nicer.
I sighed and sipped the icy vodka, realizing that this encounter wasn’t helping my current, less than favorable, view of humanity. I managed to swallow without pulling a face, which would have ruined the sophisticated image I was attempting to cultivate.
No one here had to know that I was in a place I would normally never go, wearing a dress that was far more revealing than anything I would normally wear, drinking a drink I would normally never order.
I picked up the frilly pick with the olives and slid one free with my lips, chewing slowly as I glanced around the bar to give myself a break from the alcohol.
A couple sat in a booth off to one side. A generous sprinkle of salt and pepper dusted the man’s hair at his temples. The obviously younger woman had not an ounce of fat on her, with platinum blonde hair and a red dress that clung to her tanned, surgically enhanced curves like a second skin.
Blech. His wife of fifty years, and the mother of his children, was probably waiting for him at home while he was out hoping his wealth could buy him a newer model.
A maddeningly fair voice in my head insisted that my opinion of men might be just a bit skewed at the moment. I nearly stuck my tongue out at it.
A guy closer to my age, several barstools down from me, caught my eye and raised his glass in a friendly salute. His eyes twinkled as if we were sharing a joke and I found myself smiling back at him. He made a questioning motion toward the seat next to me.
I gave a shrug of assent and he picked up his glass and moved to join me. Polite, but confident; I liked that. There wasn’t anything not to like about his looks either—tall, lean and muscular, with chestnut hair and vivid green eyes. No sign of a wedding band.
That was lucky for him. I was in the mood to perform a Bobbitt on the next married guy who showed signs of cheating.
“Good evening. My name is Balthus.” His voice was rich and cultured, with a faint accent that I couldn’t put my finger on.
“I’m Sydney.” I smiled and took his extended hand, wondering what kind of parents named their kid Balthus.
I had a firm handshake. Some men seemed to take it as a challenge and squeezed my hand painfully in return. But Balthus’ grip was almost sensual, lingering for just a moment longer than necessary before he released me.
“Balthus—that’s an interesting name,” I commented, trying to ignore the tingling sensation that traveled up my arm at his touch.
“It’s a family name,” he explained, his mesmerizing eyes never breaking contact with mine. They appeared molten, almost as if flames burned within their depths.
If there was such a thing as vampires, they’d probably have eyes like this guy’s, I thought.
“I’m pleased to make your acquaintance Sydney,” he said in a velvet tone, “and I appreciate you allowing me to join you. Solitary drinking is never as entertaining as imbibing with a companion.”
Ooh bonus—cute and well-spoken. I shook my head and chuckled at myself. Vampires—what a crazy idea! Besides, he was far too tan to be anything of the sort.
“Are you staying here at the hotel?” I asked.
“Yes. Just for the weekend, on business.”
“And what type of business are you in?” I took a small sip from my glass, giddy that I was actually doing this: sitting in a posh bar, drinking a high-end martini, making small talk with an attractive stranger. I really hadn’t been sure that I could pull it off. Years of faithful marriage can make for rusty flirtation skills.
“Oh, mostly trading and commodities,” answered Balthus with a vaguely amused gleam in his eyes. “And what do you do, Sydney?”
“Well, a little management, a little advertising, a little bookkeeping,” I responded with a dismissive wave. My job truly wasn’t that interesting.
“Like a free-lance consultant,” he surmised.
“I guess you could call it that.” I grinned. It sounded better than Administrative Assistant, or any of the other titles I usually gave myself when people asked me what I did for a living.
“And are you here on business, or do you live in the area?” He took an easy swallow from his glass.
“I actually live about a half hour’s drive away, but I work here on the island.”
“And what is a beautiful woman like you doing here alone on a Friday night?” His voice was warm, but his smile was deliberately teasing. “Where is your husband this evening?”
“What makes you think I’m married?” I asked, playing along with a surprised tone.
He reached over and softly traced the faint tan-line on my ring finger. I forgot how to breathe for a moment as pure electricity crackled between us. It sent waves of awareness traveling across my skin and my gaze involuntarily jumped to his, finding a knowing look behind the heat in his eyes.
I took a gulp of vodka to steady myself, and as an excuse to look away. After seven years of monogamy, I wasn’t used to even entertaining the sorts of feelings I was beginning to have about this man. My fingers played nervously over the stem of my martini glass as I decided how to respond.
“We’re separated,” I said finally. Not officially true, but I promised myself that it would be soon enough. Oh, Goddess—what were we going to do with the house? I shoved back a fresh pang of hurt at Jeremy’s betrayal and looked up with shielded eyes to find Balthus staring at me.
“And what was it that separated you?” he asked, his voice just above a whisper.
My brow furrowed as I thought about whether I wanted to discuss this with a complete stranger. I supposed I was already well on my way past reckless this evening, considering the skimpy dress and the hotel bar. And talking to Balthus was cheaper than therapy—although not much, at Palm Beach drink prices.
“He no longer possesses the qualities that I require for a relationship to work,” I muttered.
A lazy smile spread across Balthus’ face, its effects on my body stealing my breath once more. “And what might those qualities be?” His voice brushed over me like an intimate caress.
I hesitated, inhaled, and then said in a rush, “Respect and loyalty, for starters.” I attempted to even out the breathless defiance in my tone.
His eyes held mine for a long moment, as if he was drawing the truth from me. They bathed me in heat, leaving me unable to look away.
“How could anyone be disloyal to you?” he asked, almost as if he was talking to himself. I could detect no guile in his manner, and the question hit so close to the center of my pain that I felt tears prick at the backs of my eyes.
Shit. I shouldn’t have started talking about this.
Balthus broke our eye contact and cleared his throat, then took a long draw from his glass. I was embarrassed that he felt the need to give me a moment and I made a valiant effort to swallow back my tears.
“You know,” he said, staring down into the ice-cubes at the bottom of his
