The Undead Next Door las-4

by Kerrelyn Sparks

  Her heart froze. Goose bumps tingled down her arms. Good Lord, she knew those eyes. She'd kissed those lips.

  It was true. He really was immortal.

  "Thank you for the warning," Jean-Luc's voice drifted from the music room. "I'll take care of her."

  Her breath caught. Was he talking about her? Oh God, they were leaving the music room. She wasn't ready for this. She needed time to accept this new reality. Immortal men. She opened the nearest door and slipped inside.

  The room was dark except for a dim sliver of light to the left. As her eyes adjusted she made out several pieces of furniture—an armoire, a wingback chair and ottoman situated next to a table and lamp. There was no mistaking the largest form in the room. The bed was huge and dark. The headboard stretched halfway to the ceiling.

  Great, just what she needed, to be discovered in someone's bedroom. The sliver of light drew her attention. She walked toward it, feeling the smooth coolness of a wooden floor beneath her feet.

  As she approached the foot of the bed, she stepped onto a thick rug. Hand-carved wool in an Aubusson style.

  The dim light emanated from a pair of double doors that had been left partially open. She pushed the doors further open and sucked in a deep breath.

  It was the most beautiful bathroom she'd ever seen. Marble floors and countertops gleamed a soft, rosy beige. Ornate gold faucets curved over two scalloped sinks. The shower stall was huge and boasted three shower heads. But the most striking feature was the huge whirlpool bathtub in the middle of the room. It was rectangular in shape, with a marble column at each corner. The columns were topped with a gilded cupola. Marble steps led up to the tub.

  She ascended a few steps and peeked under the cupola. It was painted like a summer sky,

  complete with sun and white, fluffy clouds. As she stared, the sky grew brighter. No, the whole

  room was brighter. She slowly turned.

  Jean-Luc was standing by the door with his hand on the dimmer switch.

  She swallowed hard. At least he didn't look angry. "Hi. I know I shouldn't be here, but—"

  "Do you like it?" He waved toward the giant bathtub.

  "I—yes. It's…very nice. I mean, fantastic, really."

  "It's great for relieving stress. You can use it whenever you like."

  "It's…your tub?"

  He nodded, then glanced over his shoulder. "My bedroom."

  "Oh." Of all the bedrooms in the world to stumble into…

  "Are you all right?" he asked. "I was worried about you."

  "I'm fine." He didn't seem too upset about her trespassing. But he did look pale and worried. "I'm really sorry about Pierre."

  His gaze lowered to the floor. "So am I."

  The poor guy was hurting. She eased down the steps to the marble floor. "It's late. I should be going."

  "No." His gaze lifted to her. "We need to talk."

  She gulped. Was he going to confess the truth now about being immortal?

  "How did you get the combination to the keypad?" he asked.

  "Alberto, but he was only trying to help. He didn't expect me to…sneak down here."

  A corner of Jean-Luc's mouth tilted up, although his smile still looked sad. "He underestimates you."

  "I saw the portrait in the hall. The musketeer guy." She wanted to say you, but the word stuck in her throat.

  "Heather." He stepped toward her, and she moved back. He halted, and a pained look crossed his face. "I would never hurt you."

  "I know. But this is all kinda…weird."

  "I would do anything to protect you and Bethany. You're safe with me." He motioned to his bedroom. "Come and have a seat. We need to talk."

  She eased past him into the bedroom. It wasn't quite so dark now, and she could see the bed was covered with a maroon velvet comforter. The wingback chair and ottoman were also maroon. She perched on the ottoman.

  He pushed the bathroom doors partially closed, causing the bedroom to grow darker. Then he walked to his bed and sat on the end of it. "There's something I've been wanting to tell you. It may be difficult to believe."

  She took a deep breath as if preparing to dive into the deep end. At war with fear, she reminded herself. "It's all right. I already know your secret."

  CHAPTER 20

  She knew?

  Jean-Luc cleared his throat. "Perhaps I should start at the beginning."

  "Fourteen eighty-five?" she whispered. "I–I think that could be the year of your birth."

