Page 48 of Moonlit Temptation

Or when he was stressed out, he’d pull me onto his lap and run his fingers up my inner thighs.

Saint, I discovered, was a toucher. A man not shy of PDA. He was always reaching for me, brushing the hair out of my face and off my shoulder. He’d press random kisses along my neck or on the top of my head.

London was his safe place, he told me one night while lazily tracing over my skin. He didn’t have to hide or pretend.

Here, he didn’t have to worry about being caught. No one knew us. No one would report back to my family about us.

“What about my family?” I had to ask.

Saint wouldn’t look at me for several seconds as a crease formed between his eyes. An internal battle waging. “I don’t want to talk about them right now,” he finally said. “Do you?”

No. I shook my head. The longer I could go without thinking about them, and what would happen if they were to find out about us, the better.

“Good.”

“Saint. My eyes are up here.”

“I know.”

My very naked, very swollen, breasts were a big fan of the attention they were getting. Saint spent some extra time getting to know them last night and they were definitely showing the aftermath today.

And Saint was an artist admiring his work.

Which wasn’t fair when his back was hidden from my view, hiding the scratch marks I’d carved there last night.

Animals. That was how we’d been going at each other. Starved, wild beasts unsure of when our next meal was going to be.

“Ahem.” I cleared my throat with a smirk, secretly loving how attracted to my body he was. “I have other places that are in need of attention, sir.”

His eyes burst with heat at the word sir.

Saint not so secretly loved the moniker.

“Hmm, like where?” He grabbed my ass, squeezing my cheeks as his lips brushed my jaw, down my neck. “Here?”

“Oh, God.” My fingers dug into his biceps as his kisses went lower, his tongue swirling into the hollow of my collarbone.

“It’s Saint, actually.” He picked his head up with a sinner’s grin. So cheeky in the mornings. “Now. Where else wants attention?”

“Do you want me to show you or tell you?”

His eyes danced. “Show me?—”

The sharp ring of his cell phone went off across the room, the sound shattering the sexual haze that wrapped around us.

Instinctively, I pulled away.

“Ignore it,” Saint murmured as he pulled me back where I belonged. Pressed right up against him.

I tried, but the ringing didn’t stop. I gave him a little push. “Answer it, I have to brush my teeth, anyway.”

He chuckled as he rolled off me, amused with my stubbornness of brushing my teeth. I usually refused to let him kiss me in the morning until I did.

In the bathroom, I heard him answer his phone before the conversation was drowned out by the running water.

When I walked out, it was to find Saint on the balcony, a hotel robe wrapped around him.

Something was wrong.

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