The Undead Next Door (17 page)

“Oh, yeah.” Heather knew the one he was talking about, since it was the only German bakery on Main Street. “Finkel’s makes the best apple strudel in Texas.”

“Vraiment?” Pierre handed Alberto the car keys and a twenty-dollar bill. “You must bring back strudel for all of us, d’accord?”

“I’m not an errand boy,” Alberto grumbled. “But all right. Ciao.” He grabbed the keys and money and left.

“Thank you.” Heather smiled at Pierre.

He shrugged. “I am a bit homesick. In Paris, we have the pâtisseries everywhere. The most delicious bread and pastries. I miss them.”

“Sounds wonderful.” Heather sighed. “I’ve always wanted to see Paris. I hear the rats are really special.”

Pierre sputtered with a horrified look. “Paris is the most beautiful city in the world. I will tell Jean-Luc to bring you. My mother will cook you the best coq au vin you have ever tasted.”

“I’m all for that.” She went back to work, her spirits lifted. After an hour of sketching, she heard Alberto enter the studio.

“The strudel’s in the kitchen.” He eyed the fabric on her worktable. “You like colors.”

“Yes.”

He circled her table, examining her work. “I’m more into black and neutrals. More sophisticated.”

“Ah.” That must mean she was less sophisticated.

He wrinkled his nose at the dress form she’d enlarged to a size twelve. “This is much too big for haute couture.”

“I don’t really aspire to be that…fancy. I want to make something that would look good on someone like me.”

His eyes widened. “Why?”

“Why not? I wear clothes, too.”

“Well, yes.” His gaze drifted painfully over her T-shirt and jeans. “But surely you understand there is a huge difference between mere clothes and fashion.”

“I know that. I want to bring fashion to women like me. I want them to enjoy their clothes and take pride in how they look.”

He looked like she was speaking an alien tongue. “Take pride in being a size twelve? Does Jean-Luc know what you’re doing?”

“Yes. He asked me to do this.”

Alberto’s brows shot higher. “You must be joking.”

She gritted her teeth. “No. I’m very serious. Fashion should be accessible to everyone.”

He snorted. “This must be some strange American idea of equality.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It is a fantasy. The world of fashion belongs to the beautiful people.” Alberto looked her over. “Jean-Luc is humoring you. It is clear what he wants.”

Heat flooded her face. “You’ve not only insulted me, you’ve insulted Jean-Luc. He has enough business savvy to realize he’s missing out on a huge market. A lot of women could never wear some of the bizarre things that come down the runways these days. Jean-Luc has the courage and vision to give women clothes they can actually wear.”

Alberto’s smile was smug. “I can see he is your hero. I wonder how long that will last. Especially once you know more about him.” He sauntered toward the door. “I have work to do in my office. Real fashion to create.”

Heather tried to get back to work, but found it hard to concentrate. Was Jean-Luc just humoring her because he was attracted to her? She looked over her sketches. They looked good to her, but drawing a good picture didn’t guarantee a beautiful gown. And what did Alberto mean with that crack about her and Jean-Luc? Was she supposed to like Jean-Luc less the more she got to know him?

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She wouldn’t do this to herself. She wouldn’t let fear and self-doubt overwhelm her. She was at war with fear.

God knew she had plenty to be afraid of. A new career, a new relationship with Jean-Luc, a psycho killer who wanted her dead. Failure was not an option.

She could do the career. It would be difficult, but nothing worthwhile was ever easy. And the relationship with Jean-Luc was looking better than ever. He’d been so sweet that morning. And sexy. Her heart raced every time she thought about his kisses and the way he’d massaged her back and fondled her breast. Her skin prickled with goose bumps, eager to feel his touch once more.

He’d said he wanted her, and she knew that was the truth. The bulge in his pants had pressed against her rear, and God help her, she had wanted to touch him. She’d wanted to have sex with a man she’d met just a few days ago. Thank goodness she’d fallen asleep when she had.

What was happening to her? Love, a small inner voice answered. No, it couldn’t be. But then why was he constantly in her thoughts? Why did she keep wishing the time away till she could see him again?

Love.

Unable to concentrate, she left her sketches on the worktable and returned to the kitchen. Fidelia was watching television while Bethany played in the kitchen. The stuffed crocodile was chasing Barbie around the kitchen table while the doll did her best to guard the box of strudel from reptilian attack. Heather helped herself to a piece of strudel, then played with her daughter. Soon they heard Fidelia snoring in the recliner, a sound that always made Bethany giggle.

Heather was making supper when Fidelia jerked awake with a cry. “What is it?” She stepped close to the older woman so Bethany wouldn’t hear.

“I had the dream again,” Fidelia whispered. “Red eyes, glowing in the dark. Danger.”

