AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He must feel me staring, because he glances up, making direct eye contact with me. He shoots me a little half smile and raises his glass in a toast. I grin back and tip my wine glass toward him, acknowledging the gesture. Holy hell, that little smile takes his hotness up to another level.
As if it knows what I’m up to, my phone bings with an incoming text. I glance down to see a message from Oaklyn, my best friend and former roommate. Ha, maybe shedoesknow what I’m thinking. She can be uncanny like that.
I grin and tap out a quick reply.
Of course she is. I feign innocence.
Oaklyn is not one to be deterred. She knows me well, and ever since she fell in love with her hulk of a husband, she’s been a hopeless romantic. The captain of team Pair Everyone Off. Besides, I’ve shared enough wild stories that she knows all about my penchant for fun when I’m in Horizon City. And part of me wonders if she also knows about my secret loneliness. I think I cover it pretty well, but we did live together for three years.
She tacks on an emoji with raised eyebrows. I chuckle and glance back at Tall and Hot in a Good Suit. Maybe I have found something else, depending on where the night takes me.
I add a quick wink to the message, put my phone on Do Not Disturb, and slide the device into my purse. In reality, it’s pretty unlikely I’ll find what I’m looking for. I’ve been trying for years, and have yet to meet a man who can keep up with me and meet my needs. Still, it never hurts to try.
In my day-to-day life in Haven’s Hollow, I’m pretty reserved, at least on the outside. I have a handful of close friends, but I tend to keep to myself and focus on my business. When I’m in Horizon City, though, all bets are off. No one knows me here, and I can be—and do—anything I want. I can shuck the shackles of the conservative, vanilla businesswoman and indulge myself in anything I want: dessert, alcohol, handsome men.
Book Trip week is my freebie, no-holds-bar week.
With that in mind, I wave my hand to the eye-candy at the bar in a little “come here” motion. One of his brows pops up, but he nods, tosses back his drink, and strides to my table.
“Hello,” I say. “I’m Adria. Would you like to join me?” It’s bold, yes, but I’ve never been a believer in walking on the timid side. I gesture at the empty chair across from me, and he slides into it and sticks out a hand.
“Fiero Barbieri,” he says. “It would be my absolute pleasure.”
Intriguing. His name is one million percent Italian-sounding, but his accent is…slightly Scottish, maybe? Or perhaps very northern England? Just the vaguest hint of a burr that suggests he was born overseas, but with the lyrical roll of Italian mixed in. Like maybe he was raised by parents from two different countries and developed a hybridized accent of both. Or perhaps was raised bilingual.
His hand is big and warm, the palm just a little rough. He sort of drags it against my own hand as he pulls back, just an extra beat of contact that makes me take notice.
“It’s nice to meet you,” I say, my voice husky. I take a sip of wine to wet my suddenly dry throat.
“What brings you to the Pavilion?” he asks.
I grin and glance around at all the art deco detailing, complete with gold finishes and gleaming velvet upholstery. Even the polished wood floors shine like stars. “It’s my favorite hotel in the city. Gorgeous architecture, flawless service, and lavish rooms. I never stay anywhere else.” The suites really are impeccable: complimentary cashmere robes, slippers, santal candles, silk pillowcases. The whole nine.
“Not from here, then?”
“No,” I say, not interested in elaborating on why I’m in the city. Business talk is boring. “You?”
He nods. “I live here. I stopped by the Pavillion tonight because I was hoping to catch a…friend, you might say, but it looks like I struck out.”
It takes everything in my power not to ask if he was hoping to meet a lady friend. And why he wasn’t quite sure what to call the person. Did he not want to admit to meeting a lover?
“Sorry to hear that. Maybe your friend is running late.”
He waves his hand absently. “Eh, not likely. And not important. I can catch up with him another time.”
Relief washes through me. Not a woman, then. As long as Fiero is straight—and I’m getting major vibes that he is—I might have a chance at an intriguing evening. “In that case,” I say, “perhaps we can still salvage your night.”
He purses his lips and his eyes sparkle. “Intriguing. When a gorgeous woman offers to improve my night, I’m never stupid enough to say no.” He leans back in his chair and signals the waiter for a fresh drink.
“I’ve already eaten, but I’m happy to keep you company if you want to order something,” I offer.
He shakes his head. “I’m hungry, but not for anything on the menu here.” There’s a slightly wicked note in his voice, and my whole body notices. Yum. I think we might be craving the same thing.
The waiter returns, bringing a bourbon for Fiero and dessert for me: a slice of cherry chocolate torte.
