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hastily since his expression remained quizzical.
    Telling random people what she did for a
living sometimes generated weird responses. Often they judged her
personality based on her profession. It was like telling someone
you were an accountant or a librarian or an exotic dancer. Certain
professions made people assume they knew all sorts of things about
you, and engineer was one of them. Her personality did include some
engineer stereotypes, but pocket protector wasn't one.
    Usually though, they were merely surprised.
She was a rare female in a male dominated field and she didn't look
the type that had to don a hard hat and steel toe boots at work.
Men she met in bars were often intimidated, especially if they were
in the construction field.
    "Impressive." Sitting on the barstool next to
her with perfectly erect posture, the stranger rested his arm
casually on the bar, his hazel gaze unwavering as he focused it on
her. "How long will you be staying?"
    "'Til the end of the week." Julia sipped
nervously at her wine as he studied her. His scrutiny was making
her uneasy, mostly because she was unsure why he was sizing her up.
He didn't seem to be hitting on her. It felt more like he was
trying to determine if she was safe .
    Shit, maybe they were selling drugs here. She was out of place. Maybe he thought she was a cop. It would
explain the distrustful stares of the patrons.
    "Well, welcome to New Orleans. I am Armand,
by the way."
    Of course he was. It was a perfectly
appropriate name for him. "Julia."
    "It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance,
Julia." For someone with impeccable manners, it was surprising when
he didn't offer to shake her hand.
    And a little suspicious.
    One of the sexy couples that had been dancing
earlier approached them. The man was tall and slender, and his
crushed velvet pants clung to marathon runner thighs. With perfect
victory rolls crowning her blond waves, and wearing a sleet pencil
skirt and fitted blouse, the woman looked like a 1940s pinup
girl.
    Julia felt completely underdressed here. Only
Armand and the bartender matched her casual style.
    Yet somehow she felt more comfortable in Luxure than she had at Pat O'Brien's, where she actually
looked like she belonged.
    Well, she might feel more comfortable if the
other patrons would quit trying to stare her down.
    "Armand, your services please?" the man said.
His face was filled with a kind of lustful anticipation.
    "Of course." With the grace of a dancer,
Armand rose from the barstool. "Please excuse me, Julia."
    "No problem." She watched after him as he
turned and led the couple to a closed door, unlocked it, and then
held it open while they slipped inside. When his hazel eyes caught
her staring, she quickly looked away and he disappeared into the
room.
    Wow. That was weird. What could his services possibly be? It had to be drugs. Nothing else made
sense.
    Not that Julia really cared one way or the
other. As far as she was concerned, it wasn't her responsibility,
the government's, or anyone else's to decide what grown adults put
into their bodies.
    Although, it did make this place even more
dangerous.
    Still, she wasn't leaving just yet, even if
it'd be prudent to do so. She was fascinated by this bar, the wine,
the gorgeous people, the music, Armand...
    Julia finished off the last of the rich wine.
She'd have one more and then head back to the hotel. It wasn't too
late yet, 10:30 or so. She just needed to get the attention of Mr.
Muscles behind the bar.
    He was talking quietly to another dark
haired, pale skinned patron. After her summer tan wore off, Julia
had a pretty fair complexion as well, but nothing like the people
here. Only redheads and albinos were this pale and she didn't spot
a redhead or albino one. It was very unnatural.
    Opening her wallet, Julia hoped to get the
bartender's attention without having to interrupt his conversation.
It worked.
    "Same wine?" he asked in a rough, guttural
voice.
    "Please."
    As he filled her glass, he