Chapter Twenty-Two #2
In truth, the last thing I wanted was for those two to hook up.
But Delphine was truly sweet, and she’d endured some hard knocks.
Over the course of the day, the cruelty of her line of work had slowly dawned on me.
Men desired her — desperately — but God forbid she made a guest appearance in a client’s “real life.” She was smart, funny, and interesting, but all men saw were tits, ass — and blood, in Henrik’s case.
“I pay the baker for my baguettes, but I thank him too. Sincerely,” I ranted.
“You want me to thank her?” Henrik blinked, uncomprehending.
It took everything I had not to shove him. “I want you to appreciate her. To see her.”
“I see her,” he insisted.
“You see her the way you see furniture. You barely even notice she’s there.”
His face hardened. “It’s better that way.”
“For you or for her?”
His eyes flashed, and for the first time that evening, I wasn’t just annoyed. I was afraid.
“For everyone involved.” He tossed back the rest of his drink, set it down with a thump, and straightened his tie. “If the lecture is over, I’d like to get back to work.”
He strode off, leaving me gaping. Then I caught myself and followed him, tightening the scarf around my neck.
I glanced around, but if anyone had noticed, they looked away politely. All except one strikingly curvy woman over by the wall, who didn’t bother hiding her amusement. She didn’t bother hiding her interest in Henrik either.
Yes, he looked good — not to mention rich and aristocratic. But, yuck. The guy was a self-absorbed, coldhearted vampire.
She was a dark-haired Spanish beauty, all curves from her lips to her hips, like Catherine Zeta-Jones or Russell Crowe’s hot, doomed wife in Gladiator. And, yikes — even from this distance, I could sniff her perfume — a label Delphine had pointed out to me during our shopping spree.
Carolina Herrera “Good Girl,” she’d said. They call it “catnip for men.”
I wanted to huff and tell the woman, He’s all yours, honey. I’m just his fake date for the evening.
But I couldn’t. Anyway, what did I know? She might be just as self-absorbed and coldhearted as Henrik. Maybe they were a perfect match.
For the next ten minutes, I remained as close to Henrik as I could stand, quiet and sullen. I figured I could get away with it, because a self-absorbed man’s date had the right to grow disgusted with him from time to time.
Still, I had to admit, Henrik knew how to schmooze.
I didn’t catch on at first, wondering why he devoted his attention — such as it was — to the people around Lukas Dobrov rather than targeting the art dealer directly.
But that’s what he did, dropping offhand remarks about apartments in London, Paris, and Dubai, as well as racehorses, vineyards, and disgruntled employees.
Even I was buying into the bored billionaire act until he mentioned a chateau that sounded a hell of a lot like mine.
He glanced my way, and the twitch at the corner of his mouth was a smirk aimed at me.
And bit by bit, he reeled Dobrov in.
A mention of golf courses — courses Henrik implied he owned, not just played on — and Dobrov’s head turned.
A comment about Scotch whisky aged for sixty years in sherry casks made the art dealer step closer.
And when someone mentioned the decor in Baumann’s lushly appointed villa, Henrik heaved a sigh of deep suffering.
“I’ve been looking for a good decorator for months.”
Over by the wall, Marius rolled his eyes.
But, hell. It worked, because Dobrov hurried over to introduce himself to Henrik with a long, hearty handshake.
I barely merited a glance, despite a dress that made every other man in the place leer — especially at the skin-toned part covering my chest. But to Dobrov and Henrik, I was just there, like the rug under their feet.
I balled my hands into fists and fantasized about telling Dobrov about my chateau, my vineyard, and my racehorse.
Okay, no racehorse and lots of leaks in the chateau, but the wine from the vineyard was mighty fine, if I did say so myself.
“I couldn’t help overhearing you,” the slick, diminutive man said. “I dabble in decorating myself.”
I bit back a snort. Dabbled or dealt — as in precious, lost art?
Henrik stifled a yawn and turned away. Which had the same effect as ignoring Delphine: the more Henrik shunned, the more desperately she — or Dobrov — sought him out.
