She was beautiful even when she was angry. Jean-Luc admired the glittering green fire in Heather’s eyes. And the way that silk top clung to her breasts wasn’t bad, either. She glared at him as she planted her hands on her hips. The movement caused her breasts to jiggle ever so slightly. No bra. He’d always had a good eye for detail.
“Jean-Luc,” she muttered. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“Please call me Jean.” It would be so easy to slip his hands underneath her top and fill his palms with the sweet, soft heaviness of her breasts. He lifted his gaze to her face and noticed her reddening cheeks. He caught the scent of her blood as it rushed to her face, engorging the delicate veins beneath her skin. Type AB.
Hunger coiled in his belly and sent flickers of desire throughout his body. Luckily he had some bottles of synthetic blood stashed in a cooler outside in his car. That would take care of his physical need, but he was
slowly becoming aware of a different hunger, a hunger brought on by years of abstinence. He missed making love, but it went deeper than that. He missed the satisfaction, the peaceful contentment of feeling emotionally connected to a loving woman. Because of Lui, that joy had long been impossible.
Heather folded her arms across her chest, which only pulled the sleek material tighter against her breasts. “Don’t tell me you’re planning to spend the night here.”
“I must. It is my duty and honor to protect you.”
“That is so romantic,” Fidelia said from her seat on the couch. She shifted her square body sideways so she could see Heather at the doorway. “Don’t you think so?”
“No.” Heather frowned at her. “It’s not romantic if he’s forcing himself on me.”
“Chica, it’s not like he’s trying to seduce you. He just wants to protect you.” Fidelia’s eyes twinkled as she glanced at Jean-Luc. “At least that’s what he says.”
Seduce her? Jean-Luc had avoided mortal women since Claudine’s murder in 1832. His sense of honor had demanded that he not expose another innocent female to Lui’s twisted vengeance. But Lui already believed he was involved with Heather. The most pressing reason to resist her was gone. That realization sent a jolt of desire straight from his heart to his groin. Seduce her. You know you want her.
But why would she welcome any advances from him? Her life and her daughter’s life were in jeopardy because of him. She was more likely to slap him than succumb to passionate kisses.
He took a deep breath. “I assure you, mes dames, that my intentions are honorable.”
Heather snorted and gave him a dubious look.
Did she question his honor? Merde. But she was correct, given the direction his thoughts were going.
“From what Emma told me, I could be in danger, too.” Fidelia’s brown eyes glimmered with mischief. “Where’s my bodyguard? Do you have like
a…catalog?”
Jean-Luc blinked. “I can protect you both, but if you prefer a guard of your own, I could call Robby—”
“Roberto?” Fidelia fluffed up her long, straggly black hair.
Unfortunately, two inches of gray showed at the roots. “Is he muy macho
like you?”
“I…wouldn’t know.” Jean-Luc retrieved his cell phone from the inside pocket of his tuxedo jacket.
“He’s a Scotsman in a kilt,” Heather muttered. “He’s got a bigger sword than Jean.”
What the hell did that mean? Jean-Luc paused in the middle of dialing to meet her challenging glare. “A claymore is naturally larger than a foil, mademoiselle, but its very weight causes the swordsman to be more slow.”
She gave him a bland look. “Slow’s good. I like slow.”
He stepped toward her. “Finesse is better. And do not forget experience and perfect timing. I am a champion, you know.”
“Right.” She yawned. “But you know how it is. Only those who are lacking claim that size is not important.”
He gritted his teeth. “I lack nothing, mademoiselle. I will gladly prove myself. As slowly as you like.”
Fidelia burst into laughter. “Ooh wee, if only I was twenty years younger. Well, make that thirty, but anyway, I’m not into swords or men in skirts. I’ve got all the men I can handle.”
Jean-Luc dragged his eyes off Heather to focus on the babysitter. “You do not want Robby?”
“Hell, no, I was just foolin’ with you.” Fidelia hefted her large purse into her lap and fumbled inside. “What would I do with a Scotsman when I
have this nice German muchacho, Mr. Glock.” She removed a revolver, patted it fondly, and set it on the cushion beside her.
