HIS LOVE

The moon shone brighter than usual that evening, casting a soft, silvery glow over our quiet suburban neighborhood. I was thrilled because my husband, Richard, was finally coming home after a grueling two-week business trip. To surprise him, I slipped into a fancy, sexy red nightgown that hugged my curves perfectly, the silky fabric whispering against my skin as I moved. My heart raced with anticipation as I heard his car pull into the driveway.

"He's here," I whispered to myself, a smile spreading across my face. I hurried to the door, my bare feet padding softly on the cool hardwood floor. He opened the door, flicked on the lights, and his eyes widened when he saw me.

"Wow, baby, you look incredible," he said, his voice laced with a hint of surprise.

"Do you like it?" I teased, wrapping my arms around him and running my fingers through his tousled hair.

"Of course I do," he replied, kissing me gently as he dropped his suitcase with a thud on the floor.

Slowly, I began unbuttoning his shirt, my hands exploring the familiar contours of his chest. "Let's do it right here, in the living room," I whispered seductively in his ear, wrapping his hand around my waist. He kissed me deeply for a moment, his lips warm and inviting.

Babe please.” His hands caught my wrists—gently, but firmly pulling back slightly. "I just got back, and I'm exhausted. Can we do this later?" He pleaded, his eyes heavy with fatigue. 

The word landed like a slap.

I searched his face for the man who used to lift me onto the kitchen counter without warning, who used to growl my name like a prayer. He wasn’t there.

Before I could respond, he picked up his suitcase and headed straight to the bathroom, leaving me standing there alone in the dimly lit room.

This had been my reality for the past three years—no matter how hard I tried, Richard always found an excuse to turn me away. Tears welled up in my eyes as I sank onto the couch. Ever since the tragic loss of our three-month-old baby, things had changed between us. Even though he insisted it wasn't my fault, I knew deep down he blamed me. I pulled my knees to my chest, burying my face in them as hot tears streamed down my cheeks, the silence of the house amplifying my loneliness.

The next day, I was at the office where I worked as an executive assistant, meticulously arranging some documents on my cluttered desk, when one of my colleagues burst into my office.

"Hey, Payton, he's here!" Brooke exclaimed, nearly tripping over her own feet as she rushed to my desk, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

"Who?" I asked, curiosity piqued despite my lingering melancholy from the night before.

"Our new CEO, of course—Teddy Murphy. Don't tell me you forgot!"

"Hmm, not really," I replied absently. That was the least of my concerns right now.

"He's so hot and sexy, like the most handsome man on earth," she gushed, fanning herself dramatically.

"Brooke, please stop. You forget I'm married," I said, trying to sound stern but failing to hide a small smile.

"Oh, come on, Payton," she said, perching on the edge of my desk and leaning in closer. "It's not a crime to admire God's creation. Anyways, how are you coping at home?"

"Everything is fine, Brooke, and thanks for asking," I lied smoothly, standing up with a stack of documents in hand. "Now, I have to go give our new CEO his schedule for the day."

"Fine, but tell me all you noticed about him when you get back," she said with a wink. I smiled weakly and left the room.

At his office door, I paused to smooth down my pencil skirt and adjust my blouse, wanting to look professional. I knocked softly.

"Yes, come in," he called out in a deep, resonant voice that sent an unexpected shiver down my spine. I stepped inside and closed the door behind me. Looking up, I was struck by how stunning he was—handsome as hell, with chiseled features, dark hair neatly styled, and piercing blue eyes that seemed to see right through me as I approached his desk.

"Good morning, sir," I said, standing confidently in front of him.

"Good morning...?" He trailed off, prompting me with a raised eyebrow.

"Payton, sir," I managed, momentarily lost in how handsome and commanding he appeared, his broad shoulders filling out his tailored suit perfectly.

"Payton, I guess you're my assistant," he said with a warm smile that revealed perfect white teeth.

"Yes, sir. Here are some documents outlining your schedule for the week," I said, handing them over. As he took them, his fingers brushed against mine, sending a spark of electricity through me. He held my gaze with those intense blue eyes, and suddenly, I felt a rush of heat building inside, something I hadn't experienced in years.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his tone genuinely concerned, a slight furrow forming on his brow.

"Yes, of course, sir," I replied quickly, trying to steady my breathing.

"Call me Teddy, please. I'm not that old," he said, chuckling lightly. It felt almost like he was flirting, the way his eyes lingered on me.

"Uh... okay."

"Anything else?"

"No, I should go now," I said, turning to leave. I could feel his eyes tracing my figure as I walked out. Once outside, I leaned against the wall, breathing heavily and clutching my chest. "Payton, what is wrong with you? You're married," I muttered, pressing my hand to my forehead.

Walking back to my office, Brooke rushed up to me again.

"He is hot, right? See, I told you!"

"Brooke, go gossip with someone else,"

 I said, closing my office door behind me. 

Back in my office I collapsed into my chair. My skin still buzzed where his fingers had touched mine. I closed my eyes and—God help me—I saw him again: those eyes stripping me bare, that voice saying my name like a promise instead of a question.

Three years without being touched.

Three years of being looked through.

And now this man—stranger, boss, temptation—had looked at me like I was starving and he knew exactly what I was hungry for.

I pressed my thighs together, ashamed of the sudden, sharp ache blooming low in my belly.

“Get yourself together,” I whispered, shaking my head to dispel the forbidden thoughts of intimacy that had begun to creep in.

Every day became a quiet war of glances.

In the hallway outside the boardroom, our eyes would catch and hold a second too long.

In the coffee shop line, his shoulder would brush mine as he reached for cream, and the contact lingered like a brand.

In his office, when I delivered reports, he’d lean back in his chair, fingers steepled, watching me with that steady blue intensity until I felt naked under fluorescent lights.

In my own office, I’d look up from my screen and find him standing in the doorway—silent, unannounced—before he’d simply nod once and disappear.

The worst was the boardroom meeting that Thursday.

Everyone was filing out, voices overlapping in post-meeting chatter. I stayed behind to gather my notes. Teddy walked past last. As he did, his hand found my shoulder—firm, deliberate—then slid slowly down my arm until his fingers closed over mine on the table. He lifted the pen I was still holding, his thumb grazing the inside of my wrist.

“Can I borrow this?” he murmured, voice so low it vibrated against my ear.

I couldn’t speak. I could only nod, pulse roaring in my throat,

as he took the pen and walked away without looking back.

This is bad, I told myself, the words tasting like ash.

This is very, very bad.