Page 105 of Brushed By Moonlight

He waved his glass. “Look around. See the caterers? The musicians? They’re all staff. That’s what Delphine is. She’s been hired to do a job, just like them.”

“Not at all like them,” I muttered.

His eyes flashed and not in a good way. “Delphine is here for a paycheck, and she’ll get it — a very handsome one.”

“What if a paycheck isn’t all she’s after?”

He frowned, genuinely confused. “What else would she be after?”

Boy, he really didn’t get it, did he?

“When we arrived last night, Delphine ran into your arms. That wasn’t an act,” I growled.

Henrik’s brow furrowed.

“Every time she looks at you, her eyes light up — and not with dollar signs. All that time we were out shopping, it was, ‘Do you think Henrik would like’ this or that? She couldn’t wait to show you her dress.”

“She showed everyone her dress.”

I shook my head. “She showed it to you. And all you could say was ‘nice.’” I mimicked his deep, bored voice.

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 toappreciateher. Toseeher.”

“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 inGladiator. 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 château that sounded a hell of a lot like mine.