She pulled out another one. “Then there’s Mr. Makarov from Russia with love.” She set the pistol next to the first one. “And my Italian honey, Mr. Beretta.”
While Jean-Luc slipped his cell phone back into his pocket, he noticed there were trigger locks on all her pistols. “How many guns do you have?”
“One for every husband I went through. At least these honeys don’t shoot blanks.” Laughing, Fidelia stuffed the pistols back into her purse. “My favorite, Mr. Magnum, is upstairs in my bedroom. Too heavy for my purse.” She winked. “But talk about size—”
“Fidelia, I need something from the kitchen.” Heather motioned with her head toward the back of the house.
“Then go get it.” Fidelia’s eyes widened when Heather angled her head once more to the kitchen. “Oh, right. Let me help you.” She stood, cradling her purse against her large bosom. “We’ll be right back, Juan. Don’t go.”
“Of course.” He bowed slightly as Heather strode down the hallway.
Fidelia waddled after her, her long skirt swishing. She glanced back with an amused smirk. “I’m sure she’s just lost something. Like her senses.”
Jean-Luc eased toward the foyer to watch them, and once the kitchen door stopped swinging in their wake, he zoomed at vampire speed out the front door to his BMW.
He pulled a bottle of synthetic blood from the cooler and gulped it down. He despised cold meals, but in this instance, it was exactly what he needed. For him, drinking cold blood was akin to a cold shower—a necessary shock to the system. His hunger went beyond mere sustenance.
He took in Heather’s two-story, wood-framed house. Painted blue with white trim, it radiated warmth and charm. A stark contrast to his stone chateau north of Paris—flawless and formal, as cold and unwelcoming as a mausoleum. This house was alive with vibrant people and exuded a lived-in quality. His sharp eye caught every detail: a pair of small, wet sneakers left on the porch, a half-crocheted afghan spilling from a basket beside the fireplace, seat cushions on the couch with permanent indentations, a cross-stitched sampler on the wall asking for divine blessings, and exuberant artwork proudly displayed on the mantelpiece, clearly created by Heather’s daughter.
It was a true home. A real family. Something he had never known. Merde. You’d think after five hundred years, he’d have come to terms with it. One thing was certain: he couldn’t let Lui destroy this family. The challenge ahead was daunting, as he had no idea when or where Lui would strike next.
Jean-Luc’s deepest fear—the sense of powerlessness—lurked in the shadows, ready to pounce on any sign of weakness. He wouldn’t give in. For Heather’s sake, he had to protect her and defeat Lui.
He scanned the yard and street before zipping back into the house. He quietly shut the front door. With his superior vamp senses, he heard Fidelia’s whispered voice.
“Why not let him protect you? What do you have against him?” There was a pause. He silently locked the door.
“There’s something odd about him,” Heather finally said. “You can see the obvious flaws, but there’s something else I can’t quite figure out.”
“What obvious flaws?” Fidelia asked.
Exactly. What obvious flaws? Jean-Luc eased down the foyer, frowning. “He’s too good-looking,” Heather announced.
Jean-Luc grinned.
“And arrogant,” she continued, and his smile faded. “I swear, if I have to hear about his championship one more time, I’ll take that sword of his and make him a champion blue ribbon steer.”
He winced.
“Don’t be silly,” Fidelia hissed. “If you mess with a man’s equipment, then what good is he for?”
“I’ve been wondering that for about four years now,” Heather muttered. Jean-Luc restrained himself from marching into the kitchen and tossing
Miss Heather Westfield onto the table for some much-needed illumination.
Fidelia chuckled. “Well, if he stays here for very long, you might find out.”
Damned right. Jean-Luc nodded.
“He’s not staying here,” Heather insisted. Damned wrong. He scowled at the door.
Heather lowered her voice. “I want to know if you’re getting any sort of strange vibes off him.”
“Nothing yet. You know most of my visions come in my dreams at night.”
“Then go to bed.”
Fidelia laughed. “I can’t guarantee I’ll dream of him…but you might. I can tell you like him.”
