Free Succubus On Top by Richelle Mead Page B

you are . . . ?”
    â€œOh. Sorry. I’m Tabitha Hunter. Mitch’s sister. Though maybe you knew that. Everyone says we look alike. I guess we do. I’ve never really thought about it . . . much . . .”
    Ye gods, why was I rambling like this? I had worked dukes and bishops who were ten times scarier than her. They hadn’t turned me into a blathering idiot. What was it about one radio bigot that should prove so unsettling?
    The eyes, I decided. They reflected no warmth. They were shrewd. Conniving. The kind of eyes that warned she had not risen to where she was today without hypervigilance. The kind of eyes that had an agenda.
    â€œIt’s nice to meet you,” she said, still maintaining that tooperfect smile. “I didn’t know Mitch had a sister. You seem to be . . . enjoying the pool.”
    Her eyes glanced down over me and back up, suddenly making me feel self-conscious. Water dripped most unflatteringly off of me, and I uneasily wondered if this suit showed too much skin. At least it wasn’t white. Bastien’s warning about wholesome image came back to me for real, and I understood his concern now. Looking like a strumpet could be bad for his reputation. If he drew whispers and disdain, he might be ostracized from this group and lose access to Dana. Suddenly, Dana’s frostiness didn’t seem so weird. It was disapproval. She had, after all, delivered a whole spiel on the abominable state of today’s fashions. Here I was embodying it.
    â€œIt’s very nice,” I said. “One of the, um, best pools I’ve swum in.”
    I stopped before I could say something else even more asinine, and silence fell. She looked as though she expected me to continue and could wait all night until I did. Unfortunately, I had no idea what to talk to this weird woman about. My alleged hatred of homosexuals? Ask if she had recommendations for a more modest swimsuit?
    â€œSo, um . . .” I began. “This barbecue theme . . . it’s really, uh . . .”
    I was saved just then—sort of—by Bastien. He strode up to us, appearing very excited to have found Dana. A sharp look in his eyes said he was less thrilled to see me, especially in this state, but he kept it masked from the other woman, instead coming off as amiable and charming as ever.
    â€œAh, Tabitha, I see you’ve met our hostess.”
    â€œYes,” agreed Dana. “We’ve been having a most stimulating conversation. Your sister’s quite the wordsmith.”
    I flushed. Bitch. When I was in my zone, I could outtalk her any day.
    â€œGlad to hear it. My Tabby Cat here is nothing if not stimulating.”
    Oblivious to my horror over my new nickname, Bastien steered her into some pleasant conversation about the creativity of the party and the beauty of her home. Her demeanor warmed up only a bit from what it was with me. She still came off cool and watchful. Maybe she was always chilly around people, and it wasn’t just me. In fact, I thought optimistically, this slightly elevated interest in Bastien might indicate that she wanted to throw him up against a wall.
    They conversed a bit longer about something I lost interest in, and I tried to stay inconspicuous, though I could tell I never dropped off Dana’s radar. She was studying me, trying to figure me out. Finally, Bastien said good-bye, and we began our retreat toward the front door—once I’d changed back to decent clothing, of course. Our exit proved more difficult than expected since apparently it was customary to say good-bye to every single person you passed and get continually delayed by meaningless small talk.
    â€œMy God,” I exclaimed once we were safely back at his place, “that was annoying.”
    He turned on me, anger flashing in those movie-star blue eyes. “Are you completely out of your mind?”
    â€œOkay, you’re right. I’ve been in more annoying situations. Remember