Читать книгу A Risky Proposition, Book 1 of The Third Wish Duology - Dawn Addonizio - Страница 5

“What the hell am I doing here? Ugh, I wish I was dead,” I muttered as I shoved the ladies’ room door open with more force than necessary. A dark-haired man at a nearby courtesy phone jerked his head in my direction. I looked down and quickened my step through the doorway, my pale cheeks heating in embarrassment.

I wasn’t usually prone to such outbursts, but I had just found out that my husband was cheating on me.

Jeremy and I had been married seven years and I’d thought everything was fine between us. We still talked…laughed…had semi-regular sex. Money was okay. We could have used a little extra, but who couldn’t?

And he had to go and screw it up by sleeping with some vapid little tramp that made eyes at him at the office.

I fought a fresh bout of angry tears as I stomped from the restroom and crossed the ritzy hotel lobby in search of the bar. My heels struck a sharp echo against the polished marble tile and I pushed my long brown hair past my shoulder, doing my best to ignore my discomfort over the near-indecent length of my cocktail dress.

Relief coursed through me as I escaped the naked space of the hotel foyer and made my way into an intimate corner lounge. I positioned my short skirt beneath me on the burgundy leather of a barstool and glanced up as the bartender approached from the dim wooden depths of his post.

He gave me a mocking look as I tugged at my hem. “What can I get for you this evening, madam?” he sniffed.

My expression hardened and I ordered a Grey Goose martini, foregoing a ‘please’ and my usual ready smile. I wasn’t in the mood for his attitude. So what if he worked for one of the most exclusive hotels in the country?

My lack of friendliness seemed to have the opposite effect on him. His frosty demeanor warmed as he handed me my drink, and he was downright solicitous as he offered me a choice of two crystal bowls filled with bar munchies. Sad that being rude actually makes some people treat you 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 glass, “there is one sure way to forget about that type of disloyalty.” Balthus’ gaze captured mine again and the teasing warmth in his eyes, combined with his slow, sexy grin, seemed to help dislodge the lump in my throat.

“I’ll admit,” I began unsteadily, “I wish I could forget about my problems, even if only for a night. But don’t tell me that you’re suggesting I…reciprocate my husband’s disloyalty with someone I just met,” I continued in a chiding tone. “I hardly think that would do anything but complicate matters further.”

Balthus laughed then—a deep, rich bass that seemed to resonate throughout my entire body. “Oh, Sydney, you are delightful,” he chuckled with a shake of his head. “I think I’m going to enjoy getting to know you better.”

“Oh really?” My brows rose at the assuming tone of his statement. A prickle of unease touched my spine, but I shrugged it off and told myself that I was being childish. I just wasn’t used to interacting with men this way.

“That is, if you’ll consent to conversing with me for a while longer,” he replied smoothly. “You don’t seem to be enjoying your drink.” He pointed to the now-warm liquid that still filled half my glass. “Share a bottle of champagne with me?”

I hesitated as an increasingly fuzzy corner of my brain warned against accepting his offer. But my reserve faded and my inner alarm bells dissolved into a pleasant, carefree haze. Champagne sounded fun! And I was here to have fun, right? And to forget about…something.

Frowning, I looked up to find Balthus’ expectant gaze centered on me. “So what do you say, Sydney?”

I blinked and gave him an uncertain smile. “Champagne sounds good.” I suddenly felt as if I’d been holding my breath for hours and was finally letting it all out in one big rush. The relief was dizzying.

Balthus shot me a devilish grin and signaled the bartender.

An hour later I found myself a few shades past tipsy, and laughing merrily at something Balthus was saying as I accompanied him up to his tenth floor penthouse in a heavy marble and bronze elevator that opened directly into his private outer foyer.

As I waited for Balthus to unlock the penthouse door, however, that annoying, rational inner voice intruded once more. I scowled as it pierced my cloud of contentment, demanding to know what the hell I was doing getting drunk and going to some strange guy’s hotel room. This was not normal behavior for me. Maybe I should slow things down and forgo Balthus’ offer of a nightcap…

My thoughts stalled out as Balthus turned to me with a disarming smile and beckoned me through the door.

I trailed behind him, gaping at the most luxurious hotel room I’d ever seen. Balthus strolled forward into the suite’s sitting room and halted behind an elegant freestanding bar trimmed in tawny leather and burnished metal rivets that matched the room’s over-stuffed leather sofas.

Everything in the space, from the speckled fawn carpet to the ultra-modern fixtures to the Impressionist style paintings on the walls, had been chosen with exquisite care and taste. But it all paled in comparison to the breathtaking ocean panorama visible through the room’s wall of expansive sliding glass doors.

“This view is incredible!” I made my way across the plush carpet toward the sprawling balcony. “Do you mind if I open the door?”

“No, go right ahead.” Balthus indulged my enthusiasm. “Would you like another glass of champagne?” he called.

I turned, prepared to politely refuse, just as he popped the cork and began tipping some into a delicate crystal flute. My refusal died on my lips. I shook my head and found myself agreeing to a drink I knew I didn’t need as I wandered out onto the balcony.

The night was warm, but the penthouse was high enough that the breeze took the edge off the heat. I breathed deeply, the tang of salt from the ocean air helping to clear my head. I leaned over the railing, enjoying the feel of my wind-tousled hair teasing the sensitive skin on my bare shoulders.

I felt Balthus’ presence behind me and turned to accept one of the chilled crystal flutes he held. He gently reached to tuck a few strands of hair behind my ear, his fingertips gliding down my neck to linger warmly on my shoulder. His touch amplified the sensations I had already been enjoying, and I had to close my eyes and force myself to remain still against the wave of desire that blossomed through me.

“It’s beautiful here,” I prattled.

