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.
Raphael took my hand and led me to the middle of the floor.
“What are you doing?” I asked through my smile.
“If I have to listen to another recount of how Malisha from Accounting hooked up with Clayton from Legal, I’ll lose my mind.” He turned me, still holding on to my hand, maneuvering me into a classic dance pose. His arm slid around my waist and I shivered.
“So you thought dancing would be better?”
“Yes.” He began swaying. “Pretend to enjoy it.”
“A handsome man, a great party, lovely food. What’s not to enjoy? Oh wait, the man is you.” I began swaying, too. I was really good at swaying. He would regret ever pulling me on this floor. “You like screwing with me, don’t you?”
“Well, since we decided not to screw each other anymore, I have to get my fun somehow.”
Since we’re playing that game… I tilted my face up to his and gave him a lovesick gaze.
“Do you have to sneeze?” he asked.
“Be quiet. I’m pretending to enjoy your company, just as you said.”
“Try not to strain anything.”
“Oh, I won’t. I’m very good at faking it.”
That shut him up.
We kept swaying. Standing close to him like this, all but wrapped up in his arms, was pure torture. I leaned closer to him and made a small noise, not quite a growl, not quite a purr, made from desire and lust. Raphael focused on me, like a hungry cat on a mouse.
“You should take me to the bathroom to make out,” I told him.
A flash of ruby fire exploded in his irises and melted. He leaned closer, pulling me to him. “What?”
“You should take me to the bathroom to make out,” I repeated into his ear. “There is no way we can make it up that staircase. We can use the bathroom window to get to the second floor.”
Raphael’s hand slipped from my waist to cup my ass. A little electric zing dashed through me.
“Wow, straight for the goods, huh?”
“Can’t just make out right out of the blue.” Raphael’s grin was pure evil.
We swayed for a bit more.
Raphael squeezed my butt.
“Seriously?”
He shrugged a little. “Faking it, honey, you remember.”
I wrapped my arms around his neck, stretched against him, like a lazy cat wanting a stroke.
At the other end of the room someone shattered a glass. The room collectively turned toward the sound. Raphael took my hand and we quietly slipped away into the left hallway. It was mostly deserted. Two guys milled about at the wall, engrossed in a discussion that involved phrases like “asshole” and “like he runs the damn place.” They didn’t pay us any mind.
A small sign on the door to the right said, BATHROOM.
Raphael tried the door. The handle didn’t turn in his hand. Occupied.
A security guy stepped out from the room down the hallway, a severe unsmiling block of a black suit complete with an earpiece.
Raphael pushed me against the wall and braced my body with his, catching my right arm above my head and pinning it against the wall with his left. The oldest cliché in the playbook.
He studied my face for a tiniest second, bent down…His lips touched mine.
I wanted to kiss him. I wanted him so badly and that need blocked out everything else. And why the hell couldn’t I kiss him? So what if he had a fiancée-to-be? I didn’t owe her anything. Being good was overrated.
Raphael licked my lips, demanding, seducing. His teeth caught my lower lip, pulled lightly. I had him all to myself. In this moment he was entirely, completely mine.
I opened my mouth.
He lingered, kissing my lips, slowly, surely, as if we had all the time in the world and there was no need to hurry. Little electric shocks shot from my heart all the way to my fingertips.
His tongue slid into my mouth and touched the tip of mine. He tasted like Raphael: spice, fire, and need wrapped into one. I licked him, inviting him in. We kissed, every stroke of his tongue, every touch of his
hands caressing my body, magnified to an almost painfully intense sensation. Warmth spread through me, my body ready for more. I wanted him to touch me. I wanted his hands on my breasts. I wanted to pull his clothes off and run my fingers down the hard muscle of his chest. I teased him, enticing him, then pulling back, letting him think he could reclaim my mouth and taking his instead.
It felt like coming home. It felt like medicine soothing a raw wound. I loved him so much, and I kissed him, drinking in the cocktail of sweet memories and bitter future.
The bathroom door opened next to us, the sound too loud in my ears.
I stopped and instantly Raphael straightened. A short man who had come out of the bathroom gave him a thumbs-up with a “Go you!” smile and headed down the hall. The security man was nowhere in sight.
