Moonlit Temptation (Love in Deceit)

Chapter 1

The London Bridge mocked me.

Winked at me with its lights that were starting to come to life.

It didn’t feel real. It didn’t feel right.

The mascara and eyeliner I slapped onto my eyes in a dimly lit airport bathroom now slid down my face in big, black goopy tears.

I wasn’t crying, but I spent the last eight hours on a flight wanting to.

Rain pelted my skin, soaked into my clothes and flooded my scuffed up combat boots. People around me ran for cover, but I was rendered immobile.

Of course it would rain when I went out to explore the city. And of course I wouldn’t have my raincoat with me. I was in nothing but my travel clothes. Skintight black leggings with a hole above the knee and an oversized hoodie that weighed down my slim frame with how soaked it was becoming.

Today had been hell. And not because of the rain. Every droplet on my skin reminded me that while this didn’t feel real, it was.

I’m here.

If only it had been an easier journey.

The flight to London was the most turbulence-ridden flight of my life. The plane dropped ten-thousand feet in the air and the oxygen masks fell from their hideaway. I was gripping the armrests so tight, I still felt the indentions in my palms as I flexed them at my sides.

Not only did I believe I was going to die in a plane crash somewhere over the Atlantic, but by the time we safely landed and I made it to baggage claim, I found out the plane lost my luggage.

My entire suitcase, which belonged to my mother, was gone. They said they’d try to retrieve it, but how often did that happen?

I wasn’t going to hold my breath.

I was more sad about the suitcase than the items lost inside, although I did have a little freak-out over losing my skateboard I packed. I had a few others back home in Georgia, but now my idea of skating around the guards of Buckingham Palace to try and get a reaction out of them was thwarted.

The only bright side to that situation was that I was an over-packer by nature, so in the last few minutes of packing haste, I shoved a few articles of clothing that pushed the allotted weight limit for checked baggage into my backpack.

I had no idea what the items in said bag were. For all I knew, it was just bras and panties, which would make this trip very interesting if the outfit I was wearing wasn’t dry by morning.

I was going to be here for a week, but it felt like London was trying to send me back home before I even landed.

Tipping my head back, I drank in the rain that fell into my mouth, hoping it would help wash away the dry, bitter anger that had been sitting on my tongue since I arrived at the airport early this morning.

I could handle a turbulent flight. I could handle losing my luggage. In fact, hours later, I wanted to laugh at the situation. I’d been dreaming of London for years as this magical place and my journey here was anything but.

What I couldn’t laugh at, though, was my brother, who surprised me with this trip as a graduation present, deciding to ditch me last minute.

God, even just thinking about it made me want to scream into the rain.

So I did. Screaming so loud it felt like my throat was splitting.

It didn’t make me feel any better as I remembered how I found out.

With minutes to spare this morning, I made it to my boarding gate, thanks to my prone tardiness and the Seventh Circle of Hell known as the Atlanta Airport security.

I was a flustered, sweaty mess of dirty honey hair that clung to my scalp in unattractive patches, looking into the crowd of excited and zoned out people for my brother.

Archer, unlike me, was always punctual and impossible to miss with his six-three frame, blonde hair that stuck up like wheat fields and blue eyes that held a dormant hurricane; my brother had this aura around him that people tended to notice.

But either he was invisible or not here. Both options sent a wave of discomfort through me.

Where was he, where was he, where was he?

I started leaning toward him being invisible until my phone went off with a text message from him— a text message! —that said he was sorry and wasn’t going to make it.

He was sorry and wasn’t going to make it.

So casual. So blasé.

Like we were meeting for lunch instead of traveling to another country together.

And the reason he couldn’t make it?

Our father was accepting an award at a charity banquet and wanted his family in attendance.

Guess which one of his three children didn’t get the invite.

If it was anyone else but Archer who gifted me this trip, I would’ve thought someone was sending the little black sheep Novak across the pond so she didn’t embarrass her family like the last time her father accepted an award.

I was never going to live down getting caught stealing a bottle of vodka from behind the open bar. I was sixteen and my father, the mayor of our small and snobby Georgia town, was not amused, especially when I told him it was for a dare.

He hadn’t been amused by my antics in a while.

Still not finding shelter from the rain, I opened my palms, letting rain pool in the center of them.

I made it.

Years. I’d been wanting to come here for years, but never did I think I would be alone. Another person was supposed to be next to me right now. Someone other than my brother.

I made it, Mom.

