17 - The Dare #2
“A man who takes that kind of care in choosing something so important …” Byron’s voice was genuinely admiring. “He knew how to choose something that would hold its own without stealing focus.”
The compliment should have reminded her of David, of their marriage, of why she was here. Instead, all she could focus on was the way Byron’s thumb continued its gentle movement across her skin, how his touch made her feel both treasured and claimed.
“He does,” she whispered, but didn’t pull her hand away.
“Is he the one watching us?”
The directness of the question should have ended the conversation. Should have sent her back to David’s table with an apology and a sheepish smile. Instead, Elena found herself nodding, her throat tight, her hand still resting in Byron’s.
“Interesting.” Byron’s expression didn’t change, but something shifted in his posture, a subtle relaxation that suggested he’d just received crucial information. He released her hand slowly, fingers trailing across her palm. “And he’s comfortable with you sitting here with me because …?”
“Because he dared me to.” The admission tumbled out, followed immediately by a flush of embarrassment. How pathetic did that make her sound? A middle-aged housewife playing dress-up because her husband found the idea exciting?
But Byron didn’t look at her with pity or amusement. His expression grew more focused, like he’d just been presented with an intriguing creative challenge. “He dared you to flirt with strangers?”
“He dared me to be someone else for a night. Someone braver.”
“Ah.” Byron’s smile was slow, appreciative.
“So this is a curated experience. I have to say, he has excellent instincts. This setting, that dress, the way you positioned yourself at the bar to catch the light …” He gestured around them with genuine admiration.
“Your husband clearly understands the power of thoughtful design.”
Elena stared at him, struck by how accurately he’d described David’s careful planning. “Is that what this feels like to you? A staged scene?”
“The best experiences always feel both planned and spontaneous. The art is in making the orchestration invisible.” Byron signaled the bartender, his movements confident and unhurried.
“That’s where real magic happens when careful preparation meets genuine chemistry.
Another Manhattan for the lady, and I’ll have another Macallan. ”
“I should pace myself,” Elena protested, though she didn’t refuse when the fresh drink appeared. Her hands were trembling slightly, and she hoped he wouldn’t notice.
“Two should be perfect for the evening,” he said with warm approval. “Enough to take the edge off without clouding what matters most: being present for whatever happens next.”
Elena watched him, fascinated by his ease, the way he seemed to appreciate the very thing that had made her feel manipulated moments before. “You really do understand this, don’t you? Creating … moments.”
“It’s what I live for. Most people think luxury is about objects, but real luxury is about feeling something you can’t manufacture.” His eyes found hers again. “It’s about having someone see you clearly enough to give you something you didn’t even know you wanted.”
“And what do you think I want?” The question came out quieter this time, more vulnerable.
“Right now? I think you want to feel beautiful. Desired. Seen.” His voice dropped lower, became more intimate. “When was the last time someone looked at you the way I’m looking at you right now?”
The directness of it sent heat spiraling through her. Elena crossed her legs, trying to ignore the way her body was responding to this conversation, to this man’s complete attention. She glanced toward David’s table, needing the anchor of familiar ground.
“I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Then your husband is either very generous or very confident, setting up this scenario.” Byron’s fingers traced the rim of his glass, and Elena found herself watching the movement with fascination.
“Because, right now, I’m having some very interesting thoughts about what the rest of this evening could look like. ”
Elena felt her skin prickle with awareness, a flush spreading down her neck and disappearing beneath the neckline of her dress. “What kind of thoughts?”
“The kind that start with conversation and see where genuine attraction leads.” He studied her face intently. “No script, no predetermined outcome. Just two people discovering what happens when they stop pretending they’re not drawn to each other.”
“And you think I’m pretending?”
“I think you’re trying very hard to stay in control. But I can see glimpses of the woman underneath: the one who doesn’t apologize for wanting things, who doesn’t need permission to feel desirable.”
Elena’s pulse hammered in her throat. She could feel herself responding to him in ways that had nothing to do with David’s dare, and the realization both thrilled and terrified her. “Is that what you’re offering? To help me stop pretending?”
