HER SECRET DESIRE

CHAPTER SIX

Elena Templeton had not slept a wink.

The storm had come and gone in the night, rattling the windows and beating rain against the walls, but it wasn’t thunder that kept her awake. It was memory. It was the feel of Colin’s lips on hers, the forbidden fire that had sparked in the garden, a flame she had no business fanning.

She lay beneath cool silk sheets, staring into the darkness, every nerve alive, every thought whispering the same truth: she had crossed a line.

And yet… she wanted more.

Her husband’s side of the bed remained cold, untouched. Alexander hadn’t come home at all. Likely another mistress, another night of pleasure while his wife lay alone. Once, the thought would have broken her. Now, it only deepened her resolve. Why should she mourn what was never hers? Why should she keep sacrificing herself on the altar of his pride?

By the time dawn painted the sky a pale gold, she gave up on rest. Sliding out of bed, Elena pulled on a silk robe, tying it loosely around her waist. Her feet carried her through the long, echoing halls of the Templeton mansion — halls that had once awed her, now nothing more than gilded cages.

She moved instinctively toward the garden.

Through the tall windows, she caught sight of him.

Colin.

He stood bare-chested, an axe swinging rhythmically as he split logs for the estate’s firewood. His muscles flexed with each strike, skin glistening with sweat beneath the rising sun. There was strength in his movements, raw and unpolished, so unlike the carefully cultivated poise of the men in her world. Watching him, Elena’s throat went dry.

Her heart betrayed her with a violent flutter.

Before she could stop herself, she stepped outside.

“Good morning,” she called softly.

Colin stilled, the axe poised mid-swing before he lowered it slowly. Turning, he caught sight of her, and for a heartbeat neither spoke. Then, his lips curved slightly.

“Mrs. Templeton,” he said, his voice rough, deepened by exertion. “You’re up early.”

“Elena,” she corrected before she could think better of it. Her voice trembled, but she held his gaze. “Call me Elena.”

His eyes darkened, the name rolling over his tongue like a secret. “All right then… Elena.”

The way he said it made her shiver.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she admitted, stepping closer. “Not after yesterday.”

His jaw tightened, the unspoken memory sparking between them. “Neither could I.”

They stood facing each other, the silence heavy, pulsing with everything unsaid.

“Elena,” he began, his voice low, almost pained. “If we cross this line again, there’s no going back. You know that.”

She trembled, her hands clenching at her sides. “I know.”

“Tell me to stop,” he urged. His fists curled, as if holding himself back cost every ounce of willpower.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she stepped closer until only a breath separated them. “Don’t stop.”

The restraint snapped.

Colin’s mouth crashed onto hers, hungrier this time, desperate, as though he’d been waiting years instead of days. His hands cupped her face, strong and tender, pulling her into a kiss that left her trembling. Her arms looped around his neck, fingers tangling in his damp hair.

The robe slipped loose at her shoulder, baring pale skin to the morning air. Colin’s eyes flickered downward, then back to hers with a groan that vibrated against her lips.

“Elena…” He spoke her name like a prayer and a curse all at once.

She pressed closer, feeling every hard plane of him, every ounce of heat radiating from his body. For the first time in years, she felt wanted. Desired. Alive.

When they broke apart, both gasping, reality rushed back. Elena stumbled a step away, clutching her robe.

“We can’t,” she whispered, though her body screamed otherwise.

“I know,” Colin said, his voice hoarse. “But I don’t regret it.”

Neither did she.

⸻

The rest of the day passed in a haze.

Elena sat in the grand library, pretending to read, though her eyes barely scanned the pages. Every tick of the clock was louder than usual, every whisper of the house a reminder of her own heartbeat.

She pressed her fingers to her lips, still swollen, and found herself smiling — a real smile, not the brittle mask she’d worn for years.

When had she last felt like this? When had anyone looked at her the way Colin did — as if she mattered, not as a trophy, not as a business asset, but as a woman?

The thought terrified her. It thrilled her.

By evening, Alexander still hadn’t come home. Elena ate alone, the silence of the dining hall a familiar companion. Yet her thoughts weren’t on her absent husband. They were in the garden, under the sunlight, with Colin’s lips pressed to hers.

And as she climbed the stairs to her lonely bedroom, one truth settled heavy in her chest:

She could not go back.

Not now.

Not after Colin.