Jean-Luc snorted as he left his office. With a few strides, he reached the back staircase. Did Angus think he was a weakling? He knew how to protect himself. Sure, he was on Casimir's hit list, but they all were. And Jean-Luc had other enemies as well. A man couldn't live more than five hundred years without making a few vampires angry. But now he'd acquired a new foe. A thief with the face of an angel.
He reached the bottom of the stairs and headed down the side hallway for the showroom. Robby's steps thundered down the stairs behind him.
As Jean-Luc entered the store, heads turned in his direction, then turned away. Good. No one recognized him. The scent of different blood types wafted past him, a sweetly appetizing human buffet. Socializing with mortals had presented a problem for his self-control until Roman had invented synthetic blood back in 1987. Now Jean-Luc and all his Vamp friends made sure they were full before venturing among mortals.
He noticed Robby edging around the perimeter of the room, looking for photographers. Or assassins. Jean-Luc stepped around the old man with a cane and proceeded to the female thief. He stopped a few inches behind her. She was tall, the top of her head reaching his chin. The scent of her blood was fresh and sweet. She was mortal.
"Begging your pardon, mademoiselle."
She turned. Her eyes were green. Zut. Her beautiful eyes widened as she looked at him.There was nothing sadder than a fallen angel.
He frowned at her. "Give me one good reason why I should not have you arrested."
CHAPTER 2
Heather blinked. "Excuse me?" The gorgeous man's French accent took some time to adjust to, but she could have sworn he'd threatened to arrest her. She smiled brightly and extended a hand.
"How do you do? I'm Heather Lynn Westfield."
"Heather?" His odd pronunciation sent a tingle down her spine. It sounded like Eh-zair, soft and sweet like an endearment. He took her hand and encased it in both of his.
"Yes?" She continued to smile and prayed that none of the feta cheese spinach puff was lodged in her teeth. He studied her with his beautiful blue eyes. And his face—that chiseled jaw and mouth belonged on a Greek statue.
His grip tightened around her hand. "Tell me the truth. Who sent you here?"
"Excuse me?" She tried to retrieve her hand, but he held on tight. Too tight. A shiver of alarm crept up her neck.
His blue eyes narrowed. "I saw what you did."
Oh God, he knew about the crab cake. He must be some kind of security guard. "I–I'll pay for it."
"It is twenty thousand dollars."
"For a crab cake?" She ripped her hand from his grasp. "This place is outrageous." With a huff, she pulled the napkin from her purse. "Here. Take your silly crab cake. I don't want it anymore."
He stared at the napkin-wrapped crab cake in his hand. "You are a spy and a thief?"
"I'm not a spy." She winced. Had she just admitted to being a thief?
He frowned at her. "There is no need to steal food. It is free. If you are hungry, you should eat."
"It was a souvenir, okay? I'm not really hungry. Do I look like I've missed any meals?"
His gaze wandered over her slowly with an intensity that made her heart race. Well, what was good for the goose…She checked him out, too. Were the black curls on his head as soft as they looked? Did he have trouble with his hair tangling? Shoot, as long as his eyelashes were, they probably tangled, too.
She cleared her throat. "I doubt you arrest people for taking crab cakes. So I'll just be going now."
His eyes met hers. "I'm not done with you."
"Oh." Maybe he'd drag her away and ravish her. No, that only happened in books. "What did you have in mind?"
"You will answer my questions." He motioned to a waiter and dropped her balled-up napkin on the tray. "Now, tell me the truth. Who is your employer?"
"SISD."
"Is that a government agency?"
"It's the Schnitzelberg Independent School District."
He tilted his head with a confused look. "You are not a designer?"
"I wish. Now if you'll excuse me—" She pivoted to leave.
"Non." He took hold of her arm. "I saw you copying the white gown. It is twenty thousand dollars. Since you are so interested in it, you should buy it."
She snorted. "I wouldn't be caught dead in that gown."
"What?" His eyebrows shot up. "There's nothing wrong with that design."
"Are you kidding?" She pulled away from his grasp. "What was Echarpe thinking? The neckline plunges past the navel. The skirt slits up to North Dakota. No woman in her right mind would wear that thing in public."
His jaw shifted as he ground his teeth. "The models are happy to wear it."
"My point, exactly. Those poor women are so malnourished, they can't think straight. Take my friend Sasha. Her idea of a three-course meal is a celery stick, a cherry tomato, and a laxative.
She's killing herself to fit into these clothes. Women like me can't dress like that."
His gaze drifted over her again. "I think you could. You would look…superbe."
"My breasts would fall out."
"Exactly." The corner of his mouth tilted up.
She huffed. "I'm not showing my breasts in public."
His eyes twinkled. "Would you do it in private?"
Damn him and his pretty blue eyes. She had to think a moment to remember the gist of the conversation. "Are you going to arrest me or drool on me?"
He smiled. "Can I do both?"
What a confusing man. "I haven't done anything wrong. I mean, other than the crab cake. But I wouldn't have taken it if I could actually afford anything in this place."
His smile faded. "You are in need of money? You plan to sell the designs you copied to another house?"
"No. I just wanted to make one for myself."
"You are lying. You said you would not be caught dead in one of these gowns."
Lying? This guy was full of rotten accusations. "Look, I would never wear one of these gowns the way Echarpe designed them. I tell you, the guy is completely detached from reality. Does he even know any real people?"
"Not like you," he muttered, then held out his hand. "Let me see your sketchings."
"All right. If it'll help clear things up." She showed him her notepad. "The first one is the white gown, but I fixed it."
"Fixed it? I can hardly recognize it."
"I know. It looks so much better now. I could actually wear it without getting arrested for indecent exposure."
He gritted his teeth. "It's not that bad."
"If a young boy saw me in it, I'd be listed on a web-site as a sex offender. But the point is moot, since I could never afford the dress in the first place. I can't even buy a pair of socks here without getting my truck repossessed."
"This merchandise is designed for an elite few."
"Oh, pardon me. I'll just have Cheeves bring around the Rolls-Royce, so I can putter over to the airport and take my private jet back to my villa in Tuscany."
His mouth twitched as he turned to the next page. "And this is the red gown?"
"Yes, but much better after I fixed it. There are four more designs there. I was coming up with so many ideas all at once, I just had to get them down before they were lost. If you know what I mean."
"Actually, I do." He gave her an odd look.
It was odd. He didn't look like the type to understand the whimsical creative process. He looked more like an athlete, but with the build of a swimmer, not a weightlifter.
Could he actually have her arrested? His strange accusations combined with his handsome looks had confounded her to the point that she'd babbled like a nervous idiot. She needed to relax and be nicer. "I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to steal anything. Am I in trouble?"