Elena’s Night With The Best Man
Elena cheats with her fiancé's hot best man in his hotel room the night before her wedding.
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The soft glow of string lights still twinkled across the resort’s private beach as Elena slipped away from the rehearsal dinner. Her fiancé, David, had disappeared twenty minutes earlier for yet another “quick call” with his Tokyo office, leaving her standing alone in her tight emerald silk dress while guests slowly drifted back to their rooms. The fabric clung to every curve of her body—low-cut neckline, backless, the hem skimming high on her toned thighs. She felt exposed. Desired. Neglected.
Marcus was waiting by the elevator, jacket slung over one shoulder, shirt unbuttoned at the collar. At thirty-two he looked even more dangerous than he had at twenty-five when she’d first met him—broad shoulders, sharp jaw, dark eyes that had always lingered a beat too long on her mouth, her breasts, the sway of her hips. He smiled like a man who already knew how the night would end.
“David bailed again?” he asked, voice low and warm.
Elena exhaled a laugh that sounded more like surrender. “He’ll be in the suite until two a.m. if the markets in Asia don’t settle.”
Marcus’s gaze slid down her body and back up, slow enough that she felt it like fingers. “Shame. A woman in that dress shouldn’t have to drink alone.”
She should have said goodnight. Instead she let him guide her down the hall to the penthouse floor.
His suite was ridiculous—vast, white, and open to the ocean breeze through floor-to-ceiling glass. A bottle of twenty-five-year-old Macallan already waited on the marble coffee table beside two heavy crystal glasses. Marcus poured without asking. The whiskey burned sweet and smoky down her throat as they stepped onto the wide balcony. Below them, black waves rolled against the sand under a fat tropical moon.
They stood side by side at the railing. The silk of her dress fluttered against her bare legs. Marcus’s arm brushed hers, then stayed there. Heat rolled off him in waves.
“You look miserable, Elena,” he said quietly.
“I’m getting married tomorrow.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
She took another sip, letting the liquor loosen her tongue. “He’s been on his phone since we landed. The rehearsal, the dinner, even the toasts. I feel like an accessory he scheduled between conference calls.”