The audience hated it.” Juliet Wainwright, clad in a skintight black leotard and a pair of jeans, collapsed into the booth next to Stark. “We're doomed.”Stark wrapped one hand around his small espresso cup and moved it out of range of Juliet's flying hair. Warily, he surveyed the newest Wainwright arrival. She looked a lot like the other members of Desdemona's seemingly endless family whom Stark had met this evening.There was a distinctly feline quality to most of the Wain-wrights. Tall, sleek, and graceful, they had sharp, striking faces, amber eyes, and tawny brown hair. As a group they were a handsome lot. Every move was poised, dramatic, or over-the-top.Desdemona appeared to be the sole exception, so far as Stark could discern. Technically speaking, he had to admit that she was not as physically arresting as the rest of the family. She was a good deal shorter than the others, for starters. And she moved with energy and enthusiasm rather than languid, world-weary grace.There was also something softer about her, he thought.
