Hotter Than Hell (51 page)

“Oh, yes.” This was the perfect opportunity for her first real test. Since arriving at her suspicions about her neighbor she’d been wearing a small gold cross all the time. She slept in it, showered in it, wore it when she went to the gym on Tuesdays and Thursdays. She grabbed the cross between her fingers and held it up so he could see. “It matches this. A tiny little cross with a teeny diamond chip in the center.”

Simon—quite an old-fashioned name, eh?—didn’t touch the cross, but he didn’t recoil, either. She had to judge that test as inconclusive, since she wasn’t quite ready to leap forward and press the cross against his forehead to see if he began to smoke or howl in pain. He turned away from her and searched the dingy carpeting, his eyes scanning the faded fibers. Claire pretended to do the same, though her eyes often flitted to her neighbor. Oh, he really was studly, more so up close than from a distance. His dark hair was shaggy and a tad too long but was not completely neglected, and he had a very finely sculpted masculine jawline. The body, as she had already noted, was not bad at all. She took it all in, appreciatively and as surreptitiously as possible.

“I don’t mean to hold you up,” she said after watching him bend over to examine what turned out to be a piece of lint. “I imagine you have somewhere to be.”

“I’m not working tonight.”

“You work at night?”

“Not much call for jazz musicians during the day. The club’s closed until the weekend. Some sort of plumbing issue.”

Her head crept up slowly so she could once more check out his face, which was much more interesting than the old carpet. Simon Darrow wasn’t pretty—his features were too masculine to be called pretty—

but his face was definitely fine. “You’re a musician?”

“Piano. I have a small electric keyboard at my place, but I practice while you’re at work so I won’t disturb you.”

A considerate vampire. “I’m sure I wouldn’t mind hearing you practice,” she said, determined to be no less considerate as she took a couple of unnecessary steps and her eyes scanned the floor for a nonexistent earring. This was an opportunity she could not let slip by. “So, if you’re not playing tonight, where are you headed?”

“Just out to grab a bite,” he answered.

Interesting choice of words. “Oh, really?”

“I thought I’d check out that sandwich shop down the street.”

“They close at seven so you’ve already missed them, and to be honest their food is better at lunch.”

“I’ll find someplace else, then.”

This was a golden opportunity that might never come again. She had her neighbor right where she wanted him, and he had no idea that she suspected his secret. “Maybe you can…” she swallowed hard and gathered her courage, “have dinner with me.”

“I knew it,” he said in a lowered voice touched with gentle wit. “You are stalking me.”

“I am not,” she protested. “You’re new to the building. I’m simply adhering to the Southern Women’s Code, Section One, Paragraph Three. Feed Thy Neighbor. I could make spaghetti,” she said before he could argue again that she was stalking him. “And garlic bread.”

He didn’t sneer at the garlic bread any more than he’d sneered at her cross. Hmm. Maybe she was wrong about him. Even though she was drawn to Simon Darrow in a way that had to be unnatural, and there were a number of unanswered questions about him and his life, and Claire knew to the pit of her soul that there was more to the night than what made the newspapers and the evening news, her neighbor might be exactly what he appeared to be. A man with a mysterious past who’d had the misfortune to move into the building just when people in the general area started disappearing and someone spilled dirt in the hallway.

“I love spaghetti,” he said. “But I’m meeting some people later so I really should get going.”

Her heart sank a little. “Okay. Maybe another time. I don’t want to be in violation of the Southern Women’s Code.”

“Heaven forbid.” He smiled, and it was very nice.

Claire decided to take a chance, one more time. “How about tomorrow night? About seven?” Normally on Tuesdays she went to the gym after work, but it would really be no chore to skip a workout.

Wouldn’t be the first time. She held her breath and waited for another refusal, another excuse.

“Sure.” Simon glanced down at the carpet one last time. “I’m sorry to say I don’t think we’re going to find your earring.”

“Yeah,” Claire sighed. “Me neither.”

