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Not unattractive, but not stunning either. He smelled of a woodsy soap, rugged and pleasant. And he carried himself with a quiet confidence, a take-it-or-leave-it attitude that was more contented than arrogant. His hazel eyes held a mischievous sparkle, though, and when they caught mine, I fancied I saw a spark of recognition. And a question posed with one raised eyebrow. I not only saw it, I heard it just as clearly as if he’d spoken it—or, rather, kissed it onto the skin of my neck, just below my ear. And I felt it, down there, between my legs. There is no way he could’ve missed the shiver that passed through my body at that moment. I knew instantly that I would follow him wherever he led, just for the chance to feel those hands on my skin. He could be an axe murderer, I cautioned myself. My rational side was muzzled by a libido that would not be denied. He signed his name and collected his purchases, stepping aside and turning toward the door. I wanted to call out to him, to tell. ”Disappointed, he stood up and very politely nodded, “Oh, sure, well, it was nice talking to you.” He smiled that easy, confident smile, then touched my wrist just very lightly and turned back to his end of the bar. Our eyes met once again at a distance.The music was recorded and was Sinatra singing. “In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning” very softly in the background. You could almost imagine him singing it right there in this beautiful, rich bar. He always described himself as a Saloon Singer, and indeed this opulent setting would have been perfect.I had started my second drink when I asked the barman for directions to the Ladies’ room. He indicated the direction with a gesture of his head. “Just down there to the left, Ma’am.”The direction took me along the long bar and past Bob, the man who bought my drink. I was sure Bob noticed me, but he gave no indication. I was slightly relieved that he seemed absorbed in his lonely drink.The hallway was very dimly lighted, and I found the.
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