Chicagoland Vampires - Friday Night Bites Part 24

"You're a ballet dancer."

"Wasa ballet dancer," I reminded him. I glanced around and saw the mult.i.tude of eyes on us, then leaned toward him. "I am not going to dance with you," I whispered, but fiercely. "Dancing is not part of my job description."

"It's one dance, Sentinel. And this is not a request; it's an order. If they see us dancing, perhaps they'll adjust to our presence a bit faster. Perhaps it will soften them up."

The excuse was hokey, but I could hear the mumbles of the people around us, who were wondering why I was standing there, why I hadn't yet accepted his hand.

I had the strangest sense of deja vu.

On the other hand, I was at home, which meant a meeting with my father was imminent. My stomach was beginning to knot. I needed something to keep my mind off of it, and dancing with a ridiculously handsome, if often infuriating, Master vampire would probably do the trick.

"You owe me," I muttered, but took his hand, just as the quintet began to play "I Could Have Danced All Night."

I slid a glance to the members of the quintet, who grinned like they'd made their very first vampire joke.

And maybe they had.

"Thank you," I mouthed to them, and they nodded back at me in unison.

"Your father hired comedians," Ethan commented, as he led me to a spot in the middle of the empty floor. He stopped and turned, and I placed my free hand on his shoulder. His free hand, the one that wasn't clutching mine, went to the back of my waist. He put pressure there, pulling me closer-not quite, but almost, against the line of his body. His body around mine, it was hard to avoid the scent of his cologne-clean, crisp, irritat ingly delicious.I swallowed. Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea. On the other hand, best thing to do was keep the mood light. "He has to pay people who have a sense of humor. Since he's lacking one," I added, when Ethan didn't laugh.

"I understood the joke, Merit," he quietly said, sparkling emerald eyes on me as we began to sway. "I didn't find it funny."

"Yes, well, your sense of humor leaves something to be desired."

Ethan spun me out and away, then pulled me back again. Stuck-up or not, I had to give him props-the boy could move.

"My sense of humor is perfectly well developed," he informed me when our bodies aligned again. "I merely have high standards."

"And yet you deign to dance with me."

"I'm dancing in a stately home with the owner's daughter, who happens to be a powerful vampire."

Ethan looked down at me, brow c.o.c.ked. "A man could do worse."

"A man could do worse," I agreed. "But could a vampire?"

"If I find one, I'll ask him."

The response was corny enough that I laughed aloud, full and heartily, and had the odd, heart-clenching pleasure of watching him smile back, watching his green eyes shine with the delight of it.

No, I told myself, even as we danced, even as he smiled down at me, even as his hand at my waist, the warm weight of it, felt natural. I looked away, saw that the people around us watched us dance with obvious curiosity. But there was something else in their expressions-a kind of sweetness, like they were watching a couple's first wedding waltz.

I realized how it must look. Ethan, blond and handsome in his tuxedo, me in my black silk ball gown, two vampires-one of whom was the daughter of the host, a girl who'd disappeared from society only to reemerge with this handsome man on her arm-locked together, smiling as they shared a dance, the first couple to take the floor. If we'd actually been dating and had wanted to announce our relationship, we couldn't have staged it better.

My smile fell away. What had felt like a novelty-dancing with a vampire in my father's house-began to feel like a ridiculous theatrical production.

He must have seen the change in my expression; when I looked back at him, his smile had melted.

"We shouldn't be doing this."

"Why," he asked, "should we not be dancing?"

"It's not real."

"It could be."

I snapped my gaze up to meet his. There was desire in his eyes, and while I wasn't naive enough to deny the chemistry between us, our relationship was complicated enough between Sentinel and Master. Dating wasn't going to make things easier.

"You think too much," Ethan quietly said, approbation in his voice.

I looked away at the couples finally beginning to join us on the dance floor. "You train me to think, Ethan.

To always think, strategize, plan. To evaluate the consequences of my actions." I shook my head. "For what you're suggesting-no. There would be too many consequences."

Silence.

"Touche," he finally whispered.

I nodded almost imperceptibly, and took the point.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

AN OFFER THEY CAN'T REFUSE.

We'd eaten, danced, and sipped champagne for nearly an hour, and still saw no sign of my father or the Breckenridges. It was hard to play Nancy Drew without evidence.When I caught the interested rise of Ethan's brows, I looked automatically in the direction of his gaze, expecting to see Joshua Merit nearby.

