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The Last Affair

by A.C. Arthur

CHAPTER ONE

Aurora Mountain Ski Resort

Finger Lakes Region, New York

DESTA HENNER WALKED into the main hall of the ski resort like a boss. That is, her shoulders were back, her chin held high, her steps assured, and nothing but confidence radiated from her body. That’s how her assistant, Nessa, described the way Desta entered any marketing meeting. Even thousands of miles away from the office, the same energy applied.

Check-in to the Dear Lover weekend retreat had taken fifteen of the longest minutes of her life, possibly because she’d confirmed her attendance and made reservations at the last minute. Now she wore her name badge proudly and walked past all the people she didn’t know, giving nods and smiles before coming to a stop at the farthest corner of the room.

This might be a mistake. Some things were better left unchanged. Especially good things, which was precisely what she’d had for the last three months. An online connection with an intelligent thirty-three-year-old man who shared her love of R&B music and foreplay. Who would’ve thought a virtual relationship could’ve brought her so much joy and fulfillment? More importantly, after all she’d been through, who would’ve thought she’d crave any of those things with a man again? Certainly not her, but she’d taken a chance when she’d signed up for the Dear Lover app. Tonight, she’d meet Dear Lover 1687 for the first time face-to-face.

“Hello, beautiful.”

She spun around, barely noticing the trip in her pulse at the sound of a deep and alluring male voice.

“Hello.” He was taller than her, so she tilted her head to meet his gaze.

“Why’re you standing all the way over here by yourself? This is Mix ’n’ Mingle time.” She supposed he meant to highlight those words with the waggle of his eyebrows, but it just came across as weird. Besides, she knew what time it was. She’d read the agenda that had been emailed with her confirmation a couple times already.

“I just arrived after a very long drive from the city.” Not exactly true. She’d gone to her room after checking in, taken a shower and changed for the welcome party. In addition to being tall, the man had an athletic build, sandy-brown hair cut low and neat, sea-green eyes and a charming smile.

Was this Dear Lover 1687?

Dear Lover offered full anonymity; all posts went through their message board so personal email addresses were hidden. User identifications were numbers instead of some variation of the person’s name or nickname. And when couples linked up, they were strongly advised not to reveal any personally identifying information. So, she and Dear Lover 1687 hadn’t discussed anything outside of world news, favorite foods, dream vacations and, of course, every sexual position, fetish and/or fantasy they’d ever had. None of which were helpful in figuring out if he was the guy standing in front of her.

“Well, it’s Friday, and I don’t care what my watch says. It’s five o’clock somewhere, so we’re having a drink.” He snagged two champagne flutes from a passing server’s tray and offered her one.

Accepting the glass with a slow smile was polite, but she needed to cut to the chase. “What’s your user number? Aren’t we supposed to wear them so we can meet up with the one we’ve been talking to?” After all, that was the purpose of being here. While the Dear Lover app was advertised as just a social networking site for adults, private events were held for their members four times a year. Attendance was voluntary.

Before answering her question, the cheerful green-eyed guy put the glass to his lips, emptied the contents and then stuck a hand in his pocket to pull out a badge.

“This is a long weekend, baby. We’re not confined to one meetup.” Again with the pet names he probably thought were cute and the strange eyebrow waggling. This time, after she’d peeped the number on his badge, both actions were registering as creepy.

Plus, he wasn’t Dear Lover 1687.

“I only came to meet one person.” In case he didn’t understand the words, she shook her head so vehemently it almost caused an instant headache.

“But it’s time to mingle.” No doubt hunting for another drink or possibly another meetup, he