Page 31 of Girl Anonymous

No! Maarja did a double take.

Not Dante. Handsome, younger, unscarred: he was Dante as Dante would have been if the explosion had never happened. His full upper lip was shaped like a heart, with an indent that went well with the sexy half smile he developed when he saw her. He changed directions to intercept them, and not for the first time in her life, she saw the full seductive force of a man who thought he was God’s gift to women.

Before he reached his goal, Fedelma stepped between them, spitting such a rapid stream of non-English invective that Maarja, who had taken four years of French, caught merely a word here and there. But the tone was clear;This woman is out-of-bounds.

He stopped in his tracks, and for a moment, his expression turned ugly. He wiped that away so quickly it was almost a mirage. That half smile returned, and he chucked Maarja under the chin. “When he’s done with you, I’ll call.”

As he strode away, Maarja stared after him. “Unbelievable! Back to the 1950s.”

“That’s Connor Arundel,” Fedelma told her. “He’s a second cousin to Dante.”

“Connor? That’s quite a name. I can tell he’s related, because of the looks, of course, but he’s got the attitude.” The asshole attitude, and mean with it.

“He’s been much spoiled. He’s childish when he’s crossed, and a wild card Dante holds close.” Fedelma lowered her voice. “Between you and me, he can be dangerous. Avoid him when possible.”

Maarja nodded. “I’ll do my best to avoid them all.”

Too late, Maarja. You messed that up yesterday when you let the old memories lead you to risk your life for an Arundel.God, when she considered what she had started, she wanted to clasp her hands around her head and squeeze some sense into herself.

When she looked up, Fedelma was waiting patiently for her to return to the present. “Ready?” She acted as if Maarja’s momentary breakdown was entirely to be expected.

Maarja supposed that was true. The last twenty-four hours had been like some black comedy, the kind sophisticated people laughed at and she winced about. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

Fedelma led her down the hall to what must have been designed as a massive dining room now turned into an equally massive office.

Maarja had barely enough time to take in the high ceilings, filled bookshelves, broad fireplace surrounded by an odd seating arrangement, the oddly stark standing desk before the windows, and the looming man’s shadow behind it before Dante said, “Maarja, welcome to the heart of my business domain.”

Said Hades to Persephone.

CHAPTER 13

As Dante walked out from behind the desk and away from the bright windows, he came into focus, a handsome man who smiled as if he knew exactly what was in her mind. Uncomfortable concept, especially when her mind had become a flaming dumpster of suspicion, grief, wariness, and the consuming need to hightail it out of here.

He stopped two feet short of her and looked her over as if she were an art object of which he’d recently taken possession. “As I hoped, the gown looks lovely on you.” Stretching out his hand, he touched her cheek and winced. “But your face bears testimony to yesterday’s act of bravery. I hope you’ll let my facial­ists care for your skin.”

Facialists? Was that some kind of cult?

He didn’t wait for her consent, but turned her, and with a hand on her spine, propelled her toward the fireplace. The odd furniture arrangement turned out to be a portable massage table. The two white-coat-wearing men fixed their gazes on her face without actually seeing her; they saw nothing but her skin. Both made shocked clucking noises. The taller one took her hand and started to pat it, then brought it close to the lamp and shook his head at his partner. In absolute silence they wrapped a plastic cape loosely around her neck, gently adjusted a plastic cap aroundher flame-receded hairline, switched on some gentle flute music, and with a gesture invited her to lie down on the table.

She glanced toward Dante, but he’d already returned to his desk and frowned at a paper in his hand.

She glanced at Fedelma, who smiled encouragingly at her, seated herself on a rocking chair, and pulled yarn and a crochet needle out of the bag beside it.

The short facialist moved a screen between her and the rest of the office.

Maarja had fallen down the rabbit hole into some place that was definitely not Wonderland, more like a Grimms’ fairy tale. She slid onto the table and reclined with a grimace while Shorty slipped a pillow under her head and one under her knees, then patted her arm. “Don’t fret. I’m Vincent, Frederick’s assistant, and he is a genius. Your skin will thank you.”

These guys could not be for real.

Vincent placed a weighted bag over her eyes, the scent of lavender wafted over her, the heated table warmed her back, and while Frederick delicately applied cool lotions to her face and hands, Vincent explained about the organic ingredients and the purity and the…

Maarja woke with a start. She opened her eyes and looked around without turning her head. The weighted eye bag was gone. She was still on the massage table in Dante’s office. The facialists and their capes and caps had vanished, her face and hands felt refreshed—and she felt stupid, lolling around behind a screen in broad daylight in a working environment, probably snoring, certainly drooling.

She could hear the murmur of male voices, then Fedelma’s soft voice, then Dante saying, “Excuse me.”

Maarja turned her head and watched as he moved the screen aside. Leaning over her, he smiled as if she were a pet that amused him. “You fell asleep before Frederick and Vincent were halfway through the skin treatment. They were so flattered, Ididn’t tell them the pain reliever had probably kicked in. Do you feel better?”

She rolled to one side and he helped her sit up. “Yes. Thank you. I do.” She wanted to tell him she didn’t need his assistance, and to stop smirking at her, but her real goal was to get out of here without causing a fuss, so she stood and said, “My skin feels much better. Please thank Frederick and Vincent for me.”

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