ean-Luc had always loved playing duets. The music swelled back and forth from the piano to the harpsichord. At times he took the lead, and the melody flowed beneath his fingertips. Other times he retreated to the background, pounding the keys to set the rhythm for the other player.

It was a bit like swordplay, he mused. With a good partner, the action swept back and forth lunge, retreat, thrust, parry. Or like a good night of sex. Taking the lead, then easing back. Setting the rhythm, pounding over and over, sometimes gently, sometimes hard. Using his fingers to make Heather sing.

He smiled to himself. He'd win her over somehow, and it would be glorious. As the closing strain faded away, he kept his fingers on the keys to enjoy the last hint of vibration. Mon Dieu, how he wanted her. He'd thought music would help take his mind off her, but it had only made him ache for her.

"Shall we play another, Jean-Luc?" Inga asked from her seat behind the piano.

"Oh yes, please do." Simone had amused herself by dancing a minuet. "Let's call Robby to come dance with me. It'll be a party, just like old times."

Jean-Luc folded his sheet music. "Actually I have something serious to discuss."

Inga slumped on the piano bench. "You're always serious these days."

"With good reason," Jean-Luc countered. "Lui is back, and he's threatening to kill anyone I care about."

Simone gasped. "That would be us."

Jean-Luc refrained from pointing out that in the two hundred years he'd known Simone and Inga, Lui had never threatened them. He only seemed interested in killing mortals. "You both talked to him Friday night. He was disguised as an old man with white hair and a cane."

"That was Lui?" Inga looked aghast as she pressed a hand to her chest. "He seemed so charming and harmless."

"And rich." Simone flipped her long black hair behind her shoulders. "He offered me twenty thousand dollars for my company."

Inga snorted. "Does he think you're a whore?"

"Actually, I've been considering it." Simone assumed an injured look. "Jean-Luc ignores us terribly."

He'd been hearing that complaint for more than fifty years. "Didn't either of you notice that he wasn't mortal?"

Inga shrugged. "The room was full of smelly mortals."

"And now you've invited some to live under our roof." Simone shuddered. "Quelle horreur."

Jean-Luc pushed back his bench and stood. "They're under my protection. You will treat them with respect. And I have another request. Leave Alberto alone."

Simone waved a hand in dismissal. "He is nothing."

"He's an important employee. You went too far tonight."

Simone scoffed. "It was just a little scratch."

"And I have rules in my household. No biting. If you cannot abide by my rules, you will have to leave."

Simone's eyes flashed. "You would throw us out?"

Inga jumped up from the piano bench. "Come now. We've been friends too long for this silly bickering."

"Indeed." Simone glared at Jean-Luc. "You would not want me for an enemy."

Jean-Luc studied her quietly. "You may leave whenever you wish, Simone."

"Sorry to interrupt," Robby spoke from the open door.

"Robby, you must dance with me," Simone demanded.

"Another time, lass. I need a word with Jean-Luc."

Jean-Luc bowed slightly. "Good night, ladies."

They trudged out the door, pouting.

"Off to bed for yer beauty sleep." Robby stepped aside to let them pass. "Ye're no' getting any younger, ye ken."

Simone gave him a dirty look, but he only chuckled.

Jean-Luc joined him at the door. "You're such a charmer."

"Aye." Robby nodded. "I take pride in it." His smile faded, and his voice lowered. "I found Mrs. Westfield listening to the music at the cellar door."

"Oh." Jean-Luc's heartbeat quickened, just thinking about her. He strode down the hall. "She's up early."

"Aye. And suspicious like we feared. She's in the kitchen now. I returned her handbag to her."

"I see." They had a little time left before sunrise forced them into their daily death-sleep. "I'll try to allay some of her suspicions."

"Good." Robby accompanied him up the stairs. "We made some progress tonight. Six cameras are set up outside."

"Good." But there'd been no progress on finding Lui. Their search of abandoned buildings had yielded nothing. Jean-Luc opened the door to the ground-floor hallway.

"We'll do another check before the changing of the guard." Robby headed to the security office. "See ye tomorrow."

"Good night." Jean-Luc entered the kitchen and stopped in the sitting area. "Heather?"

She peeked out of the utility room. "Jean-Luc! I I didn't expect to see you." She hurried into the kitchen. "I was just doing some laundry."

She avoided looking at him and shoved her damp, curly hair behind her ears. She fumbled with a pencil and notepad next to her purse on the counter. She seemed nervous, and it irked him that she was no longer comfortable in his presence. "Making a list?" he asked.

"Yes." She waved a hand toward the pantry. "I found it stocked with all sorts of stuff this morning. I really appreciate it, but there are a few things missing. For instance, we have spaghetti, but no tomato sauce."

He had no idea what a spaghetti was, but he'd take her word for it. "Pierre or Phil can get whatever you need."

"I suppose." She tapped the pencil against the countertop. "I guess I'm trapped here until the problem with Louie is resolved."

"It's for the best. I don't want to take any chances with your safety."

She frowned. "I'll need some fat-free milk." She added it to the list. "I have to watch every calorie."

