17 - The Dare #3
He stood slowly, extending his hand to help her down from the barstool. “My room has an amazing view. Let’s slowly walk up there and see if anyone stops us on the way.”
Elena felt her pulse quicken as she took his hand, the warmth of his palm against hers both steadying and electrifying. But Byron wasn’t finished. He caught the bartender’s attention and asked for a pen.
Taking a cocktail napkin, he wrote quickly, his handwriting bold and confident. When he finished, he showed the note to Elena.
Room 1580 … Come and stop us or come and watch. No hard feelings.
Elena read it twice, her heart hammering as she understood the implications. Byron was giving David a choice, an invitation, a way to be part of whatever happened next.
“Is this okay?” Byron asked quietly, his eyes searching her face.
Elena nodded, not trusting her voice.
Byron folded the napkin and handed it to the bartender along with a twenty-dollar bill. “Would you mind delivering this to the gentleman in the corner? The one who’s been watching us.”
The bartender glanced toward David’s table then back at the money. “Of course, sir.”
Byron turned back to Elena, offering his arm. “Shall we?”
As they reached the elevator, Elena caught a glimpse of the bartender approaching David’s table, napkin in hand.
The elevator doors opened with a soft chime, and Byron gestured for her to enter first. The last thing Elena saw before the doors closed was David unfolding the napkin, his face a mixture of shock and something else she couldn’t quite name.
Then they were alone, rising toward whatever came next.
***
The elevator ride felt endless and over too quickly at the same time.
Elena watched the numbers climb—12, 13, 14, 15—her heart keeping time with each floor.
Byron stood beside her, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from his body, but he didn’t touch her. The anticipation was almost unbearable.
When the doors opened on the fifteenth floor, he gestured for her to exit first then led her down a carpeted hallway to room 1580. The keycard beeped softly, and he pushed the door open.
The suite was elegant without being ostentatious—a sitting area with a comfortable sofa and armchair, floor-to-ceiling windows that showcased the city lights below, a king-sized bed visible through an archway.
It was the kind of room that suggested success without flaunting it, understated luxury that spoke to good taste rather than excess.
“The view really is spectacular,” Elena said, gravitating toward the windows. The lights of the city spread out below them like scattered diamonds, and she could see the hotel bar’s terrace far below, tiny figures moving around the pool area.
“It is,” Byron agreed, but when she glanced back at him, he was looking at her rather than the cityscape.
He shrugged out of his navy blazer, hanging it carefully over the back of a chair.
Underneath, his white dress shirt was perfectly fitted, revealing broad shoulders and a solid chest. He wasn’t the lean, carved physique of a gym obsessive.
There was substance to him, the build of a man who took care of himself but also enjoyed good food and fine whiskey.
Real strength rather than vanity muscle.
It made him seem more approachable somehow, more human than the perfect specimens she sometimes saw in magazines.
Elena found herself staring and quickly looked back toward the window. “How long are you in town?”
“Just tonight, actually. I fly out tomorrow afternoon.” He had moved to a small bar cart in the corner while she wasn’t paying attention. “Can I get you something? Water?”
She turned to find him already preparing two glasses, adding ice and lemon wedges to sparkling water with the practiced ease of someone accustomed to hosting. The attention to detail struck her—he’d noticed she might need something to clear her head without her having to ask.
“Water would be perfect.” The two Manhattans had left her feeling warm and slightly fuzzy around the edges, but not drunk. Just relaxed enough to be here, in this room, with this man who wasn’t her husband.
When he handed her the glass, their fingers brushed, and Elena felt that now-familiar jolt of electricity. The sparkling water was crisp, refreshing, exactly what she needed.
“Are you nervous?” he asked, his voice gentle.
“Terrified,” she admitted. “But also … excited?”
“Good. Both of those things are exactly what you should be feeling.”
Elena took another sip, the bubbles helping to steady her racing thoughts. “I’m just wondering if David will knock on that door.”
“I strongly suspect he will.”
Elena looked at him in surprise. “You seem very confident. Have you done something like this before?”
