Page 23 of Moonlit Temptation

And just when I was about to let go of his tie, no longer feeling bold or brave, Saint Delacore shocked the hell out of me as he stepped over the threshold into my hotel room and the door slammed shut behind him.

Trapping us inside.

The door barely clicked shut before I was shoved against it. All thoughts fled as my hands pressed against the cool metal and Saint’s body sunk into my backside.

Hard, sinewy muscles caged me in. A cage I didn’t want to escape from.

Until—

“What do you think you’re doing?” was all but growled in my ear.

Saint. Did. Not. Sound. Happy.

My eyes widened, any beat of lust froze as panic consumed me. “Saint, I–”

What do I even say? I’m so sorry I dragged you in here in hopes that all those stolen and covert looks my mischievous brain convinced you gave me were real? That I actually believed you wanted to have sex with me? That I thought you might’ve seen me as anything other than Archer’s sister?

Was I so deprived of affection that I packed meaning behind innocent touches and simple stares?

My racing temptress heart felt like lead in my chest, pumping with mortification. Only for that feeling to intensify when I registered how rigid Saint was behind me.

The door under my palms felt more pliable than his body right now, as tension rolled off him in violent waves, making the baby hairs on the back of my neck stand in attention.

With my heart in my throat, I looked behind me. Immediately wishing I hadn’t. Saint looked tortured. With hardened features and a tight jaw, he looked like a statue in a museum. Except statues didn’t have a muscle in their cheek twitch with how tight they clenched their teeth.

“Saint,” I tried again, my mind blank of any other words. Briefly, I thought about asking him what was wrong, that I only pulled him in here to watch a movie but that wasn’t true. And for once I couldn’t bring myself to lie.

I wanted this. I wanted him to give into this temptation that had been swirling between us all night. I wanted him to want me.

“I shouldn’t be here,” his voice sounded strained, like he had to claw the words out from the depths of his throat. “I should go.”

“Saint—”

His hands curled into tight fists against the door, and he sucked in a tense breath. “What are you doing to me?”

My heart clenched at the anguish packed into those words. He sounded tortured, like this was strangling him from the inside out.

“I’m not doing anything. You’re the one pushing me up against the door.” Leaving only imaginary space between us, I silently added.

“Fuck, I need to go.”

If he walked out the door right now, I don’t think I’d ever recover.

But I wasn’t going to force him to stay. I started to push against the wall, to break free of the frozen stupor Saint found himself in. But he didn’t budge, so I was pressed against his chest.

Close enough to feel a long, thick bulge against my back.

Oh my God.

Saint was turned on.

Saint was turned on for me.

Heat consumed me immediately. From my already racing heart to the dip in my lower stomach, to the wetness between my legs–I burned. All from a single graze.

Every single delusion I carried with me over the night, the lingering touches, the unbridled stares, they weren’t just in my head.

They were real.

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