Page 44 of The Wrong Groom

In the heart of a bustling city, where ambition and desire intertwine, two souls find themselves drawn together by an undeniable chemistry. Amber is a rising journalist searching for her breakthrough story when she crosses paths with Jacob, a rough-around-the-edges private detective embroiled in a tough case.

In Amber, Jacob finds a welcome distraction from the weight of his dark world. In Jacob, Amber discovers intrigue and a heady, thrilling sense of danger. But when the shadows of Jacob’s case threaten to close in around them, Amber is forced to choose between the heat and excitement of the city’s rough edges… or protecting her heart.

In “The Fire Between Us,” discover a steamy tale of passion, danger, and the lengths one will go to for love, where the flames of desire can either forge an unbreakable bond or consume everything in their path.

Below the synopsis, there are a few pull quotes. I glance up at Alexis, who’s still sleeping soundly. Keeping quiet, I pull out my phone and type in the book’s title, then set the novel back down on the table.

I click on the first link that pops up when I search the title. I can’t help myself. Whatever was in this book, it had Alexis flustered, worked up. I saw a little of it when I grabbed the book, but only a paragraph or so. I want to see the rest of that sex scene. To know what it was that turned her on.

I order a copy of the book to my office, silently praying that my receptionist won’t open the package without my say-so. Or, god forbid, the mail room interns. I can already imagine the headline if it ever leaked. Thorne Enterprises CCO Orders Spicy Bodice Ripper to Corporate Headquarters. I try to imagine what I’d say if that got out.

Maybe I can frame it as “market research.” Technically, that wouldn’t be a lie. I am the Chief Content Officer. Part of my job is staying in touch with all forms of media—books, film, streaming. Stories that move people, stories that ignite something.

And clearly, this one ignited something in Alexis.

But even as I tell myself that, I know it’s bullshit. I know I’m not doing this for work. Not really. This is personal.

I want to understand her. Alexis. She reads books like this in bed, pink-cheeked and glowing, completely caught up in the fantasy. Not just of sex, but of being wanted. Desired. Taken care of.

She said she was a virgin. That she always assumed her husband would be her first.

Which means she assumed it would be me.

The thought hits harder than it should. Something warm coils low in my stomach. There’s a part of me that wants to be that man for her. To give her every touch, every whisper, every bit of slow, deliberate pleasure those pages describe. But another part of me recoils at the idea. At the responsibility of being her first. At the weight of everything I’m still carrying.

When I told her that I couldn’t, that I wanted to maintain some distance, it was for her sake more than it was for mine. I promised myself I would do right by her, and that means keeping those boundaries.

Still, I want to know what made her eyes glaze over like that. I want to know what fantasy she was living in when I walked out of that shower.

Turning off my phone, I shrug on a pair of jeans, opting for a more casual look today. As I close the drawer, Alexis wakes.

At first, she gazes at me with half-lidded eyes, foggy with sleep. She blinks a few times, her eyelids still drooping, relaxed.

Then, abruptly, she stiffens. She sits upright and clears her throat.

“Good morning,” I say politely. I don’t mention the sounds she was making. I don’t want to embarrass her. It’s pretty clear she’s already self-conscious about it, aware of her intense dream.

“Good morning,” she replies.

For a few seconds, silence hangs between us, laden with tension. I can feel last night in the offing. Inevitably, we’re going to have to talk about it.

But not right now. Alexis shakes herself a bit, pulling the sheets up to her chest as if hiding her body from view, even though she’s wearing a loose-fitting t-shirt.

“What’s on the agenda for today?” she asks.

“Well, it’s the weekend,” I reply. “I was considering taking Peyton to the beach. I promised her last week that we’d go soon.”

“Oh. That sounds nice,” she says.

“You’re more than welcome to come, if you’d like.”

Her eyes brighten at the invitation. “Sure. I could do with a beach day.”

As she gets out of bed and readies herself, I head down the hall to wake Peyton.

I push the door open, peeking inside. Peyton is still asleep, bundled up in her purple comforter. I give her a small shake, and she stirs, looking up at me groggily.

“Hey, Bug,” I whisper. “Time to wake up. How do you feel about a beach day today?”