Dinner was a slow kind of torture. Victoria chatted happily about her garden club and the new roses she wanted to plant, completely unaware of the thick tension humming between Elena and Marcus across the table. Elena sat carefully, thighs pressed together, feeling the warm, sticky evidence of their laundry room encounter every time she shifted. Marcus’s eyes kept finding hers — dark, knowing, full of promise.

The moment Victoria went upstairs to take a long bath after clearing the dishes, Marcus gave Elena a single look. She slipped away to the guest room at the far end of the hallway, heart racing.

He joined her ten minutes later.

The...