"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 cocked. "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 na?ve 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 Ombud, 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 Sexiest 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