Heather grimaced. “They still haven’t found Louie.”

Fidelia rubbed her forehead. “I saw something else. An oil painting. I think I’ve seen it before.”

After supper, Heather took Bethany upstairs for her bath. They came back to the kitchen about eight P.M., so Bethany could have a bedtime snack. Heather wondered if Jean-Luc was back from his business trip.

Fidelia was loading the dishwasher. “I remembered where I saw that painting. I called and talked to the curator, Mrs. Bolton.” She handed Heather a piece of paper.

Heather’s eyes widened as she read the information. “I’ve heard of this place. It’s a museum now?”

“Sí. Mrs. Bolton said she’d keep it open for you till nine o’clock tonight.”

“Okay.” Heather folded the paper and slipped it into her jeans pocket. What a strange place to take Jean-Luc. She wondered again if he was back. She glanced up at the newly installed surveillance camera with its red, blinking light.

“I know,” Fidelia muttered. “I don’t like being watched.”

Who was watching? Heather wondered. Whoever it was, she hoped they enjoyed the ongoing saga of Barbie versus the crocodile. The kitchen door swung open, and Robby marched in, wearing his usual green and blue plaid kilt.

He smiled. “Good evening. Jean-Luc is in the design studio, and he’d like to see you.”

Heather’s heart beat faster. She hugged her daughter. “I have to go. Duty calls.” Duty and hopeless attraction.

“Jean-Luc, we need to talk.”

He glanced up from one of Heather’s sketches to see Alberto coming into the studio. “Is there a problem in Paris?”

“No. The problem is here.” Alberto waved at Heather’s work. “This—this is a disaster.”

Jean-Luc laid the sketch down. “This was my decision, Alberto. I do not need to defend it.”

He lowered his gaze. “I don’t mean to upset you, Jean-Luc, but you taught me yourself that your designs are only for a privileged few.”

Jean-Luc’s anger was tempered by the desperation on Alberto’s face. Clearly the man believed Heather’s project was a mistake. “I know this idea is unorthodox, but I want to try it.”

“It will make you a laughingstock in the fashion world. None of the Hollywood stars will wear your gowns if they’re being worn by the common folk.”

“You and I both come from common folk.”

“Yes, but we rose above that.” Alberto gestured at the dress form. “She’s making fat lady clothes!”

A small gasp at the door heralded Heather’s arrival. Jean-Luc groaned inwardly, knowing she’d heard Alberto’s rude remark. He stepped close to his protégé and narrowed his eyes. “You are mistaken, and you will apologize.”

Alberto’s face flushed. He glanced over his shoulder at Heather. “I am sorry, signora.”

“Is it true?” Heather walked toward them, her expression worried. “Will my designs damage your reputation?”

She must have heard more than Alberto’s insult. Jean-Luc shrugged. “The media is fickle. I never know how they will react. They might laugh at this, or they might call us heroes and visionaries.”

She tilted her head, considering. “Does it really matter what they think? I mean, if sales are good, how could it be called a failure?”

Alberto huffed with exasperation. “It is not about money. High fashion is an art.”

“I think it’s about making people feel good,” Heather declared. “And if they’re spending their money on something, then that means it’s making them happy.”

Jean-Luc smiled. Heather’s confidence in herself was growing. “We’re going to do it, Alberto. Thanks to Heather, fashion will be available to women of all shapes and sizes.”

Alberto sputtered while Heather grinned. Jean-Luc wanted to pull her into his arms, but was broadsided with a sudden idea.

“We can use the charity show to gauge how people will react,” he suggested. “Heather, can you have a few designs ready by the end of next week?”

“I think so.” She nodded. “Sure.”

Jean-Luc didn’t want to bring in more professional models, since he didn’t want the media to hear about the show or about his presence in Texas. “Do you know some local women who could model your clothes?

Alberto snorted. “The town is full of fat women.”

Heather glared at him, then turned to Jean-Luc. “I have some friends who would love to model. And they’re not fat.” She shot another angry glance at Alberto.

“You can showcase some of your designs, too,” Jean-Luc told Alberto. “Simone, Inga, and Sasha will model for you.”

“Can we make it a competition?” Alberto asked, his eyes lighting up. “And invite celebrities to judge?”

“No.” Jean-Luc gave him a warning look. “No celebrities, no media. You know why.”

Alberto sighed.

Heather looked curious. “Why—”

“It’ll be a small function just for the local people,” Jean-Luc interrupted. “Because the proceeds are only for the local area.” He hoped that would make enough sense to keep her from asking more questions.

She smiled. “I think it’s wonderful that you’re raising money for the school district. Thank you.”

