This time Sinclair smiled slightly too and that small expression of humor warmed me more than a room full of laughter. I wondered what had made Sinclair so reserved but it was undoubtedly part of his appeal too. Every insight into his carefully concealed mind and spirit felt like a major victory.
“I’m sorry, Iago, not only is Elle French, but she’s unavailable to you,” Sinclair said smoothly, his hand still lightly resting on the swell of my hip.
I opened my mouth to correct him about my nationality before I remembered the rules. No personal details. And truth be told, being French and everything that represented to –refined, contained and witty – was preferable to me than the gritty, poverty-stricken image my Italian upbringing invoked.
“What a waste.” The Mexican magnate spoke in flawless English, only slightly spiced with accent. “You had the drop on me though, Sinclair. It’s hardly a fair playing field when you are French as well.”
“American,” he corrected with narrowed eyes, all amusement gone.
Santiago pursed his lips but nodded, obviously understanding the gravity of his tone. What was so wrong with being French?
“I saw Dylan Hernandez by the buffet. We should discuss business now rather than later, so that you can enjoy your party,” Sinclair said.
The feel of his hand smoothing down my back distracted me. With that simple touch, the desire that had lain tamely at the base of my belly all night flared to life.
“Of course.” Santiago squinted at us, his lips still pursed but finally he nodded. “We’ll go up to my study. Katarina can hold down the fort while I’m gone. You should meet her, Elle, her beauty is your only competition tonight.” His grin flashed again. “She is my youngest sister.”
“Good idea. Kat will no doubt be on the patio on a clear night like this. She is an astronomer. You’ll like her. But first,” Sinclair turned to me, his gaze strangely intimate, “I was telling Elle about your remarkable collection of Frida Kahlo’s work.”
“Kat will show her,” he said, with a dismissive wave of his hand as if such a collection was nothing to brag about.
Considering she was a long time idol of mine, I couldn’t believe that I had the opportunity to view her work outside of a museum. Sinclair noted my smile and matched it with a small one of his own.
“I thought you might enjoy that.”
I nodded, my tongue tied with anticipation.
“If you’ll excuse us for a minute, Iago, I will just show Elle t
he powder room and I’ll meet you in the office.”
I frowned slightly as I had just returned from the washroom but his fingers stroked the skin at the base of my neck tantalizingly and I forgot to protest.
“Of course.” Santiago nodded and leaned forward to grasp my hands. “I wish Sinclair always visited me with such a beautiful companion. He never mixes business and pleasure. Such an awful separation, don’t you think?”
“I’m not so sure, he hasn’t been divorced three times,” I joked.
He laughed and squeezed my hands. “Touché.” After brushing a kiss against my cheek, he stepped back and looked at Sinclair. “Five minutes?”
“Better make it ten.”
Santiago’s thick brows raised but he acquiesced with a shrug before turning away.
As soon as he did so, I turned fully to Sinclair with my own arched brow. “The powder room?”
Amusement and something darker sparked in his eyes. “Yes. You are bored of this party and I’m sorry for it. Let me try to ease some of the tedium. Come.”
With sure feet, he led me out of the main hall and through twisting, turning corridors. I had no idea how he could have known where he was going in such a maze.
“You made Iago laugh within thirty seconds of knowing him,” Sinclair said, almost to himself. “I haven’t seen him open up to a stranger like that in years.”
I shrugged. “He seemed very friendly.”
“Oh, he is. But he doesn’t enjoy life much anymore.” At my searching look, he explained, his hand warm in mine as he lead me through the house, “His brother was killed two years ago, gang violence in Mexico City. He moved himself and Kat here soon after.”
I felt sympathy pain pang in my stomach and shrugged off the brief thought of life without one of my siblings. Even Elena, whom I had never been particularly close to, was vital to me.
We had stopped in the middle of a narrow room fronted in glass paneling and we stood beside an open door in the gently rushing breeze. There was barely an inch separating our bodies but Sinclair carefully maintained the distance.