The kiss had torn a gaping hole inside me. I wanted Raphael. I wanted to hold him and to know that he was all mine. I wanted to make love. I needed a cold shower.
I had to get myself together and I needed to decide how bad I was going to be, because making love to him in this bathroom right now would be really, really bad.
Raphael held the bathroom door open for me. I stepped inside. He followed and locked it.
Get a hold of yourself. You can do it. It was just a stupid ruse anyway.
He had the most self-satisfied look on his face. He’d wanted me to melt right there and now he felt all smug because he’d gotten under my skin. Apparently I was a toy.
You bastard. Okay, let’s see how you like this.
I pushed him against the door and kissed him again, sliding my body against his, nibbling, licking, purring in his arms. He went for it, hook, line, and sinker. I let him start stripping his jacket off and broke away.
“I think the bars on the window have silver in them, don’t you?”
He stopped, his tuxedo halfway off his shoulders.
“It’s good that I brought gloves.”
“Andrea!”
“What? Oh, you mean the kiss? I’m sorry, I wasn’t quite finished. I’m all done now, no worries.” I patted his chest. “Your virtue is intact. You won’t have to confess anything to Rebecca. It was just one kiss. It didn’t mean anything.”
His snarl was music to my ears.
I turned to the window. It was near the ceiling that it was just wide enough for us to get through. The bars formed a rectangular grate that gleamed weakly in the light of the moon, too pale not to be a silver alloy. Silver meant burned hands. I’d handled silver bars with bare hands before. It felt like grabbing something dipped in acid.
I opened my clutch and took out my glass cutter and my gun, a black shirt, and a pair of cloth gloves. Behind me Raphael paced the length of the bathroom like a caged tiger.
All my hormones were still in overdrive, and my whole body was humming. My hands shook a little.
Inside the bag was a carefully concealed zipper. I unzipped it, and where a normal clutch would have had a lining, this one had thin shoulder straps and extra material that allowed it to be unfolded into a larger backpack. I’d had it custom-made some time ago.
“Fancy.” Raphael commented.
“Glad you like it. Now I know what to get you for your birthday.”
“I want mine in blue,” he said. “To match my eyes.”
“Whatever you say.” I slipped on the gloves. “The window is barred. Could you lift me, please?”
He wrapped his hands around my legs and picked me up without a word. He didn’t just lift me, he embraced me, caressing me without moving his hands. I was still keyed up, and when he touched me, I almost groaned.
Oh, it was on now. We were playing a sadistic little game, and I wouldn’t lose to him.
I grabbed the grate. Solid. I braced one knee against the wall, and yanked it hard, pushing against Raphael. The grate came free. Raphael lowered me to the floor. I slid the grate behind the vanity, next to the trash can, slipped off my shoes, and turned my back to him.
“Could you unzip me?”
He touched my neck and drew my zipper down, slowly. A delicious little thrill ran through me. I had no idea I had so much bouda in me.
I stepped out of the dress. Underneath I wore a tiny black bra and spandex bike shorts. I slipped the shirt on, rolled my dress up, packed it, my shoes, my lucky bracelet, and my clutch into the backpack, and buckled the belt diagonally across my chest.
“Swiss Army Purse,” Raphael observed. I heard the familiar playful notes in his voice. The kiss must’ve thrown him off balance, but he’d recovered now, and he was up to something. “Any handcuffs in there?”
“No, why, do you think I’ll need some?”
“Depends on what you’re planning to be doing and with whom.”
And he went there. The Old Andrea would have given him a look. I leaned over to him with a sweet smile. “I don’t need handcuffs to keep a man in my bed. I think we both know that. If I really wanted to take you away from your fiancée, I would. Lucky for her, I’m not a glutton for punishment.”
I put the glass cutter into my mouth, jumped up, and slid through the window, holding on to the bricks with my fingertips before he called my bluff. I heard Raphael unlock the bathroom. A moment later he pulled himself through the window with easy grace.
We climbed up like two lizards, hurrying up the wall. Raphael reached the second-floor window and ripped the grate off with a casual tug. I cut a semicircle of the window’s glass, popped it out, slid my hand through the opening and unhooked the latch. The second latch followed, and I slid the window up and dived in, legs first. Raphael followed, setting the grate back in place.