He shrugged. “Alberto’s handling the matter.” It was embarrassing to be considered charitable when he was actually bribing the builder and mayor to keep quiet about his store.

He was beginning to dread the show, for afterward his official exile would begin. The store would close for good. Alberto and the models would return to Paris. People would assume he’d left, too, but he would be hiding in the abandoned building with his two guards for twenty-five long years. How could he live next door to Heather and not be tempted to see her?

“Do you want any of your designs in the show?” Alberto asked.

Jean-Luc shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.” Nothing seemed to matter when faced with a twenty-five-year-long prison term without hope of seeing Heather. But how could he ask her and her family to share a prison with him? They didn’t have the possibility that he had of living for centuries into the future. This was their life now, their only life. They needed to live it. Without him.

“Fine,” Alberto continued. “Then Heather and I will each show our designs to the local…riffraff, and then we’ll see which ones they prefer.” He gave her a challenging look, then strode from the room.

She stepped closer to Jean-Luc. “Are you all right?”

“Yes.”

She studied him, frowning. “You look like you’ve lost your best friend.”

He was going to, he realized. He was in a no-win situation. In the worst-case scenario, he could lose Heather to Lui’s murderous revenge. But he wouldn’t let that happen. He’d kill Lui first. Unfortunately, then he would lose Heather because it was the only honorable thing to do. He couldn’t ask her to give up twenty-five years of her short life to share his exile.

He would have to send her away. He’d hire her to do her designs in New York or Paris. Then she could have her dream life. And he’d make sure that she and her daughter never wanted for anything. A strong wave of emotion washed over him, and he realized he wasn’t planning this simply out of duty or a sense of honor.

He was doing it for love. Somehow, somewhere during the last few days, he’d begun to fall in love.

“I’m all right,” he assured her. “I’m just concerned that we haven’t found Lui yet.”

“I wanted to talk to you about that.” She dug a piece of paper from her jeans pocket and handed it to him. “Fidelia had a dream about an oil painting, and it’s located at this museum on the outskirts of town. The curator is keeping it open for us.”

“Then we should go.” He escorted her toward the door as he glanced at the paper. “Chicken Ranch?”

“Yep. The most famous one in Texas, so they made it into a museum.”

He led her down the hall. “They made a museum about chickens?”

She laughed. “It was a house of prostitution.”

“Ah. I should have realized.”

“Yeah.” Heather winced. “I’m just wondering how come Fidelia knows so much about it.”

The second they entered the showroom, Jean-Luc noticed Robby installing a camera near the two-story-high ceiling. Unfortunately, he wasn’t using a ladder.

He grabbed Heather and turned her away from the levitating Robby. “How…was your day?”

“Fine.” She smiled slowly. “It started off with a wonderful massage.”

He smiled back, then glanced up at Robby. The Scotsman had heard them and was descending to the floor. “I liked your sketches.”

Heather’s smile widened. “Thank you.”

Robby was now on the floor.

“Grab the keys, Robby. And bring our swords. We’re going hunting.”

“I’m coming, too.” Heather dashed toward the kitchen, calling back. “I’ll borrow a gun from Fidelia. Don’t leave without me!”

Robby frowned, shaking his head. “No’ a good idea.”

“She’s coming,” Jean-Luc announced, then went out the front door before Robby could argue.

The front door was bracketed by two outdoor lights that dimly lit the porch. Jean-Luc let his gaze wander over the land that separated his lair from the highway. He saw no hint of movement. Cedar trees and clumps of palmetto dotted the area enclosed by the long circular driveway. His BMW and Heather’s truck were parked nearby. He’d had a gardener plant oak trees along the drive, but they were small now. By the time his exile of twenty-five years was up, they would be large and impressive.

“There you are!” Heather rushed out onto the porch. “I was afraid you’d leave without me.”

“I really should, but I’ve discovered a recent problem where you’re concerned.”

“What’s that?” She hitched her purse onto her shoulder.

“I’m unable to tell you no.”

She laughed. “That’s not a problem.”

“It is if it puts you in danger.”

“I can take care of myself. I’m at war with fear, remember?”

“I am impressed by your willingness to confront the villain.” He placed a hand on the small of her back and ushered her toward the darker end of the porch. “How do you feel about confronting this attraction between us?”

Her eyes widened. “I…suppose we can admit it’s there.”

“And it’s growing stronger. At least for me.”

She leaned against a column and gazed toward the highway. “It’s happening very fast.”

“Do you doubt it’s real?”

She glanced at him. “No. It’s real. Real enough that I could get hurt.”

“I would never hurt you. Not intentionally.”

“I know that.” She placed a hand on his chest. “I’m…very attracted to you, Jean-Luc, but I’m trying not to make any mistakes I’ll regret.”