Jean-Luc tiptoed closer to the kitchen door. He needed to hear Heather’s response, but instead, there was a fumbling sound.
“Are we out of triple chocolate ice cream?” Heather made a sound of exasperation as the freezer door slammed shut.
“You’re in denial,” Fidelia announced. “No, I’m fully aware that I’m overweight.”
“No,” Fidelia countered. “You will not admit that you are attracted to Juan.”
“His name is John.”
He grimaced. Neither one of them pronounced it right.
“He’s very handsome,” Heather whispered. “But he’s too domineering.” “No, no. Chica, he’s nothing like your ex. You just think all men are bad
right now.”
“There’s something weird about him I don’t trust.”
Fidelia made a clucking sound. “Then let’s finish his reading and see what the cards reveal.”
Jean-Luc dashed back into the living room and eyed the cards on the coffee table. After Fidelia had shuffled them, she’d invited him to select seven cards. Only one had been turned face up so far, that damned Hermit card. He didn’t normally believe in such nonsense. He’d seen too many
charlatans over the centuries. Still, hearing someone announce his loneliness had pricked his pride.
Of course he was lonely. How could he court a woman knowing that Lui would try to kill her?
“I’m not sure he’s what he says he is,” Heather’s soft words drifted from the kitchen. “He has…secrets.”
She was a perceptive woman. Jean-Luc leaned over the coffee table and flipped the next card. His heart froze.
The Lovers. It was so tempting to hope for a happy future and a glorious union with a loving woman. But how could it possibly happen with
Heather? Even if she survived Lui and forgave him for endangering her, how could she accept a lover who was undead?
He heard them enter the foyer. Quickly, he grabbed the Lovers card and stuffed it back into the deck. He picked another card at random and set it facedown where the Lovers card had been. Then he sat in the wingback chair and assumed a bored expression.
“We’re back!” Fidelia marched into the room, her long skirt swishing.
She flopped down onto the middle dip in the couch and set her purse beside her.
“Can I get you something to drink?” Heather motioned to the kitchen with a hand that held a glass of ice water. The cubes clinked together like musical chimes.
“No thank you.” Jean-Luc clenched the arms of his chair to keep from standing. He’d lived through several centuries when good manners dictated a male should stand whenever a female was standing. Such habits were hard to break, but it would be even harder to explain why he had such a habit.
Heather already suspected too much.
“How about we finish your reading?” Fidelia leaned forward, propping her elbows on her knees.
Heather set her glass on a coaster close to the cards. “Do you mind if I watch?”
“No. I have nothing to hide.” He was such a liar.
She gave him a suspicious look as she perched on the sofa arm. She dragged a powder-blue chenille pillow into her lap and twisted the fringe around her fingers.
“All right, the second card.” Fidelia flipped it over.
Thank God he’d gotten rid of the Lovers. Whatever he’d substituted had to be an improvement.
“The Fool,” Fidelia announced. He winced.
Heather chuckled, then pursed her lips when he glared at her.
“It doesn’t mean you are foolish,” Fidelia assured him with a smile. “It means you have a secret desire to leap into the unknown and start a new
life.”
“Oh.” That might be true. He glanced at Heather. She hugged the pillow to her chest, her fingers lightly stroking the soft chenille.
She likes texture. She liked to touch and feel things. His groin reacted.
Hopefully she enjoyed hard things as well as soft.
Fidelia turned over another card and frowned. “Oh dear. Ten of Swords.”
“Is that bad?” A dumb question since Jean-Luc could see the card’s depiction of a dead man on the ground with ten swords in his back.
“Desolation,” Fidelia answered. “Your fate is tracking you down, and there is nothing you can do to avoid it.”
“Louie,” Heather whispered, and squeezed the pillow tighter. “I won’t let him harm you,” Jean-Luc assured her.
Fidelia turned the fourth card. “Eight of Swords, reversed. Your past has come back to haunt you.”
He shifted in his chair. This was too close for comfort.
Fidelia flipped over the fifth card. “Knight of Swords.” She shook her head with a confused look.
“That’s bad, too?”