I looked around the dim room. The contours of a large canopy bed rose from the gloom to the right.
Raphael brushed against my back. My body stood at attention. Sex? Yes, please. My mind said, “Not until hell freezes over.”
“You’re touching me,” I chided him.
He caressed my back, sliding his hand down, hitting every sensitive point I hadn’t even known I had. “No, this is touching you. That was just accidental contact.”
“Oh? Good to know. If you touch me again and I break your arm off, you can be sure it will be completely accidental.”
He stepped close, his thigh brushing my butt. I elbowed him in the ribs. It was hardly a gentle nudge.
He laughed.
“I know it’s difficult, since I have a shapely butt and all, but try to focus on our illegal burglary.”
“As opposed to legal burglary?”
Argh.
I snuck to the door and edged it open. The hallway was empty. Ahhh. Finally things were looking up. I padded out of the door and down to the end of the hallway, where a massive wooden door loomed. Supposedly the office waited behind it. I left the bedroom and jogged to the door. Raphael followed me.
I tried the handle. Unlocked.
“Too easy,” Raphael murmured.
If we got caught, the Pack would have hell to pay.
“No choice now.” I stepped into the office.
The scent of myrrh spiced the air. Rows of brown shelves looked at me, filled with assorted volumes and objects. A brigantine cast in pewter with startling detail. An ancient vase, a statue of a muscular man kneeling. Next to the shelves, a heavy rectangular desk sat on a spare rug, its corners trimmed with golden accents. Three chairs waited for someone to sit down, one behind the desk and two in the corners of the room. Shimmering golden curtains framed the two windows. Decorations of twisted metal hung on the black walls, the most prominent being metal scales with a moon above them, on the wall directly opposite the desk. The moon’s stylized eyes were closed to mere slits and her mouth smiled.
The place was empty.
Raphael moved past me and checked the windows. I locked the door and slipped behind the desk. From this vantage point, the room took on a new light. Every object within the office had been placed into a precise position oriented with the person behind the desk in mind. The desk was the center of this little cosmos, and the momen
t I sat behind it, I became the focal point of the room, as if I had assumed a place in the center of some invisible convergence of power. If inanimate objects could worship, the trappings of Anapa’s office would have knelt before me, because I sat in the place of their god.
The tiny hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Whatever intelligence was at work here, it couldn’t possibly be human. People did not think like this.
Raphael peeled himself from the window and stood by me. “What?”
I beckoned him with my hand. He approached and I took him by the shoulder and tugged him down to my level. “Look at the room.”
He surveyed the office. His eyes widened.
“It’s not just me, is it?” I whispered.
“No.” He bared his teeth. “The sooner we get out of here, the better.”
I tried the bottom drawer. It opened easily. I rummaged through it. Papers, monthly business statements from the bank…nothing interesting. I tried the top one. Locked.
Raphael pulled a pick from his pocket and threaded it into the lock. He twisted and the lock clicked. Raphael slid the drawer open. A brown leather folder. I plucked it out, put it on the desk and opened it. A clear plastic sleeve shielded a photograph: an ivory bowl carved with figures of people engaged in combat and long vessels with little cabins sailing over the sea of drowned men.
“What do you think the country of origin for this is?”
Raphael was watching the office. “Hell if I know.”
I wished I had Kate with me. She would’ve told me when and where it was made and for what god.
I turned to the next plastic page. This photograph showed an ancient jug made of brown clay with a long conical spout. The tip of the spout had broken off.
“What do you think this is?”
“A piss-pot.”
“That is not a piss-pot. Will you take this seriously?”
“I’m taking this very seriously,” he said under his breath.
I flipped the plastic. A beat up–looking dagger with an ivory handle…Wait a minute.
“I know this.” I tapped the plastic. “I saw it today in the library. Jamar had bought that knife. It’s from Crete and I didn’t see it in the vault.”
I stared at the knife. It was very plain, with a foot-long, curved blade and a simple ivory handle in surprisingly good condition.
Gunmetal Magic (kate daniels) Page 15
