Thorin let go of me so fast I fell back into the car. “Where did you hear that?”
“I-I just saw it,” I said and tried to bring back the memory before the details faded. “It was you, standing in a field at the edge of a dark forest. You were wearing armor. It was an army, and you were all preparing to fight.”
His eyes widened, and his mouth had popped open in an O of surprise. My vision had obviously upset him.
“Aleksander, is everything all right?” A sophisticated, feminine voice crept between us, and Thorin swallowed his distress. He tugged me out of the car and held me steady as I fought for balance on my ridiculous heels. Still holding my hand, he blanked his face and turned to the speaker, a striking woman reminiscent of Cruella de Vil, if Cruella were younger and a hell of a lot sexier. Tall and slim, but elegantly curved, she wore her dark hair long and sleek. A thick streak of white shot through from her right temple down to the tips.
“Helen,” Thorin said, “it’s nice to see you again.” Helen Locke stretched out a slim, manicured hand. Thorin dropped my hand and took hers, brought her fingers to his lips, and brushed a kiss over her knuckles. Helen’s lids slit like a satisfied cat’s, and she stepped in closer to him. “Let me introduce you to someone.” Thorin motioned in my direction. “Helen, this is Solina Mundy.”
Helen turned to me, taking notice of me for the first time. “Oh, Alek, I didn’t know you had taken to playing with dolls.”
Cheap bait, I thought. I didn’t take it. Instead, I smiled and shoved my hand toward her. “Pleasure to meet you, Miz Locke.”
Helen took my hand, briefly squeezing my fingers before dropping them like a slimy, dead fish. She was a force of personality that struck like a physical blow. Inside, feral Solina reeled back, crouched low, and growled at her. Outside, polite Solina smiled and batted her eyelashes. Helen returned my greeting, but she frowned and narrowed her gaze. Her eyes matched the contrast of her hair—a sky-blue eye on the right to set off her white streak, and an ebony eye on the left, complementing the majority of her dark hair. Her features repelled and attracted at the same time.
“Be nice, Helen,” Thorin said, lacing my hand into the crook of his elbow. “Miss Mundy is an innocent.”
Helen Locke chuckled low in her throat, a cobra hissing before a strike. “You could have said the same about me a long time ago, couldn’t you, Alek? You knew me then, but no one stays innocent for long in our business, do they?”
Helen turned and strode toward the hotel entrance. A dark shadow of a man stepped out from the hotel doorway, offering his arm. Helen curled herself around him and purred.
“She’s something,” I said, careful to keep emotion from my voice. I didn’t want Thorin to know how much she disturbed me.
“Do you begin to understand the kinds of sharks we’re dealing with?”
I waggled my finger and shook my head. “Uh-uh. Wolves, remember? Let’s not go changing our metaphors in the middle of the game.”
Thorin grunted. “I want to hear more about whatever it was you saw, but now is not the time.” He gazed into my eyes, searching as if he hoped to see in them the things I saw in my mind. He blinked, shook his head, and led me into the hotel.
Chapter Nineteen
During the first hour, the cocktail hour, the attendees schmoozed while waiters poured drinks and passed trays of canapés. I eyed the dining room tables wistfully and coveted the cushioned chairs. Only a short while into the evening, and already the balls of my feet complained about bearing the brunt of my weight. Freaking high heels.
“Try not to fidget,” Thorin hissed in my ear.
I glared at him. If he disliked my display of discomfort now, wait until I kicked off my shoes and paraded to dinner in bare feet. Even though I liked girly accessories – and the shoes did do wonderful things for the shape of my legs – I spent the majority of my days wearing clogs that offered plenty of support. Backyard barbecues were more the custom in my little home town. I only dressed up for church, and my mother would have fainted if I showed up in anything over a two-inch heel.
A waiter came by and offered to get me a drink. Before I could reply, Thorin ordered for both of us—seltzer for me and a beer for him, something imported, by the sound of the name.
“I beg your pardon”—I leaned into Thorin’s ear so I could speak without drawing attention—“but your ordering for me exceeds my tolerance threshold for chauvinistic behavior.” I did not stomp off in a childish fit. Not in those heels. Instead, I wobbled after the waiter, intending to catch him and change my order. But someone intercepted me first.
“Hello, darling. Aren’t you a breath of fresh air?” A man who I guessed was only barely younger than my father stepped in front of me and took my hand. “J.D. Shruck,” he said. “And you are?”
I blanked my face, hiding my annoyance. “Solina Mundy.”
With his carefully styled hair, bleached teeth, and the unnaturally healthy glow only achieved in a tanning bed, J.D. Shruck reminded me of a Ken doll’s older brother, but a little slimier, a little greasier. Must be from Vegas.
“You came in with that big fella over there, didn’t you?” He motioned to Thorin, who was talking to a redhead in a gorgeous silk sheath dress.
“Yes. I’m… with him.” I didn’t know how else to categorize our relationship.
Shruck raised his eyebrows. “You don’t sound so sure. Lucky for me.”
I frowned. What does this guy want?
“I’ve been watching you ever since you came in the door, honey. You got that kind of presence.”
“News to me,” I said, and I meant it. I could have run for president of the National Wallflower Society and won by a landslide. I arched a brow, indicating my new acquaintance should get on with his point.
“You ever do any stage work? Dancing, perhaps?”
My lack of finesse on my heels should have made the answer obvious, but I was pretty sure J.D. wasn’t looking at my feet. And I was pretty sure “dancing” didn’t mean ballet. I opened my mouth to tell him he had the wrong girl, but someone else beat me to it.
“She’s not your type,” said an unfamiliar woman as she stepped up beside J.D. “Look at her. She’s entirely too sweet and innocent.”
J.D. sniggered. “Nothing at all like you, Donna.”
Donna rolled her eyes then winked at me. She wore a strapless dress, and her curves wobbled every time she shifted her weight. Judging by the smirk on his face, J.D. approved.
“Honey,” she said to me, “don’t waste your time on this little slime ball. He’s only charming when he’s prospecting for new girls to line his pockets.”
If that was charming, I’d hate to see him on a bad day. J.D. and Donna sniggered at each other and dismissed me, tipping their heads close to gossip about other guests. I wasn’t sure what kinds of girls Donna had meant, but I could make a couple of guesses that involved poles and insufficient clothing. I sidestepped away from them and edged toward the bar.
The waiter passed me a glass of bubbly water trying to disguise itself as something more amusing by wearing a slice of lime on its rim. “Toss a shot of Southern Comfort and a little lime juice in there, will you?” I said.
The waiter’s eyebrow flickered up and he chuckled, but he took my glass to the bartender, who tipped in a generous shot of bourbon. I stuffed a ten-dollar bill in the bar’s tip jar. “Bring me another in ten minutes,” I said and grimaced. The heels were killing me.
I strolled around the room, studying the other guests as discreetly as possible, hoping all the while that no one noticed me. Helen had found Thorin again. She stroked her fingers down the length of his tie and whispered in his ear. An unexpected bubble of jealousy floated up from somewhere inside me. I pushed the feeling down and looked away. What did I care about their flirting?
