“Anytime, Sweetie.” The brown-haired Vivienpulled a cube of ice out of her glass and sucked on it nervously.“Don’t be angry, but…” she started as she crunched down, “I’veinvited a few male friends to meet us.”

Shooting her a cold look, Elsa puckered hermouth and glared angrily at her. “Oh, Viv, why did you do that? Itold you I’m not interested in meeting anyone. I just moved hereand the last thing I want is the hassle of having to pamper someman’s ego.”

Vivien rolled her eyes in response. “Who saidanything about pampering an ego? It’s just a night out. And, hell,maybe you’ll get lucky.”

Elsa sighed loudly. “I’m not interested ingetting laid. And don’t you know - all men want their egos stroked.I should know. I’m good at attracting the kind of men who demandthat sort of indulgence.” she mumbled. And those were precisely thekind of men she couldn’t say no to and who had trampled her hearttime and time again.

She had made it perfectly clear to Viv thatmen were off the menu as far as she was concerned, even if it hadbeen a long five months since her last tryst. She smiled weakly atVivien and shrugged her shoulders in resignation. No, she didn’tneed the hassle of a man, but she supposed it wouldn’t hurt to atleast enjoy the evening out.

When the men arrived, she was polite asusual, but made it known she wasn’t interested in any kind ofrelationship, physical or otherwise. It made no difference becausefour shots of bourbon and two beers into the evening, theoverly-touchy blonde, muscle-head whom Viv had invited was turningout to be a real douchebag. When he began putting his hands allover her, she voiced her objections repeatedly, but he wasrelentless. His pushiness and insufferable cologne agitated herbeyond reason and when his hand ‘accidentally’ brushed up againsther breast for the second time and he let out a disgusting, breathychuckle, all her professionalism and self-restraint flew out thewindow.

With cheeks flushed, she hissed, “You prick,”as she raised a hand ready to slap the smug smile off his face.

At that very moment, she heard the clink ofglass next to her and felt something cold and wet on the front ofher skirt. She jumped off the stool and looked down to see herselfdrenched in sangria.

“Watch what you’re doing, you asshole!”Blonde Douchebag garbled at the man on her left who had tipped herdrink over into her lap,

Elsa found it a little more than ironic thatthe drunken Blonde Douchebag was suddenly defending her honor whenhe was the asshole making unwanted advances. She grabbed a handfulof napkins and dabbed her skirt in an attempt to soak up as much ofthe beverage as possible and motioned for Viv to get their drunk,unwanted guest under control.

“I’m deeply sorry, Elsa,” she heard fromabove her in an unfamiliar, husky voice that resounded with a staidcalm.

When she looked up, the man’s heavy-liddedand seductive, pitch-black eyes staring down at her were so focusedand penetrating, she almost lost her footing when she quicklyattempted to put distance between them.

“Do I know you?” she asked, looking him overclosely.

One corner of his mouth lazily curled upward.“No, but you really should get some salt on that before it stains,”he gestured toward her skirt.

She quickly glanced downward. There was noway that stain was coming out, salt or not. She frowned. It was herfavorite skirt. Making her way to the restroom, she slipped out ofthe garment and spot cleaned it under the sink and then placed itunder the hand dryer. Right after wiping the sticky residual offher thighs, she slid back into it. Her eyes rested on her face inthe mirror and she took a quick inventory of herself: smile linesat the corners of her mouth from happier times, unmistakable sad,dark brown eyes hidden behind long lashes framed by smudgedmascara.

Staring at her reflection and still poutingover the loss of her much loved skirt, she recalled the awkwardmemory of her last sexual encounter. She had hoped anonymous sexwould take her mind off of Patrick, but it had only reminded of herof how lonely and in need of a man’s attention she really was. Andhow quickly Patrick had gotten over her and found his nextmuse.

Thinking about the failed relationship withher direct supervisor put her in a worse mood than she was alreadyin. She was sure he had been ‘the one.’ Positive, in fact. Like alove-struck idiot, she had practically picked out her wedding gownand monogrammed linens. But that had been her fatal mistake –assuming he felt the same way even though he had never said asmuch. Their sex had been good, but she realized that’s all it hadbeen to Patrick – just sex. How was she supposed to know she hadbeen blind-sided by lust and that she had never been more wrongabout anyone in her entire life?

Images of Patrick’s horrified look when shementioned moving in together flashed before her eyes and his harsh,cold words of rejection seeped into her thoughts. Having to see himevery day at work, hear his voice, and smell his cologne lingeringin the room was all just too much. She had fled Boston in search ofa new life in a smaller city, one that was far away from hernumerous botched past relationships and miserable thoughts.

She touched up her make-up and dabbed a bitmore scarlet lipstick onto her thick, pouted lips. She thought shehadn’t looked half bad considering her circumstances. Elsa tookpride in her appearance. Not to say that looks meant everything toher, but just that she believed in putting her best foot forward inall situations. Her new position at work was a significant step upthe managerial ladder and she was a professional, after all.

Emerging from the restroom, the man who hadruined her outfit was propped up against the opposing wall, lookinglike an aristocratic, Italian male model posing for a fashionmagazine. He was all solid, lean body dressed in a tight, blackleather jacket over a white cotton shirt that was open at theneckline revealing a light dusting of chest hair. His black slackswere hanging sexy and low on his hips, emphasizing the slimness ofhis form. There was no denying that he was exceptionallygood-looking. With his rich espresso-colored hair perfectly coiffedto a fine mess, long, straight nose, and stubbled-to-perfectionface – he was masculine perfection personified. Any other time Elsawould’ve fumbled over herself to get a better look at him, butsomething about his cool demeanor and the ferocity held within hisgaze set her nerves on edge. She had been on the receiving end ofthat kind of look before and it had only gotten her into trouble.She couldn’t tell how old he was, but she guessed he was closer toforty than thirty, or somewhere in the middle.

All of a sudden she remembered he had usedher first name only to deny knowing her. Had he been listening toher conversation with Vivien? When she warily approached him, hestood upright, his stance emphasizing the force of his thighs andslimness of his hips. The muscles around his eyes tightened as heglanced at her skirt.

“You’re welcome,” he spoke in a low, composedvoice while his eyes roamed over her body before resting on hermouth.

Elsa blinked several times trying to processwhat his haughty remark meant before finally giving in and asking,“For what?”

The man said nothing and his eyes once againdarted to the pink discoloration on her skirt. When he met hergaze, he lifted his eyebrows as if expecting a response ofgratitude.

“Am I supposed to thank you for ruining myfavorite skirt?” she asked in wide-eyed astonishment.

“No. For getting you out of a bad situationbefore you acted irrationally.”

Her lips parted in surprise. So he had beenlistening to her conversation. And watching her. The man’svoice carried a unique strength, but his ruthless, authoritativelook was terrifying. Uncomfortable with the heat sparkling in hiseyes, a flicker of apprehension coursed through her and she lookedover his shoulder, suddenly wishing Vivien would show up. Hell,she’d even settle for Blonde Douchebag.