I promised myself on the plane I wouldn’t be sad. She wouldn’t have wanted me to be. This had been our dream for years.

This exact day. This exact year.

And I made it.

Despite swearing I wouldn’t.

My hands closed into fists, splashing the water that gathered in various directions.

I shouldn’t be alone.

Mom said we’d go together. Promised, actually.

But promises and plans couldn’t keep cancer away. And cancer didn’t care about promises.

She died when I was twelve.

That was probably the worst of my luck on this trip, and it happened over seven years ago.

It wasn’t until my phone started to vibrate in my bag that I finally pulled myself out of the rain, finding shelter in a covered alcove.

I was honestly surprised my phone wasn’t ruined with how long I stood out there, but I guess my luck didn’t stretch that far.

I’d rather a dead phone than to talk to the person on the other end.

“Hello?” I answered on the last ring before voicemail.

“Hello? Hello? Are you fucking kidding me, Mady?” My brother’s loud voice assaulted my ears. “Your plane landed three hours ago and this is the first I’m hearing from you? I’ve called at least five times!”

“Well, there was customs, and then I had to check into the hotel. Oh, and let’s not forget the biggest, most time-consuming reason. I don’t want to talk to you.” I was fuming that Archer left me. Chose him over me. Today of all days.

“Mady—”

“You ditched me, Archer,” I reminded him as I stared at the cars zooming past.

“It was because?—”

“Because Dad, yes, I know. I don’t need a reminder.”

“Interrupt me one more time, Madelayne…” he growled.

“What’re you going to do? Jump on a plane and yell at me? Do it! At least then you’d be here! ” I was being a brat. I knew this, but I couldn’t stop the verbal lashings. I was hurt. Betrayed. Lonely and abandoned.

You’d think after nineteen years I’d be used to it by now…

“I’m sorry, okay!” I could practically see him running his hands through his hair with how frustrated his words came out. “I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

I stayed quiet, familiar with this song and dance of his. He’d disappoint me, then buy me something in apology. We’d been doing it for years at this point and each gift was more elaborate than the last.

Last year, Archer forgot my birthday and to make up for it, he got me a limited edition skateboard that cost just over a grand.

Wonder what he was going to get me this time?

I was in need of some new wheels for one of my boards. Or maybe the skate shoes I’d been eyeing.

Just how guilty did he feel?

“What about Saint?” he asked, and I almost dropped my phone.

My stomach filled with swirls and knots at the mere mention of his name. Wicked eyes and a sinful smile invaded my thoughts.

Saint Delacore.

A man eight years older than me.

My brother’s best friend. And business partner.

My escape. My obsession.

“Wha—what?” I pushed past the lump that caught in my throat, trying not to focus on the spike my heart just took.

Was he offering me his best friend as penance? Surely not.

Unless…

With my free hand, I pinched the skin at my waist and flinched.

No, nope. Wasn’t dreaming.

Why was Archer offering Saint, then? It didn’t make sense. While Saint had spent a few years in London for university, he lived in Atlanta now.

Archer continued, unaware of the spiral my thoughts were on. “Call Saint up, he’s been there on business for the last two weeks, and have him take you to dinner or something.”

Saint was in London? Flutters erupted in my stomach over the prospect of seeing him.

“Are you pawning me off on your best friend out of guilt? He has to babysit me because you can’t?” Flashes of me and Saint sitting in a dimly lit restaurant in a romantic city swirled around my mind.

I bit my lip.

“Why do you have to make everything difficult?” He groaned in guilted agony.

Like he was one to talk.

“Listen,” Archer continued. “Saint flies home tomorrow. I doubt he’s going out since he hates flying with a hangover, but I know he’d be happy to meet you for dinner tonight. He adores you. You’re like his little sister.”

I hated when people said things like that. Saint might’ve been family for my brother, but he wasn’t for me.

It wasn’t very brotherly of Saint to spread my thighs and bruise my flesh in my late-night fantasies.

And it was very unsisterly of me to wish he’d corner me when we found ourselves alone in my father’s kitchen, trapping me between his hard chest and the hard wall so he could lift my skirt, inch his hands up my thighs, and squeeze my ass before finding my wet, awaiting entrance.

Very, very unsisterly indeed.

“I’ll think about it,” I told Archer coyly. Couldn’t let him off that easily. I really wanted new wheels for my skateboard.

“Mady—”

“Text me his number, I don’t have it after I updated my phone. Gotta go, bye.” I hung up before he could say anything.

