And that hair.
As black as sin, it fell in a smooth river to his shoulders. Tonight he had pulled back the top layer in a gold clasp, leaving the bottom to brush the expensive fabric of his tux.
If there was a woman in the room who wasn’t imagining running her fingers through that glossy mane, then Anna would eat her silver-beaded bag. Conde Cezar had only to step into a room for the estrogen to charge into hyperdrive.
A fact that was earning him more than a few I-wish-looks-could-kill glares from the Hollywood pretty boys by the fountain.
Anna muttered a curse beneath her breath. She was allowing herself to be distracted.
Okay, the man looked like some conquering conquistador. And those dark eyes held a sultry heat that could melt steel at a hundred paces. But she had already paid the price for being blinded by the luscious dark beauty.
It wasn’t happening again.
Busily convincing herself that the tingles in the pit of her stomach were nothing more than expensive champagne bubbles, Anna stiffened as the unmistakable scent of apples filled the air.
Before she ever turned she knew who it would be. The only question was…why?
“Well, well. If it isn’t Anna the Good Samaritan,” Sybil Taylor drawled, her sweet smile edged with spite. “And at one of those charity events you claim are nothing more than an opportunity for the A-listers to preen for the paparazzi. I knew that holier-than-thou attitude was nothing more than a sham.”
Anna didn’t gag, but it was a near thing.
Despite the fact that both women lived in L.A. and they were both lawyers, they couldn’t have been more opposite.
Sybil was a tall, curvaceous brunette with pale skin and large brown eyes. Anna on the other hand barely skimmed the five-foot mark and had brown hair and hazel eyes. Sybil was a corporate lawyer who possessed the morals of a…well, actually she didn’t possess the morals of anything. She had no morals. Anna, on the other hand, worked at a free law clinic that battled corporate greed on a daily basis.
“Obviously I should have studied the guest list a bit more carefully,” Anna retorted, caught off guard, but not entirely surprised by the sight of the woman. Sybil Taylor possessed a talent for rubbing elbows with the rich and famous, wherever they might be.
“Oh, I would say that you studied the guest list as closely as every other woman in the room.” Sybil deliberately glanced across the room to where the Conde Cezar toyed with a heavy gold signet ring on his little finger. “Who is he?”
For a heartbeat, Anna battled the urge to slap that pale, perfect face. Almost as if she resented the woman’s interest in the Conde.
Stupid, Anna.
Stupid and dangerous.
“Conde Cezar,” she muttered.
Sybil licked her lips that were too full to be real. Of course, there wasn’t much about Sybil Taylor that was real.
“Euro trash or the real deal?” the woman demanded.
Anna shrugged. “As far as I know, the title is real enough.”
“He is…edible.” Sybil ran her hands down the little black dress that made a valiant effort to cover her considerable curves. “Married?”
“I haven’t a clue.”
“Hmmmm. Gucci tux, Rolex watch, Italian leather shoes.” She tapped a manicured nail against too-perfect teeth. “Gay?”
Anna had to remind her heart to beat. “Most definitely not.”
“Ah…I smell a history between the two of you. Do tell.”
Against her will Anna’s gaze strayed toward the tall, dark, thorn in her side.
“You couldn’t begin to imagine the history we share, Sybil.”
“Maybe not, but I can imagine all that dark, yummy goodness handcuffed to my bed while I have my way with him.”
“Handcuffs?” Anna swallowed a nervous laugh, instinctively tightening her grip on her bag. “I always wondered how you managed to keep a man in your bed.”
The dark eyes narrowed. “There hasn’t been a man born who isn’t desperate to have a taste of this body.”
“Desperate for a taste of that overused, silicone-implanted, Botox-injected body? A man could buy an inflatable doll with less plastic than you.”
“Why you…” The woman gave a hiss. An honest-to-God hiss. “Stay out of my way, Anna Randal, or you will be nothing more than an oily spot on the bottom of my Pradas.”
Anna knew if she were a better person she would warn Sybil that Conde Cezar was something other than a wealthy, gorgeous aristocrat. That he was powerful and dangerous and something that wasn’t even human.
Thankfully, even after two centuries, she was still capable of being as petty as the next woman. A smile touched her lips as she watched Sybil sashay across the room.
Cezar had felt her presence long before he’d entered the reception room. He’d known the moment she had landed at O’Hare. The awareness of her tingled and shimmered within every inch of him.
It would have been annoying as hell if it didn’t feel so damn good.
Growling low in his throat at the sensations that were directly connected to Miss Anna Randal, Cezar turned his head to glare at the approaching brunette. Not surprisingly the woman turned on her heel and headed in the opposite direction.
Tonight his attention was focused entirely on the woman standing in the corner. The way the light played over the satin honey of her hair, the flecks of gold in her hazel eyes, the silver gown that displayed way too much of the slender body.
Besides, he didn’t like fairies.
There was a faint movement from behind him and Cezar turned to find a tall, raven-haired vampire appearing from the shadows. A neat trick considering he was a six-foot-five Aztec warrior who was draped in a cloak and leather boots. Being the Anasso (the leader of all vampires) did have its benefits.
“Styx.” Cezar gave a dip of his head, not at all surprised to find that the vampire had followed him to the hotel.
Since Cezar had arrived in Chicago along with the Commission, Styx had been hovering about him like a mother hen. It was obvious the ancient leader didn’t like one of his vampires being in the control of the Oracles. He liked it even less that Cezar had refused to confess the sins that had landed him near two centuries of penance at the hands of the Commission.
“Tell me again why I am not at home in the arms of my beautiful mate?” Styx groused, completely disregarding the fact that Cezar hadn’t invited him along.
“It was your decision to call for the Oracles to travel to Chicago,” he reminded the older demon.
“Yes, to make a ruling upon Salvatore’s intrusion into Viper’s territory, not to mention kidnapping my bride. A ruling that has been postponed indefinitely. I did not realize that they intended to take command of my lair and go into hibernation once they arrived.” The fierce features hardened. Styx was still brooding on the Oracles’ insistence that he leave his dark and damp caves so they could use them for their own secretive purposes. His mate, Darcy, however, seemed resigned to the large, sweeping mansion they had moved into on the edge of Chicago. “And I most certainly did not realize they would be treating one of my brothers as their minion.”
“You do realize that while you may be lord and master of all vampires, the Oracles answer to no one?”
Styx muttered something beneath his breath. Something about Oracles and the