Claire didn’t expect Simon for about an hour. Her homemade spaghetti sauce was simmering, and the garlic bread was ready to be popped into the oven. The pasta would go on at the last minute. After changing her clothes three times, she’d settled on an outfit that made her look at least three pounds lighter. The slightly snug black shirt showed off her boobs—the advantage of carrying a few extra pounds—and the knee-length skirt was flattering and comfortable. It was pretty without being an obvious date outfit. There were very cute open-toed shoes with high heels that made her legs look better than they really were waiting close by, but she’d save those for the last minute, like the pasta.

Giving in to her curiosity, she opened the door to her apartment and slipped into the hallway, tiptoeing on bare feet to Simon Darrow’s door to press her ear to the wood.

Was he in there? She knew he wasn’t working, and since she was feeding him in less than an hour he couldn’t be out looking for supper. Unless he needed supper of a different sort…

If he was in there he was being very quiet. Why didn’t she hear him practicing on his portable piano or showering or just moving about in his apartment? She held her breath and closed her eyes, listening for signs of life. Maybe he wasn’t in at all. Oh, if he stood her up she would never forgive him! Not that this was a date, or anything like it.

“I knew you were a stalker.”

Claire’s head popped up and she found her vampire neighbor standing in the hallway, one hand behind his back, that smug and yet undeniably appealing smile on his pale face. Why did he continue to hold his hand behind his back? Was he carrying a knife, or maybe even a short sword? Not that vampires needed such weapons.

She had to think fast. Again. “I heard an odd noise,” she said. “I thought maybe you’d fallen and…

and…couldn’t get up.”

His smile faded very quickly. “Do you think someone’s in there?” The hidden left hand popped around as he reached into his pocket with the right. Instead of a knife or a sword, he held a very pretty bouquet of mixed flowers. “These are for you,” he said absently, all but thrusting them at her.

Claire took the flowers…not that she had any choice considering the way they were shoved at her chest…and carried them to her nose while Simon opened the door to his apartment and stepped inside, worried about a burglar he wouldn’t find. Vampires were known to be very romantic, at least in the books she read, but she would’ve expected the flowers to be blood red or starkly exotic. Instead they were springy and bright and very much not reminiscent of the undead. It had been a very long time since any man—or whatever—had given her flowers.

“What kind of sound was it?” Simon called from inside his apartment.

Flowers in hand, Claire stepped into his apartment through the door he’d left wide open. When Mrs.

Tillman from across the hall opened her door to peek out—nosy old woman—Claire closed the door to Simon’s apartment. She didn’t miss the disapproving glare from her stodgy neighbor.

Claire’s eyes scanned the main room, which was laid out much like hers but was decorated very differently. Simon had a state-of-the-art CD player, but no television, at least not in this room. A couple of comfortable chairs, but no sofa. Blinds instead of curtains. Framed antique album covers instead of family pictures or art. The lines were stark and clean, and he used little color in his decorating scheme.

There were no mirrors, not that many men would hang mirrors anywhere but the bathroom.

There was no coffin in sight, but of course he’d keep that in the bedroom, if he had one.

“What kind of noise?” he asked again.

Claire rose up on her bare toes and dropped down again. “It was just kind of a thud. You know, now that I think about it the sound probably came from upstairs or downstairs. My mistake. Sorry.”

Simon glanced into the bedroom and the bathroom, and then returned to her with a very skeptical expression on his face. “Everything appears to be fine.”

Claire shrugged her shoulders and glanced back to the kitchen, which like hers was open to the main room. It was clean and uncluttered and probably for the most part unused.

“You are so odd,” he said as he walked toward her.

“I’m not odd,” she said defensively.

“You’re definitely odd,” he argued. “Don’t get me wrong, I like odd girls. Ordinary girls are boring and predictable. I have a feeling you’re neither.”

Her life was both predictable and boring, but she wasn’t about to share that information with Simon.

Not now.

“Thanks for the flowers,” she said, trying desperately to change the subject.

He took the bouquet from her hand and tossed it onto the closest chair. The blooms looked so out of place there, so wonderfully bright against the black leather. “No more games, Claire. What do you really want from me?”

She opened her mouth, but did not get a chance to speak.

