“Why do I get the feeling I’m at court?” I murmured.
“And there’s the king himself,” Raphael said.
The guests parted and I saw a man. Of average height, he had a wealth of wavy hair the color of pale amber. An expensive suit of light gray sketched his lean figure. He turned.
Huh. Anapa was beautiful.
He was in his late thirties, closing in on forty. His narrow face, with pronounced cheekbones and a strong chin, was masculine but it was a civilized masculinity, refined, aristocratic, and very carefully groomed. Some wealthy men carried grooming too far, trimming their eyebrows and shaving their chins until they looked slightly feminine. Anapa stopped on the right side of that. His hair was perfectly cut but slightly tousled. His eyebrows still retained some shagginess. His lips were full and crisply drawn, but his cheeks and chin suggested the future possibility of stubble. His large blue eyes, with hooded eyelashes, betrayed a lively intellect and a spark of humor. His skin, sun-painted and dark for a blond, spoke of the South, bright sun, and blue water. He didn’t seem Nordic in the least. More like Mediterranean.
He saw us and smiled, making laugh lines at the corners of his eyes stand out. It was a warm, friendly smile, as if he found something about us incredibly amusing and couldn’t wait to share.
“We’ve been seen,” Raphael said, starting toward Anapa.
We strolled through the crowd toward our host. “How are we playing this?” I asked.
“I’m a businessman and you are my brainless delicious arm candy.”
Delicious arm candy? “It’s good Rebecca isn’t here or she’d think I was poaching.”
“She wouldn’t know the meaning of the word,” Raphael said, his face flat.
“Oh, she isn’t a jealous type?”
“No, she actually wouldn’t know what the word meant.”
Ha!
The woman in the blue dress in front of us stepped aside and Anapa approached us.
“Mr. Medrano.” Anapa offered his hand.
Raphael shook it. “Happy birthday.”
I batted my eyelashes and did my best to appear dumb as a board.
“Thank you, thank you.” Anapa looked at me, still smiling, an appreciation in his eyes. There was nothing at all sexual in his gaze. He examined me more the way one would examine a rare good-looking dog. Or a horse. “And you would be his lovely companion.”
I slipped into my Texas twang and offered him my hand. “Good evenin’. Such a pleasure to meet you.”
Anapa took my fingers into his. He raised my hand, as if to kiss it, and paused, inhaling the scent instead, savoring it. “Mmm.” He chuckled softly. “You have the most intriguing body.”
Okay, that was freaky.
Raphael moved, subtly inserting himself between me and Anapa. His hand covered mine and the other man let go. “Dear, say good-bye to Mr. Anapa. He has other guests to meet.”
“Bye.” I wiggled my fingers at him.
Anapa grinned at us again. “For now.”
Raphael steered me into the crowd.
“What the hell was that?”
“I don’t know,” he growled. “He seemed normal before.”
Apparently I had a special gift for bringing out the crazy in men.
We moved to the refreshments table and turned, scanning the room. A man on the staircase to our right. Two guys by the exit, a woman by the balcony, but no guards in the hallways radiating from the main room. I plucked a small piece of toast with pine nuts and mushrooms heaped on it from the appetizer tray and took a bite. Hmm. Yummy.
“Second floor,” I murmured.
“Mhm,” Raphael agreed.
If the office had been on the first floor, it would have a guard restricting access to it.
“Ready?” Raphael asked.
“Sure.”
We stepped to the right in unison and began weaving our way from one group of people to the next. The second floor would have to wait. We had just come in and the guards were still watching us, and if they were good, they had probably nailed my identity by now. We had to circulate until they focused on someone else.
Forty minutes later, we had made a complete circuit of the room. The old Raphael used to be expert at small talk. He spoke to men about business, paid women subtle compliments, and everyone loved him. The new Raphael at my side seemed grimmer and less willing to chitchat. Despite his looming at my side like a dark but gorgeous shadow, we managed to ferret out the location of the office from a clueless older couple who had been invited there before. Anapa’s lair of doom was on the second floor on the south side of the house. Coincidentally one of the first-floor bathrooms was on the south side too, a fact I discovered when I went to fix my hair.
The music grew louder. Couples were dancing, in the middle of the floor, swaying back and forth. The alcohol was going as fast as the waiters brought it out. A few people looked good and sauced on Anapa’s superior grog. The small talk went from weather and harmless gossip to spicier topics and meaningful stares as the booze lowered inhibitions.