Isn't It Bromantic (Bromance Book Club #4) by Lyssa Kay Adams

            His breathing changed, and her eyes snapped back to find his now open, watching her with an unreadable expression.

            She should have been embarrassed, but she couldn’t summon any emotion beyond the tightly coiled sexual kind. Her hands stalled against his scalp. “You have a beautiful body, Vlad.”

            His throat moved with a deep swallow. But when he didn’t respond, the embarrassment finally pushed through. She forced a lightness to her voice that she didn’t feel. “Like you need me to tell you that.”

            “I do,” he rasped.

            The lightness evaporated. “Why?”

            “What husband doesn’t want to know his wife finds him attractive?”

            “I’ve always found you attractive, Vlad. You just never invited me to look before.”

            “I’m inviting you now.”

            Reality collided with fantasy. What the hell was she doing? She pulled her hands away and stood. Oxygen was in short supply, and so was sanity. “Can you rinse without me?”

            “Elena—”

            “I’ll wait outside in case you need me again.”

            Coward. She cursed herself as she fled to hide in the bedroom, too afraid to hear or see his reaction. But maybe also because she was too afraid of herself and the feelings coursing through her, the desire that lingered still.

            It was just physical. A natural reaction. That’s all it was. What woman wouldn’t feel a surge of lust with her hands on a man like that? What woman wouldn’t begin to imagine all nature of naughty things when presented with a specimen like him?

            Except she wasn’t just any woman, and he wasn’t just any man. And the body wasn’t a nameless or faceless specimen. It was Vlad. Her lifelong friend. Her husband. The one she was, in fact, divorcing. And she’d just all but admitted to him that she wanted him.

            Desire became humiliation. Years of hiding it, poof. Gone. Exposure was a thief, stealing the protective veil she hid behind until she felt like the one who’d been stripped naked.

            “Maybe this is a mistake.”

            Elena plastered herself against the wall outside Vlad’s bedroom. She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but Vlad had one of those voices. The deep baritone kind that carried even when he was trying to be quiet. He and his father had disappeared after his father’s toast, and she went to look for him because she had gone long enough without her husband by her side.

            Husband. She couldn’t get used to the word. That morning, she’d nearly called the whole thing off. Vlad didn’t need a burden like her, no matter how she felt about him. But the minute she saw him in his suit, waiting for her at the city office with that warm smile and those tender eyes, all her fears evaporated. Maybe she was always meant to marry this man, her best friend. And he’d kissed her with such tenderness after their vows that a hundred forgotten dreams were restored. She wasn’t sure what would happen tonight, their wedding night. But hope and desire had quickly made her drunk with possibilities.

            Until now.

            “Maybe I should have just told her the truth,” Vlad said.

            Elena’s stomach clenched. What truth?

            “Yes,” his father scoffed. “I’m sure she will just open right up when you tell her you only proposed because your mother suggested it.”

            Her skin, so hot a moment ago, was now ice-cold. It was a lie. All of it. He was marrying her out of obligation. Nothing more. She tiptoed away, hid in the bathroom, and cried for ten solid minutes. When she was done, she vowed he would never know the truth of how foolish she was. He would never know she’d been stupid enough to believe he wanted her as much as she wanted him.

            In the bathroom, the sound of splashing water was followed by the draining of the tub. The squeak of wet hands on the tub. The quiet thud of a foot on the floor, the swish of a towel.

            She crept closer to the door, steeled herself, spoke into the small opening. “Do you need help?”

            “I think I got it.” His voice betrayed nothing.

            “The floor might be slippery.”