I wondered if he meant the customers or the merchandise. Either way, I couldn't appeal to a higher power. Despite the overuse of steroids and the bad crew cut, Matt wasn't a bouncer in a dive on the wrong side of town. He was old man Gerald's darling only son and, since his dad was away on a buying trip, my boss.
"Anything goes nuts and my ass is grass. Dad'll have me cleaning the stockroom for the next decade, and who's gonna pay you under the table then?"
I had a good comeback about just how little he paid me, but it died on my lips. The sight of the gray cloak weaving its way across the room occupied all my attention. There was nothing menacing about it, unless you knew what was underneath.
Except for the fact that it was coming straight at me.
I let Matt maneuver me to the front of the main salon, since his bulk insured that we'd move faster through the crush of bodies than I could have alone. We stopped in front of a semicircle of marble plinths that held the evening's wares. None of tonight's items had been available for preview, which explained the pre-auction crowd. Some were of dubious origin and I don't think Gerald had wanted anyone to examine them too closely before the sale. But others were simply too dangerous to have on display without a major safety precaution. Unfortunately for my plans to cut and run, that happened to be me.
Matt positioned me at center stage, up a short flight of steps from the throng of customers. There had been quite a few people on the platform, despite the attempts of the two trolls stationed at each end to keep it clear. The trolls didn't look happy. They were under orders not to break anyone in two or crack any heads open, which kind of limited their persuasive abilities. But, as usual, my appearance cleared the place faster than a gas leak.
"That's better." Matt surveyed the empty platform with satisfaction.
"You could put up the wards," I pointed out desperately. The plinths were usually surrounded by magical shields, only they don't work so well with me around.
"I don't trust the wards, especially not tonight," Matt said irritably. "What's the matter with you?" His tiny eyes scanned the salon, but there were too many people - and assorted other things - in the way for him to notice my particular problem. And I wasn't planning to tell him. He only paid me a fraction of what I was worth, but a fraction is better than nothing. And until I sorted out some personal issues, this was the only income I had. Freaking Matt out would be extremely bad for my dwindling bank account. And maybe I was wrong. Maybe a Lord of the Light Fey was suddenly interested in acquiring a moldy old talisman of dubious provenance, for which he'd be expected to pay a premium price.
Yeah, right.
"Nothing."
"Okay, then." Matt did one more scan of the room. "I need to keep an eye on the Weres. You think you can manage to stand here and stay out of trouble?"
"Well... I can stand here." I didn't have much choice considering that the Fey was between me and the exits.
Matt rolled his eyes and moved off to crowd the two werewolves. I thought that was less than smart. It was another week until the full moon, but they were already vibrating with repressed energy and spoiling for a fight. But it was his call, and I had my own problems: while I'd been distracted, the Fey had disappeared.
I thought for a second that I spotted him trying to meld with the shadows in a corner, but a second glance told me that it was only one of the banshees that the house used as security alarms. I scanned the room again, but it was no use. The Fey was simply gone, and I didn't intend to wait around for him to show up. For once, Matt was going to have to make do without me.
I turned on my heel and pelted down the back stairs of the platform, intending to try for the fire exit, but something was in my way. I crashed into a broad, hard chest, and would have gone sprawling if someone hadn't caught my shoulder. My glasses fell to the tip of my nose and a hand pushed them back up. A very attractive hand, I noticed as sight returned, strong and sun-bronzed. It was attached to an equally beautiful arm, all slender muscles under a silken sleeve, and led to a very handsome face. A face with a slight smile curving its sensual lips and an amused glint in eyes the color of a glacier's heart - a pure, crystalline blue.
Oh, crap.
He stood at the bottom of the stairs, but I still had to look up to meet those eyes. That wouldn't have been true for many men - I'm almost six feet tall - and the step I was balancing on added another few inches. But then, he wasn't a man.
The Fey looked me over as he set me back on my feet. Despite my best efforts, his nearness made me shiver and a broader smile broke over his face. I adjusted a strap on my dress and tried not to let my panic show. Gerald & Company requires formal dress for important sales as a way of letting potential buyers know in advance not to expect any bargains, and I'd thought I looked pretty good. My usually frizzy red mane had been tamed by almost an hour with a curling iron and my moss green gown, while not exactly couture, had once been expensive. Now I was wishing I'd blackened my front teeth or, better yet, called in sick.
"Do you know," he told me, a thread of delight running through his voice, "I'm beginning to think this evening might not be as dull as I'd imagined."
I told myself to pull back, to get some maneuvering room, but my body wasn't listening. There was no slowly building passion, no steadily mounting desire as might have been true with a handsome man. Instead, the attraction was instantaneous and so overwhelming that it left me light-headed. I simply wanted him, so much that I had to fight not to throw myself back into his arms.
Of all the things I hate about the Fey, number one is the way they make my body react. I first encountered them when I was sixteen. Father had invited a delegation to visit the family estate, and I was expected to help entertain. Instead, I dropped things all through dinner, unable to keep my mind on what I was doing with my body suddenly going haywire. Their leader had been especially unnerving, with ancient silver eyes and hair as bright as water in sunlight. I'd been fascinated by the way it cascaded over his shoulders, a platinum waterfall that carved tiny prisms from the light whenever he moved. But my admiration had faded fast when he turned to Father and, without altering the polite, bland expression he'd worn all evening, asked if perhaps I was ill, to be so clumsy. Father had laughed off the insult, but I'd been mortified.
Of course, if I'd known why they were there, I'd have shown up for dinner cross-eyed and twitching.
The Fey slid one hand around my waist, drawing me against a body that felt like sun-warmed steel. He used his free hand to produce the evening's catalogue from under the cloak and flipped it open. He perused a page, then looked down at me again. "You aren't listed."