The Charity Gala
453 Words
Chapter 10: The Charity Gala
The black car glided to a stop outside the grand marble entrance of the Belmore Hotel, the city’s elite already spilling onto the red carpet. Elena stepped out first, her midnight-blue gown catching every camera flash like falling stars. The slit revealed one long leg, and her heels made her stride confident—at least on the outside.
Inside, her nerves fluttered like butterflies trapped in a jar.
Then Jaxon stepped out.
A hush moved through the crowd, as if even the flashbulbs paused. He was dressed in a tailored black tux, clean-shaven, his hair swept back with effortless control. He didn’t glance at the cameras or the people whispering his name.
His eyes found her instantly.
He took her hand. “You look devastating.”
She blushed despite herself. “You clean up well.”
The red carpet was a blur of polite smiles and fake laughter, but Jaxon never let go of her hand. Every time she tried to put distance between them, he reeled her back in—his touch subtle, but unyielding. And every time his fingers brushed her waist or the small of her back, her breath caught.
He was playing the part.
So was she.
But her body had stopped pretending hours ago.
Inside the ballroom, chandeliers glittered like frozen galaxies, and a jazz band played near the bar. Elena accepted a glass of champagne, needing something to steady her. She barely had time to sip before Jaxon leaned down.
“Dance with me.”
She stiffened. “Here?”
“We’re married. It would be strange if I didn’t.”
He guided her to the center floor, one hand curling around her waist, the other taking her hand. When he pulled her against him, her breath hitched.
His voice was low, close to her ear. “You’re shaking.”
“I’m not used to attention.”
“No,” he said, lips brushing her ear, “you’re not used to wanting someone you shouldn’t.”
Elena’s pulse pounded.
The world around them blurred—the music, the people, the cameras.
There was only Jaxon.
The way his thumb brushed slow circles against her lower back. The heat building between them. The smell of his cologne. Her chest pressed against his. Her skin burned beneath the silk.
It wasn’t a dance anymore—it was a seduction.
By the time the song ended, she was breathless.
They returned to the table, but her appetite was gone.
Jaxon leaned in, fingers tracing the edge of her thigh beneath the tablecloth.
“Elena,” he whispered, voice rough, “tell me to stop.”
She didn’t.
And that was the beginning of the fall.
- Writer
