Page 50 of Moonlit Temptation

The word liar burned in my stare.

His head remained tilted down until a shadow crossed over him. Attached to the shadow was a beautiful woman with auburn hair and luscious curves, who threw herself around Saint’s body with ease. A familiar trust that he would catch her.

Which he did.

Pins pricked my skin.

The food in my stomach hardened to lead.

He held her like he held me.

Smiled at her like he smiled at me.

Brushed the hair out of her face like he did to me.

Who was she?

Not that it mattered. Not really.

What mattered was that Saint lied.

He didn’t have work to deal with, he had this beautiful woman to meet.

It hurt more than I’d liked to admit. It wasn’t even petty jealousy that smacked me.

Honestly, I’d prefer that over this sting of betrayal.

Irony was a liar being burned by a lie.

I couldn’t look away, not even when the waitress came over to ask if there was anything else I needed. I was vaguely aware of shaking my head.

She walked away, mentioning something about getting the bill. I think I nodded back. Not really listening as I watched Saint’s arm wrap tightly around the woman’s waist, pulling her close into his side as they walked down the street.

I was out of my seat before I realized I was moving, compelled to follow.

Throwing enough money on the table to cover two meals along with a generous tip, I rushed onto the street, hoping to catch them.

I spied the pair just as they rounded a corner, disappearing from sight.

With frantic steps, I followed.

There was no logical explanation to what I was doing, chasing after them. All I knew was that Saint lied and I had to know why.

Had to know what was so important about meeting up with this woman that he couldn’t tell me about it.

When I rounded the corner, it was in time to see them getting in a black, nondescript car.

Crap. No.

Without time to think, I got in the first cab I saw. Once inside, I leaned into the front of the car, so close my cheek almost brushed the driver’s, and barked, while pointing at the retreating sedan Saint and his friend got into, “Follow that car!”

I had never felt crazier, but there was no denying the thrill that shot down my spine, humming in my blood as the cabbie did what was instructed. We were pulling away from the curb when he caught my eye in the mirror.

“Husband, lass?” His accent was thicker, rougher than the English accents I’d grown accustomed to over the past couple of days. Scottish, maybe.

“No.” I shook my head, watching the car in front of us with anxious eyes.

“A lover?”

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