My ears perked up at the mention of my husband's name.
“They must be his bodyguards,” another woman said. “They're enormous. Plus, they keep searching the ballroom as if searching for possible threats.”
“That's so sexy.”
“I'm going to try my luck with the smaller one.”
“Smaller is hardly a word you can apply to either of those men.”
“No kidding.”
I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing. They had to be talking about Malik and Braxis. Kyrian, though warrior-buff, looked fairly normal in a suit. Mal and Braxis, however, had the look of football players who'd been forced into finery.
“I wonder if their packages are proportionate?”
“I don't even care. I just want to get my hands on all those muscles. You want to join me?”
“Oh, no thank you. They look a little too rough for me. I'd rather try for Cyprian himself.”
I went still.
“Cyprian just got married,” the other woman said.
“So what? Everyone knows he's a pervert. Which, in my opinion, is a plus.”
“Are you implying that perverts can't be faithful?”
“Not that one,” the woman's voice lowered. “You know what goes on in his club, don't you?”
“Yes, but, it doesn't mean that he's a cheater. I've heard that he adores his wife.”
“He can adore her and still fuck other women.”
“You'll get shot down, I'm warning you.”
“To get in bed with the infamous Cyprian Alexander, I'll take my chances.”
I stepped out of the stall, and the women went quiet, casting me sideways looks. I washed my hands and left without looking at them. I heard them giggling on my way out. My lips pressed together again, but this time it was in irritation. I searched the room and spotted Cyprian in the middle of a group of men while Mal, Kyrian, and Braxis were strolling around the ballroom, casually keeping an eye on things, each holding a glass but hardly drinking. The women were right, they did look like bodyguards. And they were, just not for Cyprian.
I passed Malik first and paused to whisper, “You're about to have some unwanted female attention.”
“What?” He gaped after me.
I couldn't stop to explain. Hopefully, he'd see the woman advancing on him and figure it out. I could have warned Cyprian too, but I had faith in his ability to handle one flirtatious socialite. Mal was the one who might flounder under unexpected pawing. That being said, I knew Malik could handle himself and that the more entertaining interaction would be between Cyprian and his admirer. So, I headed toward Cyprian's end of the room.
“Are you all right?” a deep voice asked.
I knew I was passing Braxis, but I hadn't expected him to say anything. I tossed a whispered, “I'm fine,” at him and kept walking.
He grabbed my wrist. “Amara?”
“What are you doing? You're not supposed to know me,” I hissed at him as I wrenched my wrist out of his grip.
Braxis flushed and walked in the other direction. I lifted the hem of my skirt and inspected my shoe as if that had been the reason for my sudden stop. Then I headed to the bar which happened to be near Cyprian's group.
By the time I had my cocktail in hand, the woman from the bathroom—a stunning blonde in a silver dress—had managed to separate Cyprian from the other men. One of his pale brows was lifted and a corner of his mouth edged up as well in a trademark Cyprian smirk. I recognized it as armor—the mask he wore when he worked.
Forest fires! Maybe I should have warned Cyprian after all. I knew he'd have no problem dealing with this woman, but the fact that she thought he was unfaithful mere months after his wedding was deeply insulting. Cyprian was not a man to delude himself; he knew exactly who he was. Being a Faulin meant feeding on sexual energy and desire. It was only after we fused that he'd found a new way to live—on other emotions. But he had already built a life around supplying his people with what they needed to survive even though it painted him in a certain light. Cyprian had embraced that playboy persona—at best, a libertine, at worst, a whore. He had forged that image into a sword that he could use to defend his people. And at Dirty Nothing's, he continued to play his part. But I think Cyprian had hoped that marrying me—a highly respected translator employed by the President—would change his image. That people might see him as more than a wealthy sex fiend, and he might be able to walk into a room without being whispered about.
