A Risky Proposition (2 page)

“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.

Chapter 2 – Contractual Obligations

Still frozen in place, although relieved to be alone on the balcony, I stared after the man who had vaporized my date for the evening.  I wondered why his less than appealing escape suggestion had left me feeling more insulted than terrorized. 

“Asshole,”
I muttered, knowing damn well I wasn’t brave enough to say it to his face.

I watched him through the sliding glass door as he performed a thorough search of the sitting room.  He felt in the cracks of the sofa and chair cushions, and then dropped into a rather impressive push-up to peer beneath the furniture, before disappearing behind the bar.