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 aboutmychâteau, my vineyard, and my racehorse.
Okay, no racehorse and lots of leaks in the château, 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, notjustthis. 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.