I clenched my phone.

Saint was in London.

How embarrassing would it be to ask him to join me for dinner because my brother abandoned me? Not to mention, if this was his last night, I was sure he’d rather be doing something else than entertaining his best friend’s sister. Or maybe he’d rather be doing some one.

He’d meet me, though. Saint was always there when I needed him, but what if I ruined his night?

Ruin his night to make mine better. Was I that selfish?

I thought of Saint’s face, his voice that caused goosebumps just from memory.

Yes, I was. When it came to Saint, irrevocably.

I knew Archer offered because he didn’t want me to be alone, afraid of what I might get into, but he should’ve thought about that before he abandoned me.

If Archer wanted to throw his best friend to me like a lifeline, who was I to say no?

I never turned down a present. Especially not one as alluring as Saint Delacore.

Which was why when my phone went off with a message from Archer, I didn’t hesitate to text the number he sent over.

Saint Delacore was walking sin in a custom suit.

He prowled through the restaurant like a lion who had already feasted. Self-assured steps carried him at a languid pace. Never one to rush, he liked people waiting on him.

Watching him walk toward where I sat at a small, candlelit table with a satin cloth over it, I was unable to suppress the nervous flutters that stirred in anticipation at the sight of him.

I’d known him my entire life and couldn’t remember a time when this hadn’t happened.

And I drank him in like the greedy girl I was.

At twenty-seven, his lanky body had long since grown into one of a man. Lean cut muscles that pulled at his jacket’s shoulders as his arms swung with purposeful ease at his sides.

And while his body was a finely crafted vessel, kept in shape by countless miles ran and endless hours spent in the gym, it was Saint’s face that held my attention.

He had the face of a fallen angel, beautiful and untrustworthy.

Everything about him was dark.

Black on black suit.

Deep brown hair that was forever a mess of tousled locks, like he spent too many hours running his fingers through it in frustration.

Sharp features that made him look perpetually angry, while intensity poured off him in waves.

He didn’t smile when he saw me, but he didn’t need to.

Dark, deep green eyes, the kind of green tucked far away in the depths of a forest, held a wicked glint as he made his way toward me.

I could feel my heart pound against my chest, fighting to get out with the heavy, solid beats of a rhythmic drum.

Bra-bum.

Bra-bum.

Bra-bum.

Steady, powerful, unwavering.

Much like the pesky, unnerving feelings I’d harbored for him over the years.

Part of me hoped that they would dissipate over time, but every time I saw him, they felt stronger.

Fiercer.

My body hummed with a fire buried deep inside of me, waiting for the match that would set it ablaze, and I always felt the flames stir when he was near.

It was like they only came alive under his attention.

No other boy around town stirred up the sensual feelings that stung underneath my skin like Saint.

I squirmed in my seat as he got closer.

Why was I so nervous? We’d been alone together before.

But not like this. Never like this.

In a low-lit restaurant with deep red curtains on the walls and tables, couples curved over their tables as they whispered in each other’s ears and sensual music softly crooned in the background.

It was romantic. It was alluring.

The air was charged with appetites of sexual desires.

I was wound tight minutes after sitting down as I watched the man a few tables away slide his hand up his date’s thigh, not caring that the tablecloth rode up with him—not hiding anything from view as he disappeared under her dress skirt.

They caught me looking, and the man simply winked at me.

What kind of restaurant did Saint tell me to meet him at?

The budding ache that strummed between my legs only got worse when Saint reached our table. He pulled me into a hug when I stood to greet him, and my still wet boots squished under my toes.

The feel of his arms around me, strong bands that suctioned me to his hard chest, sent heat soaring throughout my body as my eyes closed. Engulfed in the comforting scent of his cologne–a mixture of woodsy spice, amber and sandalwood and cinnamon.

Familiar. In an unfamiliar setting, he was familiar.

Maybe it was the exhaustion of traveling or the fatigue of hunger, but I swore Saint had his arms wrapped around me longer than he ever had in the past.

Longer than the best friend of my older brother should’ve.

Not that I was in a rush to pull away.

If I could’ve sunk my body into his and just rested my head on his chest for the rest of the night, I would’ve. Being wrapped in his arms was an ecstasy I didn’t get enough of.

But the high was quickly chased away by something more charged and potent as he leaned down, the coarse hairs of his unshaven cheek brushing against mine, sending a jolt of kinetic pleasure through me as he whispered, “Happy birthday, Madelayne.”