But instead of my father, in the midst of a circle of laughing men, stood the mayor.

At thirty-six, Seth Tate was in the beginning of his second term. He'd named himself a reformer, but hadn't been able to produce the economic renaissance he'd promised when campaigning against the Potter political machine that had ruled Chicago before his election. He'd also given my grandfather his position as...o...b..d, thereby officially opening the city's administration and enforcement wings to Chicago's sups.

Tate was tall and surprisingly fit for a man who evaluated policy all day. He was also almost ridiculously handsome. He had the face of a rebellious angel-black hair, crystal blue eyes, perfect mouth-and a patented bad-boy brood that no doubt made him the fantasy of more than one woman in the Windy City.

He'd been named "America's s.e.xiest Politician," his face splashed on the covers of more than one newsmagazine. Despite the press, Tate was still single, but it was rumored he'd installed mistresses in a sprinkling of Chicagoland neighborhoods. None, as far as I was aware, were vampires. Although, having seen the voluptuous nymphs that ruled the segments of the Chicago River, it wouldn't have surprised me if he'd slipped one of them into his rotation.

I looked back at Ethan, his gaze on Tate, and saw a strange look of covetousness on his face. That's when the gears clicked into place.

I knew Ethan wanted access to my father and those of his ilk. Our attempt to keep the raves out of the press was a handy means toward building that connection. But the raves and the story aside, Ethan wanted access to Tate. Access that Tate hadn't, at least until now, been willing to provide.

"You should say h.e.l.lo to our young mayor," Ethan said.

"I've already said h.e.l.lo," I said. I'd met Tate twice before. That had been plenty.

"Yes," Ethan said. "I know that."

Slowly, I slid him a glance, my eyebrows raised. "You know that?"

Ethan sipped his champagne. "You know that Luc researches his guards, Merit, and that he did his background on you. I've reviewed that background, and I can read theTribune as well as anyone."

I should have known. I should have known they'd have found the article, and I should have known Luc would have given it to Ethan.

I'd been home for a long weekend during my junior year at NYU. My parents got tickets to the Joffrey Ballet, and we'd run into Tate outside the theater, where aTrib reporter snapped a shot of Tate and me shaking hands. That's not the kind of thing that would have normally been picture-worthy, except for the fact that it almost perfectly mirrored aTrib picture of us from six years earlier. The first time around, I'd been fourteen with a bit part in a big ballet production. Tate had been a young alderman at the time, two years into law school. Probably to make inroads with my father, he'd delivered flowers to me after the performance. I'd still been in costume-leotard, tutu, pointe shoes and tights-and the photographer caught him in the middle of handing over a paper-wrapped bouquet of white roses. TheTrib reporter who caught us at the Joffrey performance apparently liked the symbolism, and both shots ended up, side by side, on the local news page.

I suppose I couldn't fault Ethan for thinking ahead, for milking every drop of opportunity, but it stung to play middleman again.

"Humans are not the only political animals," I muttered.

Brows lifted, Ethan glanced over at me. "Is that a review of my tactics, Sentinel?"

Shaking my head, I looked back at the crowd and, surprisingly, found appraising blue eyes on me. I smiled slyly. "Why, no, Sullivan. If you have the perfect weapon, you might as well use it."

"Pardon me?"

"Let's see how well I can act, shall we?"

Before he could ask what I meant to do, I put on my brightest Merit-family smile, straightened my spine, and sauntered over to the mayor's throng.

His gaze following me as I moved, Tate nodded absently to those around him, then steered his way through the crowd and toward me, two men in stiff suits behind him. The entourage was not a turn-on,but I appreciated his decisiveness.

Tate didn't stop until he reached me, blue eyes sparkling, dimples perked at the corners of his mouth.

Political upstart or not, he was undeniably attractive.

We met in the middle of the room, and I guessed, given his quick glance behind me, that Ethan had followed me.

"Ballerina," he whispered, taking the hands I held out to him.

"Mr. Mayor."

Tate squeezed my hands. When he leaned forward, pressing his lips to my cheek, a lock of soft dark hair-worn a little longer than generally thought appropriate by Chicago's more conservative voters-brushed my cheek. Tate smelled like lemon and sunshine and sugar, a weirdly ethereal combination for a city administrator, but delicious all the same.