The man stuck to Henrik like a burr to a sheep, nodding and smiling at anything Henrik said. Behind him, I spotted the curvy woman with her big lips, big boobs, and plunging neckline. Her gaze caught on someone across the room, and her eyes lit up with mischief.
I watched her sashay away, and good riddance. Let her seduce some other man tonight.
Dobrov gradually maneuvered himself in front of Henrik, and when the conversation paused, he jumped at his chance.
“What really sets Ronald apart is his taste in art,” Dobrov said, picking up where he’d left off minutes earlier.
Henrik let his eyes slowly drift over the walls, where monochrome works of modern art hung in minimalist frames.
“Not to my taste.”
“Oh no. Not this,” Dobrov said quickly. “I mean, not just this. Ronald has decorated different sections of the house in different styles.”
“You don’t say,” Henrik murmured, signaling for another drink.
Bene ambled by and presented his tray with a flourish. Clearly not his first catering gig.
I snagged a water, while Dobrov snatched two flutes and offered Henrik one. The vampire accepted without a word of thanks to either man.
“What are you looking for? Maybe I can help,” Dobrov tried.
Oh, I bet he could.
Henrik gestured vaguely. “Something less…contemporary, I suppose.”
I nearly snorted. Yes, by about 150 years, give or take. Or were decades mere dog years in a vampire’s world view?
Dobrov lit up like a kid on Christmas. “I’ve helped Ronald acquire a few good pieces over the years. I was about to present a selection of exclusive pieces to a few friends. Would you like to have a look?”
Henrik frowned at his watch as if he had somewhere better to be. Then he sighed. “I suppose I could. What do you think, darling?” He locked his hand over mine.
It took everything I had not to yank away. “Of course, darling.”
My pulse rose as we followed Dobrov down the hallway Bene had indicated, with three other guests joining us along the way. I glanced back at Marius for reassurance and—
—nearly stumbled over my own feet. Miss Curves and Plunging Neckline was practically hanging off his arm. Whispering in his ear. Chuckling.
When she ran her hand over his chest in an easy, intimate gesture, my heart stopped. This wasn’t her first time touching Marius. She knew him. Intimately.
Bile rose in my throat.
“Who’s that?” I asked Henrik
He turned to look with the same dull, what do I care expression, then blanched.
“Celeste.” His tone dropped dangerously.
“And she knows Marius?”
He snorted. “Oh, she knows him, all right.”
Then it hit me. Celeste — Marius’s ex.
“Will she cause trouble?” I asked, though I already knew.
“That woman is nothing but trouble,” Henrik sniffed.
At last — something we agreed on.
Over by the far wall, Roux looked equally shaken.
“Does she know you? All of you, I mean?” I asked.
Henrik grimaced. “Yes. She works for Gordon too.”
I grimaced. “What crime did she commit?”
Henrik scowled. “She doesn’t have to work for Gordon. She chooses to.”
My gut roiled. It was bad enough to discover that Gordon dealt with arms dealers, vampires with ambiguous morals, and other criminals.
But somehow, Celeste made it even worse.
I didn’t know much about her, but one thing was clear.
The woman was a crocodile creeping through murky waters, waiting to prey on unsuspecting souls.
“Come along, come along,” Dobrov called.
Henrik shot a last look at Celeste, then tugged me along.
“Come along, darling.”
Conspiracy theories flashed through my mind. What if Henrik was in cahoots with Celeste? What if they were plotting some kind of double-cross?
Marius looked more thunderous than ever, and his eyes telegraphed urgent messages. Stop. Don’t. Danger!
Two burly security types stepped into the hallway, blocking my view of him.
Henrik shot me an icy look that echoed what he’d said before. Not the time for second thoughts.
I sucked in a breath, though my throat was dry and tight.
For Dad, I reminded myself, following Dobrov, Henrik, and the others into the library.
The moment I stepped inside, guards thumped the heavy oak doors shut behind me.