Page 11 of Moonlit Temptation

Saint took a sip of wine, and I was again hooked on the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

“Do it.”

“Yeah, right.” I laughed.

“Why not?”

“You’ve met my father. The control freak.” I rolled my eyes. “I already don’t fit in with my clean-cut, proper family of tailored suits and monotone wardrobes. You want me to lose my hair, too?”

I was the girl who liked ratty combat boots to red-soled heels, fishnet stockings and ripped denim shorts to floor-length dresses.

Bright colored skirts and three-day worn band t-shirts.

I was born into a rich world with a chaotic, bleeding heart.

Saint studied me from across the table with a pensive expression. “Move out, then.”

“I can’t.” It pained me to admit that. “Dad has me on lockdown. I’m not allowed to move out until I enroll in school. He’s literally holding me hostage to make me do what he wants.”

“He wants what’s best for you, and for him, the best way to set you up is through college.”

“What’s best for me is for me to decide. How am I supposed to grow if another person is making the decisions for me?”

“You’re not,” he admitted.

“Exactly, so I’ve decided to make living with me the worst thing imaginable so he’ll personally pack all my belongings for me.”

Saint laughed, a full belly laugh, and I smiled at the sound. He didn’t do that enough. Laugh a laugh that was full of joy and nothing else. “God help the man.”

“Help him?” I laughed, unable to keep it at bay when his sounded so inviting. “Help me!”

Saint stopped laughing, giving me a serious look when the waiter suddenly appeared, ruining our moment. “Have you decided what you would like to start with?”

“Actually, we haven’t even looked at the menu. Give us a moment?”

“Of course, sir.” Our waiter bowed his head and backed away.

Once he was gone, I turned my eyes to the menu. Examining it for the first time tonight.

And what I saw had my mouth dropping.

It was a short menu, with only a few options per course, but that wasn’t what sent me balking.

“There are only aphrodisiacs on this menu,” I murmured as a soft moan hit our ears.

Saint and I looked up, meeting each other’s eyes as another moan sounded.

We followed the noise.

The man a few tables down had his arm wrapped around his date’s chair, supporting the back of her neck as she started trembling.

A waiter pulled the red satin curtains that draped the wall around their table. Though they were hidden from view, the sounds they were making were not.

And they weren’t the only couple in heightened desire.

All around, I saw different stages of intimacy.

Some had their curtains drawn around them, while others were more discreet in their exchanges of playful touches or flirty glances, feeding each other food and drinking bubbly champagne.

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