Crossed lines: 40 love stories

CHAPTER 1 

Elena Voss shifted in the passenger seat, her sundress riding up her thighs as Marcus Hale's SUV hummed down the winding lake road. She tugged the hem, but it clung stubbornly to her breasts and wide hips.

"You sure Mia's just running late?" she asked, voice brighter than she felt.

Marcus gripped the wheel, his tall, muscular frame relaxed but commanding. Salt-and-pepper hair, sharp jaw, piercing blue eyes. "Flight delay. She'll meet us by evening. She texted me to pick you up so you wouldn't sit around." His deep voice filled the car.

Elena nodded, heart racing. "Thanks, Marcus. It feels strange calling you that after all these years."

He glanced over, eyes dropping to her sundress before snapping back to the road. "Marcus is fine. You've been around with Mia since you were kids, no need for the Mr. Hale stuff anymore."

The silence stretched, thick and heavy. Elena crossed her legs, her knee brushed his hand on the gear shift, heat flared up her skin.

"Sorry," she muttered.

"Don't be," he said, voice lower. His fingers hovered near her thigh. "Roads are narrow out here, bound to happen."

She bit her lip and tried again. "This weekend should be good, Mia doing her birthday at the lake house just like old times. Remember when we all swam out to the dock that summer?"

Marcus gave a dry chuckle. "I remember, you girls grew up fast." His gaze slid over again, lingering on the curve of her breasts, the soft swell of her belly, the freckles across her nose. He cleared his throat. "Photography keeps you busy, Elena?"

"Trying to make it work," she replied, leaning forward so her wavy chestnut hair fell over one shoulder. "It's tough, but I love it. What about your firm? Mia says you're always busy."

"Keeps me disciplined," he answered, eyes drifting again. He reached for the AC, his arm brushing her bare shoulder, Elena's breath caught. "You've changed, you know. That dress... suits you."

Her cheeks warmed. "It's just a sundress, hot day and all." She turned toward him. "You've stayed the same though, still boxing?"

"Every morning," he said. Another glance, slower this time, tracing her body. "Helps me stay in control."

Elena swallowed hard. The air crackled between them. "Must be hard raising Mia alone all these years. You're really something, Marcus."

His jaw flexed. "I do what I have to do, protect what's mine," His blue eyes met hers for a long second, dark with something unspoken. "And you, Elena? Still looking for someone to look out for you?"

The question hung there. She shifted again, thighs pressing together. "Maybe. My mom's always working, it's nice... having someone pick me up, drive me like this."

Marcus adjusted in his seat, muscles tight under his shirt. "Anytime. We're practically family." But the way he said it, rough and low, sent sparks down her spine.

The brushes kept coming—his hand near her leg on turns, her arm against his when she reached for her phone. Every touch lingered longer, every stare grew hotter. He watched her lips when she spoke, her chest when she breathed. She felt every inch of his attention on her curvy figure.

By the time they reached the lake house, the sun had dipped low. Elena grabbed her bag, legs unsteady. "I'll settle in upstairs. Mia should be here soon, right?"

"Your usual room," Marcus said, carrying his things inside. "Make yourself comfortable."

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Dinner passed in polite but loaded conversation. Elena helped clean up, hyper-aware of how close he stood, how his deep voice wrapped around simple words. She excused herself early, claiming tiredness, but sleep refused to come.

Hours later, the house was quiet. Thirsty and restless, Elena padded down the hall toward the kitchen. Running shower water stopped her, the bathroom door sat slightly ajar, steam curling into the hallway.

She froze.

Marcus groaned under the spray, low and rough. "Elena... fuck."

Her heart slammed against her ribs.

"God, Elena," he growled again, voice thick with need. "Just like that."

Elena pressed a hand over her mouth, body flushing hot, she should walk away. Instead she stood there, listening as the man she'd known for years moaned her name in the shower, his pleasure clear and desperate.

What the hell was she going to do now?