Byron nodded. “It’s more common than you might think.”
The casual admission sent a flutter through her stomach. She wasn’t sure if knowing this made her feel more or less special, but it certainly explained his ease with the entire situation.
Byron moved toward the bedroom area, stopping at a small writing desk positioned near the foot of the bed. He prepared a third glass of sparkling water with lemon, setting it carefully on the desk’s surface. Then he turned the desk chair so it faced the bed directly.
Elena watched his movements with growing awareness of what he was preparing for. The deliberate placement, the thoughtful gesture of the water—he was staging the scene with the same attention to detail he’d mentioned downstairs.
“The not knowing is part of what makes this so intense,” he continued, returning to where she stood by the windows. “For both of you.”
He was right. The uncertainty, the sense that anything could happen next, was making her pulse race in a way that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with anticipation.
“Come here,” Byron said softly, setting down his water glass.
Elena hesitated for only a moment before crossing the space between them. When she was close enough to touch, he reached up and gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering against her cheek.
“You’re beautiful,” he said simply. “Your husband is a very lucky man.”
“Even though I’m here with you?”
“Especially because you’re here with me. It takes a confident man to set something like this in motion.” His thumb traced along her jawline. “And it takes a brave woman to follow through with it.”
Elena’s breath caught as he leaned closer, and this time when their lips met, there was nothing tentative about it.
His mouth was warm, confident, and she found herself responding with a hunger that surprised her.
Her hands came up to rest against his chest, feeling the solid muscle beneath the crisp cotton of his shirt.
Byron’s arms circled her waist, pulling her closer, and Elena felt herself melting into him. This kiss was deeper, more demanding than the one at the bar, and she found herself responding with an abandon she hadn’t felt in years.
Just as his hand began to slide up her back, a knock sounded at the door.
They broke apart, both breathing heavily. Elena’s heart hammered as she looked toward the door, knowing exactly who it would be.
“That would be your husband,” Byron said calmly, his voice only slightly rougher than usual.
Elena nodded, suddenly unable to speak. Her lips felt swollen, her skin flushed with heat and arousal.
Byron smoothed his shirt and walked to the door, opening it without hesitation.
“David. Nice to meet you.”
“Hi.” David’s voice was uncertain, strained. Elena could see him from where she stood, could see the conflict written across his familiar features.
“I suppose you have to decide if you want to join us or if the evening is coming to a close.” Byron opened the door wider and stepped to the side, his tone matter-of-fact but not unkind.
David stepped into the room, and Byron closed the door behind him with a soft click.
Elena looked at her husband, acutely aware of how she must appear—flushed all over from arousal and excitement, her hair slightly mussed, her dress wrinkled from Byron’s hands.
They made eye contact across the room, and in that moment, something passed between them.
A recognition. They were doing this together, even if their roles were completely different.
Neither of them spoke, but David’s breathing was as ragged as her own.
Byron walked over toward the bed and gestured to the chair he’d positioned earlier. “I poured some water for you … Take something out of the minibar if you’d like.” He paused, adding with a slight smile, “My treat.”
David chuckled despite himself, the sound breaking some of the tension in the room. “That sounds fair.”
He moved to the minibar, his movements careful and deliberate. Elena watched as he selected a premium beer—something imported that would probably cost twice what it would downstairs. The familiar sight of him opening a bottle somehow made the surreal situation feel more real.
David looked at the chair, then at Elena, then at Byron. Slowly, he walked over and sat down, the bottle clutched in his hands like an anchor.
The three of them formed a triangle now—Elena by the windows, David in the chair, Byron standing near the bed. The air hummed with tension and possibility.
Byron looked at Elena, then at David, reading the room with the same perceptive skill he’d shown downstairs. “Elena,” he said softly, “come here.”
She moved toward him as if drawn by invisible threads, her pulse quickening with each step.
When she reached him, Byron’s hands found her waist, pulling her close.
This time when he kissed her, it was with the knowledge that David was watching, and the awareness sent heat spiraling through her entire body.