The woman blinked with a flurry of silver lashes. "I beg your pardon?"
"Never mind, sister. I want to talk about your Natural Perfection line."
"Yes, of course. It's the very best cosmetic and enhancement line money can buy. I'll be happy to arrange for a consultant to speak with you. Would you care to make an appointment?"
"Yeah." Eve slapped her badge on the console. "Now would be good."
"I don't understand."
"I can see that. Get me whoever runs this place."
"Excuse me a moment." The woman shifted on her high stool and spoke softly into her 'link. "Simon, could you come up front please?"
With her thumbs in her front pockets, Eve rocked back on her heels and studied the elegant bottles and tubes in the revolving display behind the console. "What's all that?"
"Personalized scents. We feed your personality and physical traits into a program and create a scent that is uniquely you. The container is your choice. Each is one of a kind and, once selected, will never be made again."
"Interesting."
"They make thoughtful gifts," she arched a razor-thin brow, "but are quite exclusive and expensive."
"Really?" Irritated by the sarcasm, Eve sent her a tawny, slitted stare. "I want one."
"Naturally the purchase must be prepaid before programming."
Seriously riled, Eve imagined grabbing a handful of that stiff, streaked hair and rapping the perfect, sneering face firmly against the console. She took one step forward as hurried footsteps sounded on the floor behind her.
"Yvette, what seems to be the problem? I'm swamped back there."
"She's the problem," Yvette said with a thin smile, and Eve turned and got a full blast of the magnificent Simon.
The eyes caught her first. They were a pale, almost translucent blue framed by thick dark lashes and thin ebony brows that each peaked to a ruler-sharp point in the middle. His hair was a brilliant ruby red, swept high off his forehead and temples and styled to tumble in a snowfall of springy curls to the middle of his back.
His skin had the dull gold sheen indicating mixed-race heritage or complexion dyes. His mouth was painted a deep bronze, and riding along his prominent left cheekbone was a white unicorn with gold horn and hooves.
He swept back the electric-blue cape draped over his shoulders. Beneath he wore a skinsuit of chartreuse and silver stripes with a deeply scooped neckline. A tangle of gold chains gleamed against his impressive chest. He angled his head, sending the long gold dangles in his ears dancing as he set one hand on one slim hip and studied Eve.
"And what can I do for you, dear heart?"
"I want -- "
"Wait, wait!" He threw up both hands, palms out, revealing a chain of hearts and flowers tattooed there. "I know that face." With a dramatic toss of his
head, he circled Eve and gave her a whiff of his scent.
Plums, she thought. The guy smelled like plums.
"Faces," he continued while Eve's eyes narrowed, "are, after all, my art, my business, my stock and trade. I've seen yours. Oh yes indeed, I have."
Abruptly, he grabbed Eve's face between his hands and leaned forward until they were nearly nose to nose. "Look, pal -- "
"Roarke's wife!" He squealed it, then planted a loud, juicy kiss on her mouth, leaping back before she could follow through with the urge to punch him. "That's who you are! Darling," he crooned, turning with his hands crossed over his heart to the receptionist. "Roarke's wife is in our humble salon."
"Roarke's wife?" Yvette went bright red, then lost all color. "Oh," she muttered and looked ill.
"Sit, you must sit and tell me everything you desire." He scooped an arm around Eve's shoulders and began to nudge her toward a chair. "Yvette, be a lamb and cancel all my consultations. Dear lady, I am yours. Where shall we begin?"
"You can begin by stepping back, ace." She shrugged off his arm, and with some regret pulled out her badge instead of her weapon. "I'm here on police business."