"It's been too long," he whispered, and a shiver trickled up my spine. When he pulled back, I glanced behind me, saw enough fire in Ethan's emerald eyes to feel vindicated, and indicated him with a negligent hand.

"Ethan Sullivan, my . . . Master."

Tate was still smiling, but the smile didn't quite reach his eyes. He'd been excited to see me, for reasons lascivious or otherwise. He was clearly less excited to meet Ethan. Perhaps hehad been avoiding encounters with the city's Masters. And here I'd gone and forced it. On the other hand, there's no way my father wouldn't have mentioned that we were planning to attend the party-that was information he wouldn't have been able to keep to himself. That was warning enough for Tate, I decided.

Ethan stepped forward, beside me, and Tate reached out a stiff hand.

"Ethan, glad to finally meet you."

Liar, liar, I thought, but watched the interaction with fascination.

They shook hands. "It's an honor to finally meet you, Mr. Mayor."

Tate took a step back, gave me an obvious perusal, the grin on his face softening a look that would have otherwise felt completely demeaning. (And, as it was, felt only forty to fifty percent demeaning. Bad boy or not, he was awfully pretty.) "I haven't seen you in years," Tate said. "Not since the lastTribune picture." He smiled charmingly.

"I believe you're right."

He nodded. "I'd heard you moved back to Chicago to work on your doctorate. Your father was so proud of your academic accomplishments." That was news to me. "I was sorry to hear that you'd . . .

halted your academic studies."

Tate slid a glance in Ethan's direction. Since I'd halted my studies only because Ethan had made me a vampire, the shot at Ethan was completely unsubtle and, frankly, a little surprising. Did Tate a.s.sume animosity between us? Or was he simply trying to create it, to drive a wedge?

While I admittedly enjoyed tweaking Ethan, I was still on his side, and I wasn't naive enough to think that biting the hand that fed me was a good idea, even to flatter the mayor.

"I believe the immortality more than makes up for the diploma," I told Tate.

"Well," he said, not hiding his surprise. "I see. Apparently, even the mayor isn't always in the know." I appreciated that he took the hit, that he could recognize that his intel about the supposed animosity between me and Ethan, from whatever sources, hadn't been entirely correct.

Nor, to be honest, was it entirely incorrect.

"I wanted to thank you," I told him, changing the subject, "for the trust that you've put in my grandfather." I glanced around, thinking it best to limit what I said about my grandfather's position in mixed company-and in my father's house. As far as I knew, my father knew nothing about my grandfather's duties as the Ombud. I planned to keep it that way.

"Without getting into the details, given that this is neither the time nor the place for that kind of discussion," I prefaced, and Tate nodded his understanding, "he's glad he's able to stay busy, to help, and I'm glad to know I have someone in my corner. All of us are."

Tate nodded like you'd expect a campaigning politician might-seriousness and gravity in his expression.

"We're on the same page there. You-all of you-deserve a voice in Chicago."One of Tate's body men leaned toward him. The mayor listened for a moment, then nodded.

"I'm sorry to leave you," he told me, his lips curled into a melancholy smile, "but I need to get to a meeting." He reached a hand out to Ethan. "I'm glad we were finally able to connect. We should put aside some time to talk."

"That would be appreciated, Mr. Mayor," Ethan agreed, nodding.

Tate looked at me again, opened his mouth to speak, but then seemed to think better of it. He put his hands on my upper arms, leaned toward me, and pressed his lips against my cheek. Then he shifted, his lips at my ear. "When you can get away, get in touch. Call my office-they'll put you through, day or night."

The "day" part of that was superfluous, given my little sunlight problem. The rest of it-the fact that he'd requested a meeting from me, not Ethan, and the access he'd just granted-was surprising, but I nodded at him when he pulled back.

"Good evening," he said, with a half bow to both of us. One of his guards stepped before him and began to tunnel through the crowd. Tate followed into the s.p.a.ce he'd made, a second guard behind him.

"He wants me to call him," I tattled, when the crowd had re-formed around us. "He told me to get in touch, anytime. That his office would put me through." I glanced up at Ethan. "What could that be about?"

Ethan frowned down at me. "I've no clue." He kept staring at me, one eyebrow arching into obvious disapproval.

"Why the long face?"

"Is there anyone who isn't infatuated with you?"

I smiled at him, with teeth. "If not, it's because you haven't a.s.signed them to me yet. Mata Hari at your service. Would you like to add him to the list?"

"I don't appreciate your sarcasm."