you’re a demon?” I asked, heading for my bedroom to find him something to wear. “Like, from Hell? With the horns and pitchforks?”
