Fitting Room Temptation

Merlina’s eyes were still wide when Ethan’s arm stayed draped over my shoulders a second longer than necessary. His fingers kept brushing the nape of my neck… deliberate and slow, before he finally lifted it.

The absence of his heat felt like losing gravity.

“Uh… sure” She cleared her throat. “Try not to break him” she joked.

Ethan’s mouth curved. Not quite a smile. More like acknowledgment of an order already followed. “I’ll bring him back in one piece.”

He didn’t ask if I was coming. He simply turned and started walking toward the exit, expectation clear in every measured step. I scrambled after him.

Outside, the afternoon sun hit like a spotlight. Ethan’s black SUV waited at the curb… sleek and tinted, the kind of car that didn’t need to announce money because it reeked of it.

He opened the passenger door for me without a word, and I slid in to feel the leather cool against my thighs. The door shut with a solid, expensive thud.

Circling to the driver’s side, he folded himself behind the wheel, and started the engine.

“I was hoping you could help me pick suits for the wedding and the bachelor party,” he said, voice calm, eyes straight on the road. “I trust your taste… and your eye.”

He glanced sideways, briefly, but heavy. Like he was measuring me again.

My mouth went dry. “You want *my* help?”

“You model, don't you? You know what photographs well. What flatters.” He merged into traffic with the ease of someone who expected the world to make room. “Emily’s indecisive. I’d rather walk in prepared than stand there looking lost.”

I swallowed. “O-Okay. I know a place. Elaine’s Fabric. Pricey, but worth it.”

“Price isn’t the issue.”

Of course it wasn’t.

The boutique smelled like money. Cedar and faint citrus coiled from the diffusers. Racks of Italian tailoring stretched in perfect rows.

Ethan walked like he owned the place. He could've probably bought it he wanted to.

“Show me what you’d put me in,” he said, not asking.

I led him toward the charcoal and navy section first. It was a sharp, CEO-coded display. But my eyes kept drifting to deeper shades: midnight blue and charcoal with the faintest sheen. Things that would make his shoulders look lethal and his eyes burn.

“This one.” I pulled a slim-fit suit, holding it against his chest without thinking.

His hand closed over mine on the hanger. “You like dark on me?”

My throat clicked. “It… suits your vibe.”

A low sound rumbled in his chest. “Bold choice.”

He took the suit, then another I hadn’t even suggested, this one a deeper slate. “Try these.”

He didn’t wait for agreement. Just headed toward the dressing rooms at the back, expecting me to follow.

And of course I did.

The attendant was busy with another client. Ethan didn’t wait. He stepped into the largest cubicle and pulled the heavy curtain half-closed behind him, deliberately leaving a six-inch gap.

“Stay close,” he said over his shoulder. “I want your opinion.”

My heart slammed so hard I was sure the whole boutique could hear it.

He shrugged out of his jacket first, broad shoulders rolling free. The shirt stretched across his back, sleeves already rolled to the elbows.

Veins stood out on his forearms when he unbuttoned the cuffs.

Then, the shirt came off.

I should’ve looked away. I didn’t.

His back was a map of clean muscle. Wide and grounded, the kind built from discipline and not just gym vanity. A faint scar curved along one shoulder blade. Thin, old. Like a knife had once tried and failed. When he turned slightly to hang the shirt, I caught the trail of dark hair leading down from his chest until it dissapeared into the waistband of his trousers.

He unbuckled his belt next. Painfully slow. Maybe deliberate.

The curtain swayed just enough that I could see the outline of his dick heavy even when soft. The shape pressed against his black briefs.

My mouth watered. That dick would ruin me.

“Marcus.”

His voice snapped my gaze up. He was watching me in the mirror… eyes dark and unreadable, lips barely curved.

“Fitting?”

I couldn’t speak. Just gave a small, guilty nod.

He stepped into the charcoal trousers, then zipped with economical movements. The fabric hugged his thighs, accentuating the taper of his waist.

When he shrugged into the jacket, it fit like it was made for him. Because of course it did.

He turned fully toward the gap.

“Well?”

I forced words out. “It’s… perfect. Sharp. Powerful.”

His gaze dropped to my lips for half a second. “Good.”

He was still shirtless under the open jacket… chest rising slow, skin warm-toned, dusted with just enough hair to make my fingers itch.

I wanted to touch. To trace that scar. To drop to my knees right there behind the curtain and…

“Marcus!”

Emily’s voice cracked through the boutique like glass.

I jerked back and watched as she stormed toward us, six shopping bags swinging, face already pinched.

“What are *you* doing here?”

Ethan stepped out of the cubicle, jacket still open, chest on full display… calm as if nothing had happened.

“Baby,” he said, voice low and smooth.

Emily’s irritation melted instantly. She dropped the bags at my feet like I was staff and ran to him, throwing her arms around his neck.

“You look amazing,” she cooed, pressing against him. “This color is perfect.”

“Thanks. Marcus picked it,” he said simply.

Her smile faltered. “Oh.”

She stepped back, eyeing the suit, then me, like I’d contaminated it.

“Maybe we should try something else. Grey isn’t my favorite on you.”

Ethan’s jaw ticked, just once. “Well I like it.”

He lifted her chin with two fingers, tilted her face up, and kissed her.

Long. Deep. Right in front of me.

My stomach twisted with a sharp, ugly jealousy I had no right to feel. His hand cupped the back of her neck the same way it had brushed mine minutes earlier.

When he pulled back, Emily was flushed and smiling.

I cleared my throat. “I… need to meet Merlina. Forgot something.”

Emily’s eyes narrowed. “Weren’t you just with her?”

“We’re… reconvening.” I forced a smirk.

She snatched the bags like I was meant to be holding them. “You irritate me” she muttered. “When you’re done playing stylist, check on Mom. Give her the meds on time.”

“Bye, Ethan,” I'd already moved, ignoring her distasteful attempt at care.

He met my eyes over her head. “You sure you don't need a ride back?”

Anything to spend more time with you. But the words remained as a thought.

“Nah, I'm good” I smiled, and he nodded as if to acknowledge it.

“Thank you, Marcus. I appreciate it.”

The way he said my name felt like a promise. Or a warning.

I turned and walked out fast before I did something stupid like look back.

This is what I meant. There's no way he had “just my brother-in-law” thoughts behind those pitch black pupils.

Halfway to the door, I collided hard with someone.

“Watch it, man—”

“Sorry—” the hand curled across my chest before I could fall.

My eyes lit over the tattoo on his forearm. Two black spirals with a familiar “Je t’aime” tattoo between them.

There's… no way.

“Marcus?” The voice registered, this time familiar.

I raised my head, and met his dark brown eyes. He looked different. Longer hair. Sharp suit. Sharper jaw. But that same dangerously easy smile.

Jake. Standing in Elaine’s like he belonged there.

It's been… three years.

“Long time” he tilted.

My hands started shaking. “What are you… doing here?”

“Emily invited me to the wedding” he smiled. “Needed an outfit.”

Of course she did. Petty as ever.

I backed up a step. “Right. Well. Lots of suits. Have fun.”

I tried to move past him, and he caught my wrist. Gentle, but firm. “Hey. Slow down. You okay?”

“I’m fine. Mom’s not feeling great. Meds. Gotta go.”

His thumb brushed my pulse point. “She’s sick? I should come by—”

“No. Don’t. Bye-bye.”

I yanked free and practically ran for the exit, pulling out my phone to dial Merlina’s number.

She answered on the first ring.

“What's up? Where you at—”

“Code red” I frantically muttered. “Jake’s here. That bitch invited my fucking ex.”