Heat colored my cheeks and I had no idea why. It wasn't like he hadn't caught errant thoughts before—and generally far worse than that. "Why bother with the pretense, though?"
"Because I am actively projecting Jak's image to all in this room. Wearing his suit lessens the depth of detail I have to transmit, and makes it easier to maintain over a longer period."
He pulled out the chair for me, his fingers brushing my spine as I sat, just as Jak's would have. A tremor ran through me. This was dangerous. Possibly more so than if it had been the real Jak.
I placed my purse on the table, then picked up the water jug and poured a drink. Wine was not a good idea. I might not get drunk on the stuff, thanks to my werewolf constitution, but enough of it could certainly dull common sense, if only for the briefest time. Right now, with Azriel looking so good, I needed all the good sense I could get.
"Have you seen Frank Logan yet?" I hadn't seen our lawyer on the way in, but that didn't mean he wasn't here.
"Not as yet. But I walked around when I first arrived. He's been placed two tables across to your left, next to the man wearing the odd toupee."
I looked around and restrained a laugh. The hairpiece in question sat on the gentleman's head like a scraggly gray cat ready to pounce on the next unfortunate person to pass by.
"That cannot possibly be the height of fashion," Azriel continued blandly.
I turned back and met his gaze. Just for a moment, humor and warmth teased his lips and crinkled the corners of his mismatched blue eyes, and my breath caught somewhere in my throat.
If I got through this evening without giving in to temptation, it was going to be a goddamn miracle.
I gulped down some water, then said, "What about our Cazador watcher? Is he still around?"
Azriel's gaze flicked past me for a moment. "Yes."
I resisted the urge to look over my shoulder. "And does he follow us into the hotel room?"
"No. He generally waits in the lobby."
"Generally" meant not always. Great. Not that there was a lot I could do about it.