She crashed onto the floor with him holding her sleeve in his hand. Merde.
He leaned over her. "Are you all right?" Her skirt had ridden up, revealing her shapely legs. He couldn't help but imagine those thighs wrapped around his waist. Or his neck.
"Are you really Jean-Luc Echarpe?" she asked.
"Oui."
She moaned and covered her face. "Do you have a cellar I can crawl into for about fifty years?"
Actually he did, and he was tempted to invite her there. She would certainly brighten up his long exile. But he had no right to imprison a mortal just to entertain himself.
He sat on the floor beside her. "There's no need to be embarrassed."
"I'm mortified. Just kill me now."
He chuckled. "I was saying the same thing earlier this evening. We are too melodramatic, non?"
"I said some awful things about you." She lowered her hands. "I'm really sorry."
"Don't apologize for being honest. I like it. In this business, very few people are honest."
She sat up and winced when she noticed her skirt. She hurriedly adjusted it. "I don't understand how you can be so hand—young. You've designed clothes for people like Marilyn Monroe."
Had she almost called him handsome? His smile faded when he realized it was time to start lying. Zut. She'd been so honest with him. "I'm the…son of the original Jean-Luc Echarpe. You may call me Jean, so you won't confuse me with my father."
"Oh. That's great that you inherited his talent."
Jean-Luc shrugged. He hated deception. That was why he normally preferred the company of Vamps. Any relationship with a mortal required a number of lies, especially now that he had to go into hiding. He handed Heather the ripped sleeve. "I'm sorry it tore."
"That's okay." She stuffed it into her purse. "Like you said, the fabric is crap." She looked around the room and grinned. "I can't believe I'm sitting in a real design studio with a famous fashion designer."
He smiled as he rose to his feet. "Are you coming Monday to work?" He extended a hand to help her up.
"Oh, you bet. This is a dream come true for me." She placed her hand in his.
He pulled her up so quickly, she bumped against his chest. His arms instantly surrounded her. She glanced up with her lovely eyes. Such a dark, vivid green. He could hear her heartbeat speeding up now that she was in his arms. He liked that. "Do you know how beautiful you are?"
She shook her head.
Apparently he could also make her lose the ability to speak. Desire sizzled through his veins. She felt so warm and sweet, but he had to stop before his eyes glowed red. She was too great a temptation, and he was always careful to avoid real relationships.
He released her. "I'm afraid I can only hire you for two weeks." Once the store closed, the only mortal allowed inside would be his security guard, Pierre.
"I understand." She stepped back, her face sad. "I realize I have no experience. And I have to go back to teaching in September."
"Are you assuming I'll find fault with you?" Her responding blush indicated he'd touched a nerve.
He suspected her feisty attitude was hiding a pit of self-doubt. It was a trick he recognized, having used it himself.
But why would Heather Westfield doubt herself? Had someone tried to strangle her spirit? If so, he felt a sudden compulsion to ram his fist into that person's face. "My concern is not that I'll be unhappy with you. Quite the opposite. I could be too happy with you." Too tempted to keep her here to ease the loneliness of his exile.
She gulped audibly.
"And I have a rule I always follow. I never involve myself with employees. No matter how attracted I am." He allowed his gaze to wander over her luscious body.
"Oh my gosh," she whispered. She took another step back. "I–I'm not looking for—I'm not ready—I mean I—"
"The idea of a relationship leaves you speechless?"
"More like horrified!" She winced. "Oh, I didn't mean with you. I just meant with anybody. I went through a nasty divorce a year ago and—"
He held up a hand to hush her. "I will behave myself." He smiled slowly. "Can you?"
"Of course. I'm always…good." She looked a bit forlorn about that.
Did she have a secret wish to be naughty? Desire flooded back, and he clenched his fists to keep from grabbing her. It had been so long since he'd…He shoved the thought aside. He had to leave mortal women alone. He'd learned that in the most painful way possible.
She strolled down the aisle, touching the clothes as she passed by. "These are cool." She stopped in front of an assortment of belts made of leather, brass, and silver.
"This is my first season to design belts." He moved closer. Only mortal models could wear the belts made of silver. Simone and Inga stayed far away from anything that would burn their delicate skin. "What do you think?"
"They're lovely. I especially like the big, chunky ones that rest on the hips."
Click. Jean-Luc's superior hearing picked up a sound. He held up a hand, and Heather hushed with a questioning look. A footstep, another click.
He'd never heard the door open or close. Only someone knowing the combination could open the door. A vampire teleporting in from outside the building would set off an alarm. So this person must have teleported from somewhere inside the building. His Vamp friends would have called out, so chances were the visitor was not a friend.
Jean-Luc raised a finger to his lips to warn Heather to remain quiet. He eased toward the end of the aisle and the center of the room. He peeked through the space between the clothes and long rod they were hanging from.
There he was. The old man with a cane. Click. He planted the cane on the hardwood floor, then shuffled his feet forward. He remained hunched over, his face hidden.
Jean-Luc sniffed. Heather's aroma was behind him, definitely mortal, but he sensed nothing from this man.
The old man halted with a final click of his cane. "I know you are here, Echarpe."
Jean-Luc stiffened. Mon Dieu, it was Lui. He hadn't seen his most dreaded enemy in more than a hundred years.
"I am a patient man. I knew in time you would grow careless. And here you are, unarmed, without your precious bodyguards." The old man straightened slowly, unfurling his spine. "You were impossible to reach in Paris. Surrounded night and day by half a dozen guards." He lifted his chin. Jean-Luc dragged in a deep breath when he saw the man's eyes. Lui had assumed many identities over the centuries, always managing to look different. Except for the eyes. They were always dark, cold, and filled with hate.
Jean-Luc eased back to Heather as Lui continued to boast.
"You have made your last mistake, Echarpe. I went to the openings of all your stores, but you
remained hidden like the coward you are. Now, at last, you have made an appearance. Your final appearance."
Jean-Luc reached Heather and lifted a finger to his lips. She nodded with an anxious look.He whispered in her ear, "Do not let him see you. Escape out the doors in the back. Run."
She opened her mouth to protest, but he stopped her with a finger pressed against her lips. Go, he mouthed the word. He pushed her gently toward the opposite end of the aisle.
"Come out of hiding, you coward," Lui shouted. "I have decided to kill you once and for all. I will miss having you around to torture, but Casimir has offered me an enormous sum. I could not refuse."
Jean-Luc marched down the aisle toward the center of the room. "Zut alors, I thought you were dead. But no matter, you will be soon enough." He was a better swordsman than Lui, but unfortunately, he was unarmed at the moment. He sent out a psychic message.
"I can hear you," Lui sneered. "Whining to your friends to come and save you."
Jean-Luc stepped into the clearing. "I fight my own battles. Tell me, how long did it take for you to recover from our last encounter? If memory serves, your guts were hanging out."