Page 49 of Moonlit Temptation

Not even the bulky size of the robe could hide how tense he was as he gripped the wrought-iron railing with one hand while his phone was pressed firmly to his ear with the other.

I couldn’t hear the conversation, thanks to the closed French doors that blocked me out, but that couldn’t stop a hole from forming in my stomach, screaming that this wasn’t good.

What if he had to leave again? What if something happened back in Atlanta while he had been gone that required his immediate attention?

Or—and that hole opened even further with the thought—what if something happened to his mother?

She had been on a rapid decline since her husband’s arrest and confinement in federal prison. People hadn’t been kind to her since the scandal.

Mrs. Delacore had all but become a recluse, finding happiness in her bottle of pills instead of people. She’d had this addiction for as long as I could remember, but it had gotten progressively worse since the arrest.

Not knowing what to do, I let my stomach do the guiding and ordered room service for us.

Probably more food than could even be split between two people, but that was what happened when you let the hungry girl order. My eyes were bigger than my stomach.

Saint stayed on the balcony long enough for the food to be delivered and for me to be done with a third of my waffle. He walked back in with his phone clenched between his fist while his jaw ticked like a bomb.

There was no mistaking the pissed off aura he was throwing off.

I bit into a strawberry, watching him warily as he approached. “I got hungry.”

“I see that.” He took the strawberry from my fingers and plopped it into his mouth, chewing it aggressively.

He reached for another, but I slapped his hand away.

“Who was that on the phone?”

“It was nothing.” He tried to steal my food again, only to be blocked by me slapping him away for a second time.

“You don’t look like it was nothing.” I was treading a dangerous line, prodding when I should’ve let the beast be.

Saint heaved a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Something happened with work that I need to take care of. I have a friend here who’s letting me use their office, but I don’t know how long I’m going to be gone. You’ll be okay on your own?”

I nodded, not sure if he saw it before turning his attention to his phone.

“I’ll be fine,” I added, as he walked to the armoire where he hung his suits and pulled out a black on black ensemble.

After dressing with frenzied speed, he came to where I still sat on the bed.

“I’ll text you when I’m done and we can meet up.” He leaned down to kiss me, but I barely felt it before he pulled away and was out the door without as much as a goodbye.

Irony was a liar who hated being lied to.

And it didn’t take long for me to catch Saint in his.

After all, the spider never traveled far from their tangled web.

I was sitting by the window of the restaurant I had come to eat lunch at, about to devour a warm plate of sticky toffee pudding, when movement on the street caught my eye.

Nothing about it was flashy, dramatic, or begging to be seen. Maybe that was why I did.

Or maybe it was because it was Saint. My eyes could find him anywhere.

I sat there in disbelief. But there was no mistaking that it was Saint who leaned against a lamppost across the street.

He had the same dark hair, the same angelic face. Wore the same black on black ensemble he had been in when he left my hotel room.

If he were to look up from the phone he was furiously typing on, he’d see me.

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