Kim Harrison - Hotter Than Hell

“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.