The rough bellow of voices, like distant thunder or the gravel snarl of a landslide, rose in time with the wave of movement; Eve was thrown sharply into her companion, heels clattering sharply over slick cobblestones as she struggled for balance.
Warm hands closed over her upper arms, supporting her gently. She accepted the support with a murmur of gratitude and craned her neck; the crowd shifted and stayed obstinately obstructive, making her huff out a sharp breath of exasperation.
“Thank you, Mr. Gandor,” she repeated as the movements of the crowd pushed her again, a flush surfacing on her cheeks and forcing her to struggle to maintain her composure. “Can you see what’s going on?”
His head lifted; one hand had settled at the small of her back, a personal touch, too intimate for someone she knew as dangerously as Luck Gandor, but necessary in the crush and surge of humanity. "They're gathering like carrion," he said, his voice carrying the dry weight of irony. "It will be some time."
"I apologize," she said, because no other words seemed fitting. He lowered his head to study her with that hooded, deceptively unreadable stare, and then smiled.
It was polite, but there was a hint of something subtler to it, a softened edge. Respect, maybe. She had to resist the urge to incline her head in a wary return.
He was very warm, which surprised her, since the wind was nipping at her cheeks and throat, whispering against her collarbones. She wondered if it had something to do with what he was, and then gave up wondering and was only glad for it. It would be improper to draw closer, but she stayed the distance they were and listened to the grumbling voices around her.
Eve didn’t like being helpless—depending on someone else—but for this once, it was tolerable. “What business did I interrupt you on, Mr. Gandor?” She finally ventured. He looked down at her with a faint flicker of surprise.
“Personal.” He said, and smiled. The air shivered over them both, an odd dichotomy of the frantic body heat of those around them and the dry razored ice of the wind.
An elbow caught her in the shoulder—she made a small involuntary noise, arched away from the impact in the automatic instinct to avoid the blow that had already fallen, and Luck stiffened minutely, his fingers pressing into her spine.
“I am sorry—” She blurted, alarmed and slightly off guard. “I did not intend to—”
He smiled like a gentleman, and despite all personal prejudices and wariness she had to admit that in the end, she would call him nothing else. “I am well.” He told her. “And you?”
“It was nothing.” Eve tried to keep from tripping, her legs pressed against his, and twisted to try and peer through the throngs of people. “I thought—” He made an odd sound, low in his throat, and she twisted back around to look up at him.
“You thought?” He asked, expression neutral.
“I thought I would be able to get out early and make inquiries.” She finished. “If I’d known I was going to run into you, I would have brought the paperwork.”
“No one can see the future, unfortunately.” The faintest traces of a strange smile touched his mouth as he watched her. It might have contained respect. “Not even you.”
She stiffened warily. "I assure you that I am fully capable of--"
"I am not doubting your competence." He said and the thin, enigmatic trace of smile slipped over his face again. "Far from it. I would bow, but we are a bit cramped."
Someone shouted, outraged and blustering, and there were the repetitious, official calls of the policemen herding back the crowd. He murmured a sharp apology as he was forced a step forward, and for a second they were pressed so close his heat scorched her, bodies aligned, her ankle alongside his. She backpedaled rapidly to compensate, chest heaving for air.
He noticed, of course, and frowned faintly. "Are you feeling unwell?"
"No." Eve assured him quickly, and sought for another topic, more words, something else--"if your meeting has, perhaps, been postponed, you could accompany me to my home and we could finish our business arrangement." The words came out in a rush, but she lifted her chin and stared him in the eye.
He managed an aborted little bow of extraordinary elegance. "Ah, well, I doubt the mess would deter him," a flicker of something like fond exasperation in his face, making him look surprisingly young, "but he's caused such a fuss, he'll have to deal with it. I would be pleased to accompany you home."
"And--and finish our business." Eve repeated, firming her shoulders.
"And finish our business." He agreed, smiling. Someone nearly fell, flinging her forward a step, and he caught her shoulders gently. His smile, when she looked up, was almost pained. "If, perhaps," he suggested mildly, "you would lead the way."