  His breath caught, and it took a moment to force out a reply. "Yes, it is."

  Her face paled. "Oh God." She shifted uneasily on the ottoman. "I was right. You're immortal."

  "Not exactly. I can be killed."

  She nodded. "That's where the swords come in. I saw it on television. I guess Hollywood knows about you?"

  He shrugged. "There have been many stories told about us, but not always true."

  "The bad guy will try to cut your head off. That's how you die."

  He winced. "Decapitation would be effective, but there are a number of ways to kill me." He smiled wryly. "I could make you list if you're keen to know. It might come in handy if I ever forget your birthday."

  She smiled briefly, then winced. "So Louie is immortal, too. That's why the names you called him died out centuries ago. I checked it out on the Internet."

  "Ah." She'd been suspicious from the start. "You're very clever to figure out so much. I hope you also realize that you can trust me. I'm doing everything in my power to keep you and your daughter safe."

  She frowned. "You've done everything but tell me the truth."

  "I didn't want to scare you away. You would be too vulnerable on your own, too easy for Lui to kill. I could not allow you to face him alone."

  "So you concealed things to protect me."

  "Yes. And to protect myself. I could not bear it if something happened to you."

  A pained expression crossed her face. "When did the other women die?"

  "Yvonne was murdered in 1757 and Claudine in 1832. There's been no one special since then."

  "That's a long time."

  He shrugged. There'd been numerous short-term affairs and one-night stands, especially before the arrival of synthetic blood. He needed a few pints every night, and a well-pleasured woman tended to be more generous. But this was not something Heather would appreciate. "After Lui murdered Yvonne, I avoided any close relationships. I didn't want another woman to be killed because of me."

  "But you…fell in love again. With Claudine?"

  "Yes. I thought it would be safe. I'd hunted Lui for years, but he'd disappeared. Just when I thought it was safe, he came back."

  "Why does he hate you so much?"

  "He tried to assassinate Louis XV, and I stopped him. I was one of the king's personal guards at the time."

  Her eyes narrowed with a pained look. "You knew King Louis XV?"

  "I have known many kings."

  She glanced down at her clasped hands. Her fingers looked tense, her knuckles white. "You've seen a lot of people come and go."

  "Yes."

  She closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them, they glimmered with tears. "I've heard enough. I need to go." She rose quickly and started toward the door.

  "Wait." He stood and blocked her path. "There's more."

  "No." She shook her head, and the tears welled in her eyes. "There can't be anything more. Not between us. What would be the point? It doesn't matter if I think you're incredibly sweet and gorgeous and intelligent—"

  "It matters to me."

  "No, it doesn't. Because to you, I'll be gone in the blink of an eye. I'm one of those little ants that come and go. I'm surprised you even bother to keep me alive."

  "How can you say that?" He grabbed her shoulders. "Do you think I'm totally heartless?"

  "No. But why would you care if I live to be thirty or seventy? What's forty years to someone who's over five hundred? My life is just a blip on your radar screen."

&nbs
p; Mon Dieu, he wanted to shake her. "You are everything to me! You are the woman I love."

  She gasped.

  "It's true." He stepped closer. "I love you, Heather."

  She shook her head. "I'll grow old and gray."

  "And I will still love you. Why would I care if your outer appearance mellows with time? It is you who fills my heart, and I have waited five hundred years for you."

  She drew in a shaky breath. "You always say the most beautiful things." A tear rolled down her cheek. "You're the most beautiful man, but I'm afraid this could never work."

  He brushed the tear away. "You're at war with fear, remember?" He smoothed his hands across her back, drawing her close. "Trust me, cherie."

  "I want to." She rested her hands on his chest. "But this is so hard…"

  "We have this moment." He kissed her brow. "This perfect moment in time." He kissed the tip of her nose. "Let me love you." He hovered over her mouth.

  "Jean-Luc." Her hands slipped up to his neck.

