Saint sat beside me, his leg brushing against mine, sending a flurry of butterflies erupting into flight inside my belly. His hand lowered, and once more, he tugged on the blankets before expelling air from his lungs. He didn't rip them out of my hands, choosing to lean over me to retrieve the cup and wine.

He poured the wine into the pewter goblet as my body trembled, knowing that I wasn't escaping tonight. It wasn't that I feared sex with Saint; it was that he'd discover the truth ...