“No, good. You are brave like Sir Lancelot and a defender of women.” Fidelia sighed. “I just find it odd that you would select so many Sword cards. There are three other suits. The chance of picking cards from only one suit is rare.”
Jean-Luc shrugged. “I am a swordsman.”
“The swords stand for reason.” Fidelia narrowed her eyes. “It must mean you have been concentrating on your intellect and ignoring the needs of your heart.”
“I had no choice. I couldn’t risk a relationship with anyone because of Lui.”
“How old is Louie?” Heather whispered.
Jean-Luc stiffened, then forced himself to lounge back in the chair nonchalantly. “He is…older than I.”
Heather watched him closely, her fingers digging into the soft chenille pillow. “How old would that be?”
Merde. She was on to him. How could he gain her trust if he had to keep lying? “I don’t know his exact age.” At least that much was true.
Fidelia revealed the sixth card. “The Moon.” She gave him an odd look. Jean-Luc swallowed. “Something to do with hunting?”
“No. It means deception.” Fidelia glanced at Heather. “It could also mean something supernatural.”
Heather’s eyes widened.
He sat forward. “Do not be swayed by superstition. I have sworn to protect you, and I will.”
“I want to believe you. I’m just not sure I can.” Her eyes searched his, and he tried to pour all his concern and admiration for her into his gaze. She
didn’t look away. A spark of hope ignited inside him. He wanted her trust, her friendship, her respect. He wanted everything she could give him.
“Time for the last card,” Fidelia announced. “This one is very important, for it signifies the outcome of our current dilemma.” She reached for the card.
The doorbell rang.
Heather jumped to her feet.
Fidelia reached for her purse. “Who would come at this time of night?” Jean-Luc strode into the foyer with the women following close behind.
He heard Angus on the front porch, sending a psychic message to his wife. “It’s not Lui. He would never bother to ring the bell.”
Heather flipped on the porch light and peered through a pane of leaded glass in the door.
“It’s all right,” Jean-Luc assured her. “I think it’s Angus. Allow me.” He opened the door.
Angus slipped inside and nodded at her. “Good evening, lass. How is everything here?”
Heather shrugged. “Okay, I guess. I didn’t expect Jean-Luc to show up.”
Angus frowned. “He had no choice. ’Tis a matter of honor.” His face brightened when his wife skipped merrily down the stairs. “There ye are.”
Emma grinned and walked straight into his arms. “Miss me already?” “Aye.” Angus hugged her tight.
Jean-Luc groaned inwardly. Angus was so easily distracted these days. “Is there any news to report?”
“Nay.” Angus rested his chin against Emma’s brow. “Robby and I looked all over town. There’s no sign of Lui.”
Frustration gnawed at Jean-Luc. He desperately wanted to hunt for Lui, but he couldn’t ignore his duty to guard Heather. “We need more men.”
“I’m going to New York to arrange for more guards,” Angus assured him.
Jean-Luc nodded. Roman and Gregori had already teleported back to New York, taking Shanna and the baby with them.
Angus turned to Heather. “We’ll bring someone here to help you during the day, too.”
Her eyes widened. “Is all this really necessary?”
“Yes,” Jean-Luc answered at the same time Angus said, “Aye.”
Angus opened the door. “I’d like a moment alone with my wife before I go. Good night.” He led Emma onto the front porch.
She glanced back at Heather, smiling. “I’ll be back in just a moment.” The front door shut.
There was an awkward pause while the others waited in the foyer, then some sounds drifted through the closed door—a squeal from Emma, followed by masculine chuckling and feminine giggling.
Jean-Luc sighed. “Newlyweds.”
Heather nodded. “That much cheerfulness can really get annoying.” “Oui.” Jean-Luc crossed his arms. “Especially when it is not possible
for the rest of us.”
Fidelia snorted. “You two are so depressing, you’re driving me to drink.” She headed for the kitchen. “Anyone else want a beer?”
“No thanks.” Heather watched the kitchen door swing, then slanted a curious glance toward Jean-Luc. “You sound almost…envious of Angus and Emma.”