  He kissed her gently, still aware that she could flee at any moment. He took a slow, leisurely pace, seducing her with softness. Her body responded, molding to his. His groin tightened. He ignored his own urgent need and slipped his hands beneath her T-shirt. He slowly caressed her back. She shivered, causing her breasts to jiggle slightly against his chest. With a moan, he drew her lower lip into his mouth and sucked. Her fingers delved into his hair.

  "Heather." He nuzzled her neck. Her carotid artery throbbed against his cheek. His erection grew harder. "Let me love you."

  "I can never resist you," she whispered.

  That was good, but he wanted more. He wanted a declaration of love. He felt sure she loved him.

  Maybe she didn't realize it yet. Or maybe she was afraid to admit it. Either way, he'd make it clear to her. He'd make her scream with pleasure, over and over, until she realized the truth.

  He grasped the hem of her T-shirt and eased it up.

  "Wait!" She crossed her arms, covering up the little yellow bird on her T-shirt.

  His heart plummeted. He released her and stepped back. "Forgive me."

  "It's not you." She pointed at the camera in the upper corner of his bedroom. "It's them."

  "Merde." He'd forgotten about that. And the damned red light was still blinking. Didn't they realize this was private? He made a cutting motion across his throat. The light went off.

  "This is embarrassing," Heather muttered. "What if they turn it back on in five minutes, thinking we're done?"

  He arched a brow. "Five minutes?"

  She huffed. "Okay, so I haven't participated in any marathons." She glared at the camera. "Or any peep shows."

  With a smile, he strode to his bedside table and fumbled in his top drawer. He removed a remote control, aimed it at the camera, and pushed the off button. "There. They can't interrupt us."

  "Okay." She watched him warily as he approached. "I–I'm still not totally convinced this could work."

  "I know, but I can be very persuasive." He took her by the shoulders. "All night long."

  She shivered as he nuzzled her neck. "I could use a little persuasion."

  "I thought so." He nibbled on her ear. "Where were we?"

  "I was about to star in a Girls Gone Wild video."

  He had no idea what that was, but it sounded interesting. "You wish to go wild, cherie?" He grabbed the hem of her T-shirt.

  She sucked in a deep breath. "What the hell? You only live once."

  That was debatable, but this was not the time. He yanked the shirt over her head and dropped it.

  The little yellow bird fluttered to the floor.

  His first inclination was to admire her breasts for a moment, but he knew that would turn his eyes red, and he didn't want to scare her. Still, he couldn't resist a quick glimpse. Her plump, rosy nipples were turning pebbly and hard. The tightened tips begged to be suckled. He kept his gaze lowered, grasped her around the waist, and tossed her onto the center of his bed.

  "Whoa!" She bounced on her rear.

  He landed beside her and shoved her back. "Close your eyes."

  "What?"

  He kept his face turned away as he untied the draw-string on her pajama bottoms. "Close your eyes and relax. Just let yourself feel." He leaned over and touched her belly button with his tongue.

  She shuddered.

  "Eyes closed?"

  "Yes."

  He glanced at her face. Her eyes were shut, and her trust in him swelled his heart. "You're so beautiful."

  A corner of her mouth tilted up. "Are you looking at my breasts?"

  He grinned. "Actually, I was looking at your face." He kissed her cheek. "But your breasts are beautiful, too."

  "Thank you."

  He rested a hand on her waist. "Si belle." He skimmed his fingers up her rib cage and the valley between her breasts. Her chest rose with a deep breath.

  With his fingertips, he circled one breast, then the other. "Your nipples are becoming darker. Tighter. And I haven't even touched them yet." He pressed his mouth against the outside curve of her left breast.

  She sighed. He cupped her right breast and massaged gently.

  She moaned.

  "Do you like it gentle…or rough?" He took the hardened tip between his thumb and forefinger and tugged.

  She gasped.

  "Or perhaps both." He drew the nipple into his mouth and swirled his tongue around the tip.

  She splayed her fingers into his hair. "Jean-Luc."

  "Hmm?" He kissed her other breast, nibbling and tweaking the nipple. He slipped his hand into her loose pajamas, reaching lower and lower until he encountered her curls. Slowly he massaged the plump mound. Her breathing became faster and more erratic.

