“Did I say that?” he whispered. “You’re always beautiful, Lauren, always desirable. But tonight you’re spellbinding. Sensational. And I’m no more immune than the next man.”

She stared at him in bewilderment, but before she could dream up a response, Ben gave a slight shake of his head, silently cautioning her not to speak.

But she didn’t mind, not so long as she could remain in his arms for another minute or two. She didn’t need – or want – any words to spoil this stolen moment, knowing that it was bound to end far too soon.

***

Elle couldn’t decide if she was hurt or angry or mortified – or a combination of all three raging emotions. She sniffled as she gazed at herself in the mirror, daintily dabbing a tissue at the corner of her eyes where her makeup had become ever so slightly smudged. She’d escaped into the ladies lounge a good ten minutes ago, struggling to maintain her composure and not have a very undignified public weeping fit – or worse, a jealous rage – out in the banquet room.

She’d been upset all evening, ever since Ben had impulsively accepted Chris’s invitation to sit at the same table with Karl, Lauren, and their dates. He’d jumped in so quickly that he hadn’t given Elle an opportunity to think up a believable excuse – which she suspected had been his intention. She wouldn’t have minded so much if it had just been Karl, or even Chris – not that they were her favorites among Ben’s staff by any means. But the moment she’d seen that Lauren was in attendance tonight, her entire evening had been ruined.

The photographer admittedly looked good tonight, Elle acknowledged grudgingly, carrying off the dramatic black lace de la Renta like few other women could. Elle had greeted the younger woman coolly, and hadn’t missed the knowing little smile she’d received in return. Lauren had to be well aware of Elle’s thinly veiled animosity towards her, and it infuriated Elle that Lauren didn’t seem to let that bother her one bit.

In Lauren’s favor, Elle conceded that she’d barely spoken to or even looked at Ben all evening, and had spent most of the time chatting with her escort Carlo or with Karl’s girlfriend Tamsyn. But Lauren’s offhand treatment hadn’t stopped Ben from looking at her whenever he thought no one else would notice. It seemed to Elle that nearly every time she’d stolen a discreet sideways glance at him his brooding gaze had been fixed on the lovely, vivacious Lauren.

Elle had grown angrier and more upset as the evening wore on, her nails digging into the tender flesh of her palms as she’d struggled to hold it all together. Rather petulantly, she’d continually called Ben’s attention back to her, asking him questions and engaging him in conversation, but it hadn’t entirely stopped his covert glances across the table.

She’d been so startled when Carlo had charmingly asked her to dance that she hadn’t been able to think of an excuse before he’d taken her hand in his. And at first she had found his attention flattering, unable to deny that he really was very attractive and had lovely manners. It was hard to believe that this suave, sophisticated man in the Brioni tuxedo, with his gleaming white teeth and perfectly styled hair, was actually the brother of the brawny, long haired, and tattooed Franco. Carlo had kept up a steady stream of conversation, and Elle hadn’t missed the way nearly everyone in the room kept staring at him, evidently far more of a movie fan than she was.

And then she had spied Ben and Lauren dancing together, and it had felt like someone had plunged a knife into her chest. He’d been holding her far too closely for Elle’s liking, and Lauren seemed to be perfectly content to have his arm banded around her tiny waist. But it was the way they continued to gaze at each other, the looks of longing and of something else she couldn’t quite define, that made her feel sick at heart. And when Carlo had followed the direction of her shell shocked gaze, he’d merely given her a knowing little smile, leaving her to suspect he’d manipulated all of this – asking her to dance so that Ben and Lauren could be alone. Elle had given him a frosty glare, which had only made his smile deepen, and had none too politely excused herself the second the song was finished. Meanwhile, Ben and Lauren continued to dance as the next song began, seemingly having forgotten about their own dates or anyone else in the room for that matter.

So she’d hidden out here in the lounge, not trusting herself to be around other people until she could compose herself. Her parents had always instilled in her the need to conduct herself in a ladylike manner no matter what the circumstances, and she wasn’t about to cause a scene in front of two hundred or so of Ben’s co-workers – including Brad van Patten, the editor in chief and her father’s old friend.

As Elle reapplied lip gloss with a trembling hand, she wondered if her parents had been right about Ben all along. Both her mother and her father - as tactfully and civilly as possible, of course – had suggested more than once that perhaps Ben wasn’t quite the right man for her. They had pointed out the very different sort of upbringings they’d both had, the gap in their financial and social statuses, their widely varied interests, and had wondered just what it was that Elle saw in him.

She’d asked herself that question any number of times, knowing that her parents brought up good points. She and Ben had very little in common, though she knew he tried very hard to indulge her when it came to things like dining, books, movies, and the friends they socialized with. Elle guiltily acknowledged that she had done very little compromising on her end, hadn’t even considered the possibility of eating a burrito or drinking a beer, seeing an action movie, or going backpacking or mountain biking. All things, she thought darkly, that Lauren no doubt enjoyed as much as Ben did.

She couldn’t properly explain her attraction – her fascination – with Ben, except to know that she had been inexplicably attracted to him from the very first time they’d met. Perhaps it had been because he was so different from herself, or from all the other properly brought up young men she’d associated with since childhood. Whatever the reason, she loved him deeply and took great pride in the fact that they were a couple. Even if he had yet to say those three magical words to her after all this time.

She had never been happier than she had in the last eighteen months or so. Except, she thought with a glower, when women smiled at him or did their damndest to flirt with him wherever they went. She knew he lost patience with her at times over the jealous rages she would fly into, as well as the bouts of weeping. But she’d been making a real effort to control both of those things, had been doing a much better job of it lately. At least until tonight – when the woman who continually kept getting stuck in Elle’s craw had caused her to struggle mightily for control once again.

As if on cue, the door to the ladies lounge opened, and Lauren strode in. Though it was really more of a limp at this point, the tawny haired woman clearly not used to walking around in four inch heels for hours at a time. Elle’s spine stiffened as Lauren walked over, a bright smile on her face.

“Oh, hey, Elle. Here you are. Ben was just wondering where you went,” Lauren said cheerfully. “God damn, these shoes are killing me! I don’t care if these cost eight hundred bucks, I’d trade them in for a pair of Old Navy flip flops right about now. Hey, are you okay? You look like you’ve been crying or something.”

“I’m fine.” Elle gave a small sniff. “Though now that you’re here there is a question I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

Lauren gave a little shrug as she peered at herself in the mirror. “Sure. Ask away.”

“Exactly how long have you been having an affair with Ben?”