“What man would not wish to be loved with a passion as great as theirs?”
“Some might find that kind of passion too confining.”
“Only if love was used to imprison them.” Jean-Luc watched her closely. “Is that what happened to you?”
She shrugged and looked away, but he could sense that was a yes.
He stepped toward her. “I think love should make you feel more powerful and strong, more free and capable of achieving whatever you desire.”
Her gaze met his. “A love like that is very rare.” “Do you have that kind of love with your daughter?”
Her eyes widened, then glimmered with moisture. “Yes. I do.” “Then it is possible for you.”
She bit her bottom lip. “Why do you think it’s not possible for you?”
“I never wanted to expose a woman to Lui’s deadly vengeance.” Even with Lui gone, there would still be the problem of his being undead. But Roman and Angus had worked around that problem. Maybe he could, too. “It would be difficult to find a woman who could love me as I am.”
Heather’s mouth quirked. “Are you that hard to get along with? Let me guess. You snore like a buffalo stampede.”
“No. I’m actually rather quiet in my sleep.”
“You don’t stay up all night polishing your fencing trophies?”
He grinned. “No.”
She spread her hands in exasperation. “I give up. I can’t tell what’s wrong with you.”
He stepped closer. “Then you are ready to admit that you like me.”
Her cheeks blossomed a pretty pink, and the sweet scent of Type AB blood wafted toward him. She lifted her chin. “You’re awfully sure of
yourself.”
He smiled slowly. “An unfortunate by-product of my arrogance.”
Her mouth curled with a reluctant smile. “I’m having trouble disliking you.”
“Give it time. You’ll come around.”
She laughed, and the happy sound filled his heart with warm joy. He hadn’t enjoyed a woman’s company this much in years. Hundreds of years. He realized with a jolt that Heather was a rare woman. Her quick mind was a delightful challenge. Not only was she beautiful and intelligent, but she possessed a courageous and caring heart. She’d come to his rescue tonight when she hardly knew him. And even though he owed her, she refused to
take advantage. There was an old-fashioned nobility about her that touched his soul.
The phone rang, and she jumped.
“Good Lord, who would call this late? It’s just after midnight.” She dashed into the living room and grabbed the phone from the small table next to the wingback chair. “Hello?”
With his superior senses, Jean-Luc could hear an angry masculine voice on the phone. He hovered by the room’s entrance, close enough that he could eavesdrop, but far enough away to look like he wasn’t.
Heather’s shoulders tensed. “Do you know what time it is?”
“Yeah, it’s real late for you to have a boyfriend over,” the masculine
voice sneered. “Why don’t you wait till the weekend when I have Bethany? I don’t want her exposed to the lowlifes you sleep with.”
Jean-Luc sucked in a deep breath. This had to be Heather’s ex-husband. “I have several out-of-town guests spending the night,” Heather gritted
out. “And it’s none of your damned business.” She slammed the phone down. “God, I hate Thelma.”
“Who is she?” Jean-Luc asked.
“My next-door neighbor. She’s best friends with Cody’s mother, and she spies on me. She calls Cody’s mother, who calls Cody—”
“And he calls you,” Jean-Luc finished the sentence. He wished this Cody would show up in person. The bastard needed to learn how to respect women.
“I’d better check on Bethany.” Heather rushed from the room. “The phone might have woken her up.” She jogged up the stairs.
Jean-Luc moved to the base of the stairs so he could admire her swaying hips.
Fidelia swooshed through the kitchen door with a beer bottle in her hand. “Enjoying the view?” She chuckled as she headed for the stairs. “Ay, caramba, but you are muy macho. I am glad you are here, Juan.”
“It is my pleasure.” He wondered if the older woman had been eavesdropping. Probably.
“Good night.” Fidelia started up the stairs.
She must have forgotten about the tarot card left from her reading. “Good night.” Jean-Luc wandered back into the living room.
The last card remained facedown on the coffee table. Supposedly this was the card that foretold the outcome of their dilemma. He reached down
and flipped it over.
He jerked his hand away as if it’d been burned with silver. A skeleton rode a horse.
Death.
