Page 70 of Moonlit Temptation

The very people who couldn’t know about us.

Saint always had an appetite for danger, but this dinner could turn poisonous.

I vaguely heard my brother tell our father that things at work should be settled by Tuesday.

He hid it well, but I knew Dad was too delighted at the prospect of going to Saint’s for dinner, practically salivating.

He was almost as bad as me when it came to Saint’s attention.

I could barely make it through the rest of dinner, no longer able to eat the mousse.

Before the plates were cleared away, I slipped out of my seat and fought the urge to run up the stairs into my room. Instead, I forced myself to take them one at a time.

Once my door was shut and locked, I called Saint.

Pick up, pick up, pick up.

He didn’t. Instead, I was left with the raspy sound of his voice telling me to leave a message. He sounded like he just woke up.

A sound I missed hearing in my ear every morning.

I was almost tempted to call him again just to hear it one more time.

Ugh. What? My face pinched in disgust.

I was so not this girl. I didn’t pine, waiting for the guy to call. I didn’t let them take hold of every thought. I didn’t become miserable over a man not giving me attention.

At least I didn’t until Saint.

Saint had always been the exception to my every rule. My every instinct.

But maybe it was time for the exception to be broken.

If Saint wanted to talk to me before the dinner, he would. And if not…well, my family being there wouldn’t be his only problem that night.

Saint should know I didn’t take things lying down.

And I certainly didn’t play fair.

Walking to my closet, I searched through outfits, looking for the perfect one to make him lose control.

Tuesday night, he could look, but he couldn’t touch.

It wasn’t until I was on the highway two days later, headed to Saint’s, that he finally contacted me.

A single text.

Two simple words.

Don’t come.

I always loved Saint’s house. From the moment he moved in, I was envious. He had my dream home. Not only was he in the city, but it was the design of my dreams.

Tucked away on a residential street with big oak trees, where Spanish moss dripped from the branches like solidified raindrops, sat a two-story house with iron fenced balconies and open windows that sang when the light shone through.

It stretched several lots, making it look like a mini-mansion in a land of shacks.

A light tan exterior with white trim, dark shutters, and a gray roof made up the outside.

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