“Spicy.” Raphael leaned to me, that dashing smile still on his face. “I can’t tell if he’s covering up the scent of something bad with this perfume or not.”

We stood for a long second, our nostrils fluttering, taking shallow breaths and trying to break the fragrance down to individual scents.

“I’m a bust,” I said. If there were any hidden odors under that amalgam of herbs and resins, I couldn’t find them.

Raphael furrowed his eyebrows. “Me too.”

All around us people glided across the floor, men in tuxedos and tailored suits, women in expensive dresses and shiny rocks, looking like attendants to some ancient tyrant. Music emanated from somewhere above, gentle, exotic, and unobtrusive, like a hint of an intriguing perfume.

“Why do I get the feeling I’m at court?” I murmured.

“And there’s the king himself,” Raphael said.

The guests parted and I saw a man. Of average height, he had a wealth of wavy hair the color of pale amber. An expensive suit of light gray sketched his lean figure. He turned.

Huh. Anapa was beautiful.

He was in his late thirties, closing in on forty. His narrow face, with pronounced cheekbones and a strong chin, was masculine but it was a civilized masculinity, refined, aristocratic, and very carefully groomed. Some wealthy men carried grooming too far, trimming their eyebrows and shaving their chins until they looked slightly feminine. Anapa stopped on the right side of that. His hair was perfectly cut but slightly tousled. His eyebrows still retained some shagginess. His lips were full and crisply drawn, but his cheeks and chin suggested the future possibility of stubble. His large blue eyes, with hooded eyelashes, betrayed a lively intellect and a spark of humor. His skin, sun-painted and dark for a blond, spoke of the South, bright sun, and blue water. He didn’t seem Nordic in the least. More like Mediterranean.

He saw us and smiled, making laugh lines at the corners of his eyes stand out. It was a warm, friendly smile, as if he found something about us incredibly amusing and couldn’t wait to share.

“We’ve been seen,” Raphael said, starting toward Anapa.

We strolled through the crowd toward our host. “How are we playing this?” I asked.

“I’m a businessman and you are my brainless delicious arm candy.”

Delicious arm candy? “It’s good Rebecca isn’t here or she’d think I was poaching.”

“She wouldn’t know the meaning of the word,” Raphael said, his face flat.

“Oh, she isn’t a jealous type?”

“No, she actually wouldn’t know what the word meant.”

Ha!

The woman in the blue dress in front of us stepped aside and Anapa approached us.

“Mr. Medrano.” Anapa offered his hand.

Raphael shook it. “Happy birthday.”

I batted my eyelashes and did my best to appear dumb as a board.