Kerrelyn Sparks - The Undead Next Door

"Nay," Angus said. "Ye're the best swordsman we have, and Casimir is still in hiding while he grows his evil army."

"Right." Jean-Luc gave his old friend a wry look. "Such a waste for me to die here when I could do it so well in battle."

Angus' mouth twitched. "Aye, exactly."

The buzzer on the office door sounded.

"'Tis yer wife, Angus," Robby announced as he opened the door.

Angus turned to greet his wife with a smile.

Zut. Jean-Luc looked away. First Roman, and now Angus. Both married and madly in love. It was embarrassing. Two of the most powerful coven masters in the vampire world reduced to doting husbands. Jean-Luc wanted to pity them, but the sad truth was, he was jealous. Damned jealous.

That sort of happiness could never happen to him.

"Hi, guys!" Emma MacKay strode into the room and straight into her husband's arms. "Guess what? I bought the cutest little handbag. Alberto's wrapping it up for me."

"Another handbag?" Angus asked. "Ye doona have a dozen already?"

Jean-Luc peered through the window and noted which purse Alberto was wrapping. "Good news, Angus. It's one of my lower-priced handbags."

"Och, good." Angus hugged his wife.

Jean-Luc smiled. "Oui, it's only eight hundred dollars."

Angus stepped back, his eyes wide with shock. "Forget the bloody army. I'll skewer ye now."

Roman laughed. "You can afford it, Angus."

"So can you." Jean-Luc smirked at his old friend. "Have you seen what your wife is buying?"

Roman hurried to the window and looked for his wife in the store below. "God's blood," he whispered.

Shanna Draganesti was carrying their seventeen-month-old boy on her hip while she filled his stroller with clothes, shoes, and purses.

"She has good taste," Jean-Luc observed. "You should be proud."

"I'll be broke." Roman watched forlornly as the pile in the stroller grew steadily higher.

Jean-Luc surveyed the showroom. As much as he grumbled about his self-imposed exile, he was pleased with the prison he'd designed for himself. It was nestled among the hills of central Texas.

The nearest town was Schnitzelberg, founded by German immigrants a hundred and fifty years earlier. It was a sleepy, forgotten place with Spanish oaks dripping moss and white Queen Anne homes with lace curtains.

All his stores in America boasted a similar design, but this one in Texas was different, for it included a large underground lair where Jean-Luc would hide during his exile. It was imperative to keep this lair a secret, so Jean-Luc's mortal assistant, Alberto, had reached an agreement with the contractor who'd built it. The contractor was on the local school board, so Jean-Luc agreed to make a hefty contribution to the school district through the upcoming charity fashion show. As long as Jean-Luc was generous with the town of Schnitzelberg, they would keep quiet about the bankrupt store that a foreigner owned on the outskirts of town.

And just to be safe, Robby had teleported into the contractor's office and removed all the blueprints and work orders related to this site. After the charity show, Robby and Jean-Luc would erase a few memories, and no one would remember there was a huge cellar beneath the abandoned store. Pierre, a mortal who worked for MacKay Security and Investigation, would guard the building during the day while Jean-Luc lay in his death-sleep.

He watched the party below. Simone and Inga were flirting with a white-haired old man, hunched over a cane. He had to be rich, or they wouldn't waste their time.

Jean-Luc's gaze wandered about the store. He'd always enjoyed people watching. The thought of this building being empty for the next twenty-five years was damned depressing. Ah well, he was accustomed to loneliness.

He spotted the new model Alberto had hired for his last show in Paris. Sasha Saladine. She was talking to someone standing behind a mannequin. Alberto approached, and Sasha introduced her companion. Alberto accepted a gracefully extended hand and kissed it. A female. And possessing an arm that wasn't pencil thin. She wasn't a model. A customer, then. Most likely mortal.

Alberto and Sasha wandered off together, leaving the showroom. What was that about? Jean-Luc forgot to speculate when his gaze drifted back to the customer and stuck. She was moving into view, and what a view. She had curves. And breasts. A derriere a man could grab on to. And mounds of curly auburn hair that fluffed around her shoulders. She reminded him of lusty tavern wenches from medieval pubs who laughed heartily and made love with wild abandon. Mon Dieu, how he had adored those women.

She was like the old movie stars he had loved to design clothes for. Marilyn Monroe, Ava Gardner. His intellect might design clothes for a size zero, but the rest of him yearned for a lusty, full-figured woman. And here was a beautiful one right in front of him. Her black dress clung to a luscious hourglass figure. And yet the most important feature, her face, remained hidden. He moved to the left and peered closely through the glass.

He caught a glimpse of a pert nose, slightly tilted up at the tip. Not a classical nose like all his models possessed, but he liked it. It was natural and…cute. Cute? Not a word that could ever apply to his models. They all aspired to perfection, even by artificial means, but the end result was they all looked alike. And in their quest for perfection, they lost something. They lost a sense of personality and unique sparkle.

The woman in question pushed her thick, curly hair behind her ear. She had high, wide cheekbones and a sweet curve to her jaw. Her eyes were wide and intent as she focused on the white gown. What color were her eyes? he wondered. With her rich auburn hair, he hoped they were green. Her lips were wide, yet delicately shaped. No collagen there. She was a natural beauty. An angel.

She retrieved some items from her purse—a small writing pad and a pen. No, a pencil. She was writing something. No, sketching. His mouth dropped open. Zut! She was drawing his new gown, stealing his design.

His eyes narrowed. What nerve she had to blatantly copy his gown right in front of everyone. Who the hell was she? Had she come from New York with Sasha Saladine? She probably worked for one of the other major fashion houses. They would love to have copies of his latest designs.

"Merde." He grabbed his tuxedo jacket off the back of his desk chair.

"Where are ye going?" Robby asked, ever vigilant.

"Downstairs." Jean-Luc shrugged on his jacket.

"To the showroom?" Angus frowned. "Nay. Someone might recognize you. Ye shouldna risk it."

"They're local people," Jean-Luc explained. "They won't know who I am."

"Ye canna be certain of that." Robby moved toward the door. "If ye want something from the store, I'll bring it to you."

"It's not a thing. It's a person." Jean-Luc motioned to the window. "There's a spy down there, stealing my designs."

"You're kidding." Emma ran to the window to look. "Where is he?"

"She." Jean-Luc glanced out the window. "By the white—no. Zut, she's moved to the red gown."

"Let us deal with her." Angus joined Robby at the door.

"No." Jean-Luc strode toward the exit and stopped in front of the two Scotsmen blocking his way.

"Move. I need to find out who's paying her to spy on me."

With a stubborn lift to his chin, Angus folded his arms and refused to budge.

Jean-Luc arched a brow at his old friend. "Your company works for me, Angus."

"Aye, we're paid to protect you, but we canna do it if ye behave foolishly."

"And I'm telling you these local people don't know who I am. Alberto always acted as my go-between. Let me pass before that damned spy leaves with my designs."

Angus sighed. "Verra well, but Robby will go with you." He whispered instructions to his great-great-grandson, "Doona let anyone take his photo. And watch his back. He has enemies."