“No more lies about lost earrings or noise from the apartment, no more quotes from the Southern Women’s Code. What do you really want?”

She could defend herself and swear she had not lied, but those eyes of his…they would see. Somehow he would know. “Honestly?”

“Please.”

She licked her lips and listened to one thud of her heart before answering, “I don’t know what I want.”

Simon moved in closer, hovering in her personal space, stealing her breath and making her heart pound even harder. He leaned toward her, his mouth heading directly for her throat. Something in her wanted to back away and clap her hand over her vulnerable artery, but another part, a deeper part, wanted to lean into him, to meet him halfway.

Maybe she was hypnotized and didn’t know it. Maybe she was moments away from calling her studly neighbor “master” and begging him to bite her.

Deep down Claire considered the possibility that Simon wasn’t a vampire at all. She’d allowed her imagination to run away from her, that’s all. He was just a man like any other. Well, not like any other but still…he might be just a man. She closed her eyes as he placed his mouth on her throat and kissed.

He didn’t bite, he kissed. Her reaction was immediate and intense. It was no wonder she read and fantasized about vampires. There was no place on her body as sensitive as her neck. Well, one, but other than that…When it came to erogenous body parts that were not located between her legs, she’d prefer a man at her neck over her breasts any day. Simon knew exactly how to kiss her neck.

One fine, strong hand gripped the back of her head while he kissed her throat gently. Claire felt that kiss everywhere. Her knees went weak, her insides tightened, she grew wet…just like that.

Why had she suspected him of being a vampire? It was easy to rely on imagination when reality sucked. Well, usually reality sucked, but at this moment it did not. Not at all. Simon kissed her throat and her body responded with an unexpected fierceness. Her body was pressed against his, and so she knew she wasn’t the only one affected.

“What do you want?” he whispered against her throat.

“Don’t you have another question?” she asked breathlessly. Men could be so single minded. Why did he feel the need to talk at all?

“No,” he said briskly.

Claire could hardly speak at all when she answered. “I want more.”

Simon sighed. “Finally, an honest answer.”

His hand slipped beneath her skirt. She was shocked at first, but then…not so much. It was a natural if rather quick progression, and she would not pretend to be demure or hesitant when she was neither.

Simon’s hand, large and warm, caressed her inner thigh and then moved up with agonizing slowness.

The higher that slow hand moved, the more intensely Claire felt the caress. She held her breath and waited for contact. Almost there…almost…bingo.

Simon touched her through silk panties and she shuddered. All the while he kissed her neck. If he was a vampire, if he really did drink blood, he could have every drop of hers as long as he didn’t stop.

He didn’t stop, and Claire felt herself spiraling out of control. Control. Did she have any? Had she ever? Her head tilted back, and as Simon took full advantage of the new position by kissing a portion of her throat he had missed, his hand slipped into her panties to touch bare, damp flesh. He did not hesitate, he did not falter. It was as if he knew her body well, as if he had touched her this way before and knew exactly where and how. His hands were warm and large and foreign…and yet somehow not so foreign. Claire wriggled a little, her panties slipped, and she spread her legs slightly. Simon took advantage of that new position just as he had when she’d offered him a better shot at her throat. His touch changed, it shifted, and then he slipped one finger inside her.

It had been a long time since any man had touched her, and she came hard and fast, convulsing, gasping, holding onto Simon so she wouldn’t fall to the floor. The orgasm itself didn’t take her by surprise—good heavens, she’d been rushing toward orgasm since he’d placed his mouth on her throat

—but the intensity did. She came, and she came, and she grasped Simon hard as the waves washed over her.

“Oh, my,” she whispered when she was able.

Simon held her up, thank goodness, but he took his hand away and he no longer gave his attentions to her throat. After a moment he released her and backed away. Claire straightened her clothes and smoothed her hair. She must look a mess, and Simon…Simon, looked as calm and collected as he had before he’d touched her.

A quick glance down proved what the press of his body to hers had told her, that he had not been unaffected. Well, didn’t this change everything? She’d started out determined to prove that he was a vampire, and had ended up here, shaking from an unexpected orgasm and shamelessly wondering when there would be more.