Jeweler's Hot Tub Temptation

I turned the key in the lock of my boutique at exactly seven-fifteen, the soft click echoing through the empty showroom like a secret. The display cases were already dark, the only light coming from the back workroom where I’d been finishing Marcus’s custom piece. My husband, David, had texted earlier that he was working late again on the new tax returns, so I’d answered the last-minute call from my most valuable client without hesitation. Marcus had that effect on me. He always had.

When he stepped through the door, the air changed. At twenty-eight, Marcus was a force—six-foot-four of sculpted muscle wrapped in smooth obsidian skin, his tailored charcoal suit hugging shoulders that looked carved from stone. His deep brown eyes locked on mine the moment he entered, and that slow, knowing smile curved his full lips. I felt the familiar flutter low in my belly, the one I’d been ignoring for the eight months he’d been coming in to buy gifts for his mother, sister, and the occasional new “friend.”

“Evening, Elena,” he said, voice like warm bourbon. “Hope I’m not keeping you from that husband of yours.”

I smoothed my hands down the front of my cream silk blouse, suddenly aware of how the fabric clung to my breasts. At forty-two I kept myself in excellent shape—yoga three times a week, careful diet—but the soft fullness of my hips and the natural weight of my C-cup breasts had never felt more obvious than when Marcus looked at me.

“He’s buried in spreadsheets tonight,” I answered, keeping my tone light even as heat crawled up my neck. I retrieved the black velvet box from the safe. “Your mother’s anniversary pendant. I added the extra diamond accents you requested. It’s… stunning.”

He moved closer, close enough that I caught the faint scent of his cologne—sandalwood and something darker, masculine. His fingers brushed mine as he took the box, and we both lingered a second too long. The chemistry that had been simmering between us for months thickened like honey.

Marcus opened the box, examined the piece, then closed it with a decisive snap. “Perfect, as always. Listen… my penthouse is two blocks from here. I’ve got a private terrace with a hot tub that’s begging to be used. Why don’t you come over, let me pour you a glass of something cold, and we can talk about that ten-piece collection I want designed for the new development lobby? Strictly business.” His smile deepened, revealing the wicked dimple in his left cheek. “Unless you’d rather go home to spreadsheets.”

I should have said no. I should have cited my marriage, my reputation, the fact that he was fourteen years younger and built like a god. Instead I heard myself say, “I have a swimsuit in my gym bag in the car.”

The ride up in his private elevator was silent except for the low hum of machinery and the pounding of my heart. When the doors opened directly into his sprawling penthouse, I couldn’t help the soft gasp that escaped me. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the glittering city skyline. The terrace beyond featured an infinity-edge hot tub large enough for ten, already bubbling invitingly under soft amber lights.

Marcus handed me a glass of chilled sauvignon blanc. “Changing room’s through there. I’ll meet you outside.”

I slipped into the luxurious bathroom and peeled off my clothes with trembling fingers. The white bikini I’d thrown in my bag that morning now felt dangerously small—two tiny triangles over my full breasts and a high-cut bottom that left most of my ass exposed. My pale skin glowed under the lights. I thought of David’s familiar, safe touch and felt a sharp pang of guilt that was immediately drowned by a rush of pure, liquid want.