  He nuzzled her neck. "I want to taste you."

  "Oh God," she whispered.

  "I want to feel you shudder against my face." He licked her lips, then kissed her. He swept his tongue inside her mouth, then drew back. "It will be like that, but better. Are you ready?"

  "Oh yes," she breathed, her eyes squeezed shut.

  He grabbed the waistband of her pajama bottoms, yanked them down her legs, and tossed them aside. She covered her face briefly with her hands, then flung her arms wide. Her legs moved slightly, bending at the knee.

  He grasped her ankles and planted her feet firmly apart on the bed. Her body jolted, sending a quiver down her legs that he could feel. His erection strained against his trousers, and he prayed for endurance. He needed to make her scream first. He needed her speaking words of love when he fully claimed her.

  He clasped her knees and shoved them apart. She gasped.

  He stared. Mon Dieu, she was beautiful. Dark auburn curls. Rosy flesh along the outer folds. A darker ruby color in the center. She glistened with moisture. Her fragrance called to him. It smelled of sweet desire and rushing blood.

  He nestled a cheek against her soft inner thigh. "You're lovely beyond words. So sweet and wet."

  He skimmed his fingers over her, and her legs trembled.

  Her groan sounded urgent and full of need. She clutched at the bedspread and moved her feet to his back.

  He moved in closer and touched her with his tongue. One taste and he was lost. He seized her by the hips and swirled his tongue all over her, exploring every bit of her while she squirmed beneath him. He inserted his tongue, but wanted further inside her. He plunged a finger inside, then two, and stroked her while his tongue lapped her clitoris.

  She was panting now, her hips rising. He nipped at her, then flicked his tongue, increasing to vampire speed.

  She screamed. Her thighs gripped him; her inner muscles clenched his fingers. Her climax rippled through her, over and over, and just when it showed signs of waning, he tugged at her clitoris and wiggled his fingers. She screamed again, and more spasms shot through her.

  He smiled. She responded so well, tasted so good. Soon she would confess her love. He unzipped his trousers.

  "That was incredible." She pressed a
hand to her chest. "You're so good."

  "Yes?" Any minute now, she would declare her undying love. Then he would fill her and make her his own.

  "You're wonderful and…aack!" Horror flashed across her face. "Your eyes are red!"

  Zut. "It's nothing. I can explain."

  "They're glowing!" She scrambled away from him. "That—that's not normal!"

  "Heather, relax."

  "Fidelia warned me." She hustled off the bed. "Red glowing eyes. Danger."

  "I won't hurt you!"

  "Fidelia was right about the fire. She dreamed it." Heather grabbed her pajama bottoms and stuffed her legs inside. "And she dreamed about red glowing eyes and gnashing white teeth."

  "Dammit, Heather, I'm in complete control." He stood beside the bed. "I won't bite you."

  She froze. Her eyes widened. "Bite me?"

  Merde. She didn't know. He motioned to the bed. "Please have a seat. I can explain."

  She retreated a step. "I don't think so." She spotted her T-shirt on the floor and nabbed it. "I thought my theory was right. You admitted you were born in 1485."

  "I was."

  She pulled the T-shirt over her head. "What are you not telling me?"

  "I died in 1513."

  She rubbed a hand against her brow. "Okay. That's how the immortal guys discover who they are. They die, then come back."

  "I was wounded at the Battle of the Spurs." He sat on the edge of the bed. "My comrades fled, but I refused to retreat. The English surrounded me. I was stabbed many times and left to die."

  She pressed a hand to her mouth and looked a bit green. "That's horrible."

  "By the time the sun set, I was barely alive. Roman found me and said I could live to fight again. I agreed, and he changed me."

  "Into an immortal?"

  "No, cherie." He took a deep breath to prepare himself for her reaction. "Into a vampire."

  Her face paled. He could literally smell the blood draining from her face and hands. He could hear her heart pounding. "That—that can't be true. Vampires aren't real."

  "Heather." He stood and moved toward her, but stopped when she jumped back. "There's no need to fear me."

  "I think there is. Don't you—don't vampires feed off people?"