“I understand.” He planted a hand on either side of the column, pinning her in. “I know I should resist you. But whenever you’re close, I can only think about how much I want you.”

He kissed her brow. “I keep remembering how good you feel in my arms and how sweet you taste.” He kissed her cheek. “Remember our first kiss, chérie? The one in the park?”

The corner of her mouth quirked. “What kiss? Did we kiss?”

“You melted in my arms. You moaned into my mouth. You tasted me with your tongue.”

“Oh. That kiss.”

“And you did it again this morning.”

“Well, some things you just have to keep doing till you get it right.”

He smiled. “Chérie, you have it right.” He skimmed his fingers up her neck. “All I can think about is kissing you. I can hardly work. My mind has become utterly useless.”

“Poor baby.” She tilted her head when he rubbed his nose against her neck. “We can’t have you being useless.”

“I’m sure we’ll find something I can do.” He touched his tongue against the pulsing artery in her neck. The scent of her blood sizzled through him.

“Like trying to seduce me?” She sounded breathless.

He kissed a trail to her ear. “There’s no trying. I am seducing you.”

He drew her earlobe into his mouth and groaned when she responded with a shudder. He suckled as he enveloped her in his arms.

Her hands slipped around his neck. “Yes,” she whispered.

He brushed his lips across her cheek. “I want you so.”

“I know,” she breathed the words against his mouth. “Why does this feel so right?”

“Because we…fit.” He molded his mouth against hers and pulled her tight against him. They did fit. Her lips were perfect against his. Her breasts moved against his chest in just the right way.

He smoothed his hands down her back. The small of her back arched perfectly against his lower belly, her hips nestled sweetly against his groin, and her belly cushioned his hard erection. She was perfect in every way.

How could he let her go? Maybe she could learn to accept him as a vampire. Maybe he could have the sort of love Roman and Angus had found. Maybe he could even have a family.

A flash of light hit them as a car zoomed up the driveway. He immediately pulled her around the column into the shadow.

“Do you think it’s Louie?” she whispered.

“No. He wouldn’t be this obvious.” Jean-Luc watched the car as it passed Heather’s truck and his BMW. It screeched to a halt just past the front door. “It’s probably one of your admirers from town.”

“I have no admirers,” she muttered.

“Then who was that noisy little man I had to dunk in the water?”

“Coach Gunter. He’s more of a pest than an admirer.” Heather twisted to peek around the column, but Jean-Luc pulled her back into the shadow.

“Careful.” He narrowed his eyes as a man exited the car. “Yes. This one is definitely in love with you.”

“What?” She scoffed.

“Heather!” the man yelled from the driveway. “I know you’re there!”

“Cody?” she whispered with a grimace. “My ex doesn’t love me. He hates me.”

“He hates that you rejected him,” Jean-Luc whispered. “But he still loves you. Believe me, I know the signs.”

“You do?” She gave him a dubious look.

“Come on out, Heather!” Cody shouted. “I saw you on the porch, kissing that man.”

“Jealousy,” Jean-Luc whispered.

“The news is all over town,” Cody bellowed. “Everyone knows you’re living here. They know you’re shacking up with that rich foreigner.”

“Shall I skewer him?” Robby asked quietly as he shut the front door.

“No.” Jean-Luc stepped from the shadows into the light by the front door. “You are trespassing on private property. I suggest you leave.”

“I have a right to be here! You’ve got my daughter in there. What are you doing to her?”

“Bethany is perfectly fine.” Heather moved into the light. “You can pick her up at the appointed time next Friday. Now go home, Cody.”

“Why? So you can screw your new boyfriend? I didn’t know you were a damned slut, Heather.”

“Enough!” Jean-Luc zeroed all his psychic power onto Cody’s forehead. The bastard stumbled back a few feet. Every time you curse Heather, you will become a cockroach.

Cody crumpled onto the brick pavement.

Heather stepped forward. “What—”

“Leave him be.” Jean-Luc touched her arm.

Cody wriggled on the driveway, then rose into a squat. “I am a cockroach,” he squeaked.

Heather gasped. “Not again.”

Cody crawled toward the BMW, then leaped on top and scrambled across the hood.

Jean-Luc winced at the abuse his car was taking. You cannot pick up your daughter this weekend.

Cody lumbered toward his car. “I cannot pick up my daughter this weekend.” He dove through the open window of his car and thrashed about.

“Is he drunk?” Heather grimaced when the engine roared to life. “He shouldn’t drive like that.”

The car shot forward and bounced over a curb where the driveway curved back to the state highway.

You will drive well, Jean-Luc delivered the psychic message, though he wasn’t sure Cody could drive at all in his current condition.