“I’m offering to see where this goes when we stop worrying about anyone else’s expectations.” He shrugged, a gesture full of masculine confidence. “Your husband created the opening, but the rest”—his smile was knowing, appreciative—“that’s up to us to write.”
“What about him?” She nodded toward David, trying to remember why she was supposed to care about his watching eyes.
“So your husband told you to flirt with another man?” Byron asked, his voice curious rather than judgmental. “What else did he say?”
“That he wanted me to be bolder.”
“Did he tell you not to do anything?”
Elena considered this, replaying David’s words from dinner. “No. He didn’t set any boundaries.”
“Why do you think that is?”
The question hung between them, loaded with implication.
Elena twisted her wedding ring, thinking. “Maybe he just knows me too well. Knows I wouldn’t … that I’m not the type to …”
“But he wants you to surprise him?”
“Yes.” The admission came out as barely a whisper. “I think so.”
Byron leaned closer, his eyes never leaving her face. “What would be the most surprising thing you could do right now?”
Elena’s breath caught. The question seemed to hang in the air between them, electric with possibility. She could feel her pulse in her throat, could see David watching them from across the room, could sense that whatever she said next would change everything.
“I don’t know,” she whispered, but even as she said it, she realized she was lying.
“I disagree. I think you know exactly what you could do. And your husband is right over there. If he doesn’t like something, he’ll stop it, right?”
“Yes, but …”
Byron chuckled, a low, warm sound. “Does he carry a gun?”
“No!” Elena laughed despite herself, startled by the absurdity of the question.
“Then the worst thing that can happen is he finds out that he has a much more exciting and daring wife than he ever imagined.”
Elena looked into his eyes, dark and knowing and completely focused on her.
The bar noise faded to background static.
David’s presence across the room became distant, theoretical.
There was only this moment, this choice, this man who was looking at her like she was the most fascinating puzzle he’d ever encountered.
She leaned forward.
Their lips met softly, tentatively at first. No tongue, nothing desperate or hungry, just the simple, electric contact of mouth against mouth. He kissed her back gently, letting her set the pace, his hand coming up to cup her cheek with surprising tenderness.
Elena’s world tilted. She was kissing someone who wasn’t David.
Someone whose mouth felt different, tasted different, whose stubble scratched her skin in an unfamiliar way.
The realization hit her like a shock of cold water followed immediately by a rush of heat that started in her chest and spread outward until her fingertips tingled.
After what felt like an eternity but was probably only seconds, Byron pulled back slightly, his thumb still brushing across her cheekbone.
“How do you feel?” he asked quietly.
Elena blinked, her lips still buzzing with sensation. Her heart was hammering so hard she was sure he could hear it. Everything felt heightened. The amber lights seemed brighter, the sound of her own breathing seemed amplified, even the texture of her dress against her skin felt more vivid.
“I feel …” She paused, searching for words that could capture the cocktail of emotions coursing through her.
“Like my skin is buzzing. Like there’s electricity running under it.
” She pressed her hand to her chest, feeling her heart race.
“And guilty and thrilled at the same time, which doesn’t make sense but …
” She looked at him with wonder. “I didn’t know I could feel both things at once. ”
A slow smile spread across Byron’s face. “Good. That’s exactly how you should feel.”
Elena glanced toward David’s table and found him staring at them, his face flushed and his breathing visibly deeper even from across the room.
She knew that look: it was the same expression he’d worn their first night together when she’d been more aggressive than he’d expected, or the time she’d surprised him by initiating sex in his office.
That particular combination of shock and overwhelming arousal that made him forget himself completely.
“He saw,” she whispered, though whether it was a statement of concern or wonder, she wasn’t sure.
“He did,” Byron confirmed. “And he’s still sitting there. Still watching. Still letting this happen.”
The reality of it hit her like another wave. David had not only seen her kiss another man, he was allowing it to continue. The knowledge sent another rush of heat through her, this one pooling low in her belly.
“What happens now?” she asked, her voice barely audible over the bar’s ambient noise.