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Back From the Dead by KGrove
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Back From the Dead by KGrove
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Eve hated these parties.  And it was about the thirtieth time that night she’d had that thought.  Another one of those bashes which Roarke informed her were an important part of business.  Being an important part of Roarke’s life, Eve had to show her face at a few of these junkets a year.  But Roarke wasn’t the host this time.  This party was populated by rival businesses competing for the host as a client.  A good showing was all part of the game, which was why Eve was there that night.  As another representative of Roarke Industries.

So, she’d endured the costuming, small talk, and etiquette involved in the whole operation.  Luckily, the night was more than half over.

Eve had to admit that she had enjoyed two things.  The food, (the rich ate real and large quantities of it) and dancing with Roarke.  While she disliked dancing itself, Eve savored the feeling of being alone with Roarke even though in the back of her mind she knew they were surrounded by people.  Was it his eyes that drew her in that way?  Deep expressive pools of blue pulling her in?  Or was it his scent?  Filling and comforting her with every breath?  Whatever it was, it was working right now.  They were moving together across the dance floor.  Around other couples yet completely absorbed in each other.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were enjoying yourself.”  Roarke commented as he led them around the floor.  Eve was getting better at letting Roarke lead, but it wasn’t easy.

“But you know better.  If I look happy it’s because this deal is almost over.  And I’m spending some quality time dancing with my husband.”

“Ooo, good one.” Roarke smiled, honestly not expecting to get a compliment.

“I have a few.  So, how do you think we did?”

“I’d say Micah Wills was fairly impressed with Roarke Industries.”

“In the good old days, what illegal or underhanded persuasions might you have used to get this client?” Eve asked curiously.
 
“Do you really want to know?” 
 

“Maybe.  Would it have included seducing Wills attractive twenty-something daughter?”

“Wills has a daughter?  I hadn’t noticed.”  Roarke replied innocently.

With a laugh at that impossibility, “Sure you didn’t.” 

Eve continued to chuckle to herself as Roarke spun her around.  Over Roarke’s shoulder, she caught a glimpse of one of the many dessert tables.  She froze when she saw the man in a suit standing there with a dish of food in his hand talking to someone else.

He was about 50 years old, and had let his hair show it with the gray peppered in brown.  The man stood at about 5' 10'' and wore a formal tux, like most other men there, and rectangular glasses, likely for fashion purposes.  But the face.  His face is what had caught Eve’s eye.  It was aged, but the resemblance was obvious to Eve.  Now, instead of just her and Roarke, it felt to Eve like she and this man were alone in the room.

Roarke detected the change in Eve instantly. The stiffening of her body even before she stopped dancing.  “What’s wrong Eve?”  He looked around to see what she was looking at but there were so many people and things before them Roarke couldn’t tell what had her attention. 

When he looked back at Eve, she was pale, and her eyes were wide and glassy.  “Eve?”  She still wouldn’t answer, so Roarke took her chin in his hand, turning her head to look directly into his eyes.  Eve finally registered his presence and that of the other members of the party.  She was also aware that a few of the other couples had noticed that she and Roarke had stopped dancing.  Overcome with the instinctive urge to hide and blend in, Eve turned them around so she was now facing the other direction. 

“Keep dancing.  Over my left shoulder, at the dessert table.  The man with brown and gray hair, glasses, almost 6 feet?”  Eve rushed in a whisper.

Roarke spotted the man.  “Yes?”
 

“Who is he?”
 

“I don’t know?  He must be from one of the other companies.  Why?  What’s the matter Eve?”  He looked back at his wife, but she was looking down at his shoulder.

“His face.”  Her whisper was almost inaudible.

“What?”

“He has my father’s face.”