Page 77 of Moonlit Temptation

Asshole.

He didn’t say anything, and his silence was pissing me off.

“Why didn’t you text me before today?” My voice was low. “Did something happen? I know you said to only text at night, but I haven’t heard from you until now and I was worried?—”

“I’ve been busy, Madelayne.” He shrugged. Shrugged! “Nothing has happened other than the fact I’ve been swamped with work and haven’t had time to be on my phone. I’m not a good morning and goodnight kind of guy. Stop sounding so clingy.”

Clingy. Me wanting a simple text, maybe a little reassurance, was being clingy? Maybe I needed to hit him upside the head with a dictionary so he was more familiar with the word.

“Funny, he looks like a man and talks like a man, but right now he’s sounding like a high school boy.” My glare deepened. “You could’ve texted me that. Instead, you’ve been radio silent since we came back.”

“I haven’t been near my phone, Madelayne?—”

“You’re always on your phone!” I yelled, remembering all the hours the device stayed glued to his side in London. “A simple message would?—”

“Madelayne, I couldn’t.”

“Couldn’t or didn’t want to?”

His silence became more impactful than any words.

If he cared enough, he would’ve carved out the time.

A weight settled over me with that.

Twenty-four hours made up a day.

That was one thousand four hundred forty-four minutes.

That was eighty-six thousand four hundred seconds.

In all that time, he was too busy to send one simple message?

That would’ve been all I needed. One.

“Couldn’t or didn’t want to?” I asked again, this time through clenched teeth.

Meeting my stare head-on, he said, “Didn’t want to.”

There was no guilt, no remorse. He looked at me like I was a stranger.

I launched myself at him with a growl.

I didn’t understand. Where was the guy I was with in London? And who invaded the body of the man who held my heart?

Saint grabbed my wrist before I could slap him, holding it in a vise grip inches from his face.

“I still feel you on every atom of my skin,” I cried into his face, trying to wiggle out of his grip.

He gave no reaction. Not even a sinful gleam in his eye. In fact, they looked lifeless as he stared down at me.

I squirmed some more, hoping the heat I felt inside me would burn through my skin and he’d let me go.

He didn’t get burned, but he did release me from his hold.

“Is that why you came dressed like a hooker tonight? So I wouldn’t ignore you like your text messages?”

I gasped. My dress might’ve been short and my boots might’ve run high up my thigh, but that didn’t give him the right to call me a hooker. Didn’t give him a right to insult me at all.

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