“It certainly has its charms,” Balthus agreed with a smile. “I come here quite frequently, actually.”

“This penthouse is fantastic. I wish I could live here.” I shivered with growing anxiety.

Balthus’ fingers tightened on my shoulder and I felt that odd prick of unease in my spine again. But then his fingers began a slow massage, dissolving away my tension as if by magic. He took my glass from my nerveless hand and placed it beside his on a nearby table.

“Why not?” he whispered. “Surely a woman as lovely as you deserves to live in such a beautiful penthouse. What else do you wish, Sydney?” he asked, his breath softly stirring the hair near my temple as he moved closer.

I leaned into the warmth of his body. “I wish…” Hmm…I was sure I wished a lot of things…but I could only seem to think of one desire as I stared up into the fiery depths of Balthus’ eyes…

“That’s enough,” a disembodied voice interrupted from the darkness.

The words I had been about to speak died on my tongue.

A man appeared, as if he had melted away from the shadows of the wrap-around balcony to assume solid form.

I froze, furious with myself for having been so stupid as to go somewhere this private with a man I’d just met. Actually, it was more terror desperately trying to work its way up to fury—until I noticed that Balthus looked every bit as stunned as I did.

Holding onto the small morsel of relief provided by that, I clutched at his hands where they rested on my shoulders, trying to dissolve back into him and away from the other man.

My relief was short-lived as my gaze shot to the man’s hand. He was pointing something at us. My breath caught in my throat and my brain screamed Gun! Panic swelled, excluding all other thought. Yet for some reason, my eyes kept trying to break in and signal my brain that something was off.

I didn’t know much about weapons, but the one this man was holding looked rather odd. It seemed to be made entirely of tarnished bronze, and the finger loop at the back looked more like a handle than a trigger.

“Miss, step away from the djinn.”

I had the distant thought that the stranger’s tenor brogue sounded Irish. He stared at me expectantly, impatience tightening his features when I didn’t immediately obey his command. My brain finally kicked into gear as I realized that, despite my attraction to Balthus, I didn’t know him well enough to stand between him and a bullet. The thought eased my guilt as I began to inch away from him, my mind registering distractedly that the stranger had called him…the djinn?

I didn’t get far before Balthus’ grip tightened painfully on my shoulders.

“Stay where you are Sydney,” he commanded. His cultured voice belied the unpleasant manner in which he held me. “She is mine, by right.” He glared at the other man.

I stiffened, not liking the sound of that at all. “Um, I’m not sure what’s going on here,” I began, raking Balthus with an indignant glare, “but I really wish the two of you would just…”

“SHUT UP!” growled the man with the gun. “Not one more word if you value your pathetic life at all!”

My mouth snapped shut at his vehemence. “Ow!” I gasped as Balthus’ fingers dug deeper into my shoulders, my own fingers scrabbling helplessly against his in an attempt to pry them out of the indentions I was sure they were making in my skin. It felt as if they were beginning to burn brands into my flesh. My panicked gaze flew to the man in front of us as his voice rang out with authority.

“Balthus of King Moab’s tribe of the Ifrit djinn, in the name of Impellier, I sentence you to imprisonment for crimes against the Realm. In the name of Impellier, I summon you into containment until such time as the Realm sees fit to free you.” He broke into the lilting syllables of a strange foreign language, his words taking on the tone of a well-practiced chant.

Not that I understood much of what he’d said in English.

But I did notice that, as the man continued speaking, Balthus’ grip on me weakened. I took the opportunity to duck away from him and scramble back into the corner between the wall and the railing of the balcony, as far away from the both of them as I could get without taking a dive off the tenth storey.

The bizarre, chanting man blocked the escape I longed for—back inside the penthouse and into the elevator, down and away from this stupid, over-priced hotel full of assholes.

This whole night had been a mistake.

“She is mine by right!” Balthus insisted, a note of pleading breaking through his demand.

His words might have galled me more, if I hadn’t been so damned scared, and if my brain hadn’t started to register the fact that Balthus seemed to be…fading. His legs were going smoky and transparent, and the phenomenon was spreading slowly up his body. I blinked as my obviously damaged mind tried to convince me that the Balthus-smoke was drifting toward the barrel of the gun that the other man was pointing at him.

No. Not a gun, I realized. It was an old-fashioned, metal oil lamp. I couldn’t do anything but stare—it was either that, or pass out. Come to think of it, unconsciousness might have been preferable, but I’d never been the type of girl to swoon.

“Sparrow, she’s mine!” Balthus let out a thin, petulant wail, the smoky remains of his upper body drifting toward the opening in the lamp’s spout and disappearing, as if he was being sucked into it by a vacuum.

“Shut it, Balthus,” the man replied, sounding irritated. “You know damn well that if she’d completed the contract, you’d have already claimed her.”

And with that, Balthus’ smoky head vanished, and he was gone. I felt a mad giggle rise up into my throat as I watched the last of him get sucked into the narrow metal spout. My eyes rose disbelievingly to the stranger’s face. He was gazing intently at the lamp, making a complicated hand gesture over it and whispering a series of unintelligible words.

Then he tucked the lamp into a pocket inside his jacket, where it disappeared without leaving so much as a lump or a crease. Surprising, but hardly worth comment after what I’d just witnessed. That task completed, he focused his attention on me.

I was hoping he’d have forgotten my presence, but no such luck. All the air left my lungs and the old phrase ‘like a deer in the headlights’ suddenly took on a very personal meaning. I searched desperately for a third option to my innate fight or flight response. I was trapped in the corner with him blocking the door, and somehow I didn’t think I’d come out on top in a contest of strength.

The man had about a foot on me and he looked solid.

His eyes pierced mine for a long moment, and then he waved over the railing. “If your life means so little to you, you could just jump.”

Then he turned and went inside the penthouse.