"Heather." He rested his hand on top of hers to stop her fidgeting. "I think you're beautiful the way you are."

She closed her eyes briefly with a pained look. "I have to know." She gave him a beseeching look. "How did you get Bethany's toys here?"

It was more than a request for information, he realized. She was asking for honesty. She wanted to regain her trust in him. And dammit all, he couldn't tell her the complete truth. That would scare her away faster than anything.

"Robby, Ian, and Phineas worked together," he began. "There was only one deputy, so it wasn't that hard for Phineas to distract him to the back of the house while the others snuck into the front." He didn't mention that part of the sneaking involved teleportation.

She bit her bottom lip. "I suppose that makes sense. How did they bring the stuff here?"

"They had plenty of time to transport it here while we were at the store shopping."

She nodded slowly. "They probably used my truck."

They hadn't, but he didn't disagree. His hand was still covering hers, and she hadn't pulled away. He removed the pencil from her grip. "You're tense. I can tell. It makes your shoulders hunch."

"Of course I'm tense. A homicidal maniac set my house on fire, and he wants to kill me."

"Relax." He circled behind her.

"What are you doing?" She glanced back.

"Trying to ease your tension." He rested his hands on her shoulders, then gently kneaded his fingers into the muscles around her neck. "I want you to know that you and your daughter's safety are more important than anything to me."

"Thank you." With a sigh, she tilted her head forward. "I guess you and Robby didn't find Louie tonight."

"No." He massaged her shoulders. "I would have told you, but I thought you were asleep."

"I couldn't sleep. Poor Bethany. I'm afraid this is taking a toll on her. She was thrashing about in bed."

"I'm so sorry." He led Heather toward the couch. "Come. You look tired."

"I'm exhausted, but I have so much to do. The insurance company to call, and Heather's preschool "

"They won't be open yet." He shoved a big footstool up to the couch and sat her on it. Then he settled onto the couch behind her, straddling the footstool.

"You must be tired, too." She glanced back at him. "You're still in the same clothes."

"I'll get some rest in a little while." The sun was nearing the horizon. Soon he would feel the pull of death-sleep. But for now, he could enjoy being with Heather. He dug his fingers into her shoulders.

She let out a long moan, then cut it off abruptly. "Sorry, didn't mean to do that out loud."

He smiled. "I like hearing you moan." He massaged circles down her back. "Even more, I like being the cause."

"This feels so good." She sighed. "I don't know what to think of you."

He rubbed the small of her back. "Do you have to think at all?"

"Yes. I've made some bad mistakes in the past. I have to be very careful now, 'cause it's not just my life I could screw up, but Bethany's, too."

He touched her hair, enjoying the feel of the silken strands. "You are my ideal of a good mother."

She twisted to look at him. "That's about the kindest thing I've ever heard."

"Heather." He scooped an arm under her legs to pull her into his lap. "You bring kindness out of me. You make me want to be deserving of you."

She touched his face. "Why wouldn't you be?"

"I'm not perfect."

"No one is." She traced his jaw with her fingers. "You have secrets. About yourself and Louie."

She wanted to know more. He chose his words carefully. "Lui assassinated some important political figures in France. I stopped one of his attempts, and he has plagued me ever since."

"How does a fashion designer stop an assassin?"

"I wasn't a designer then. I worked for the government."

Her eyes lit up. "Like James Bond?"

"Something like that."

"I knew it!" She grinned. "You're just as sexy as James Bond, and you have that aura of danger about you."

He lifted his eyebrows. "You think I'm sexy?"

Her cheeks flushed. "Did I say that?"

"Yes." He brushed her hair back from her brow. "I suppose I shall have to live up to my reputation."

"I suppose." Her gaze lowered to his mouth.

That was an invitation. He brushed his lips against hers. Her arms encircled his neck, pulling him closer. A thrill shot through him. She wanted him. He deepened the kiss, pouring all his desire into the movement of his lips and the swirl of his tongue.

She stroked his tongue with her own and moaned. He slid his hand past her ribs to cup her breast.

"Yes," she breathed against his cheek.

He spread his fingers to cover her breast, then lightly squeezed. "You're so lovely." He nuzzled her ear. Her carotid artery throbbed nearby, sending out pulses of the scent of Type AB blood.

She tilted her head to make it easier for him to kiss her neck, not realizing how intensely erotic that move was to a vampire. His groin began to throb in sync with the coursing of her blood.

"Heather." He feathered kisses along her cheek. Zut, what terrible timing. She needed to be loved properly, and he'd literally be dead in ten minutes.

She ran her hands through his hair. "Kiss me."

How could he resist? He molded his mouth to hers once more and explored her with his tongue. He rubbed his thumb around the tip of her breast and felt the nipple tighten. The swelling in his groin was fast becoming torture. "I want to stay with you. I want to love you, but I have to go."

"Why?" She kissed his cheek. "Where are you going?"

"I have business meetings in San Antonio," he lied. "But I'll be back tonight. In the meantime, I want you to get some rest."

"I'll miss you."

He stroked her hair. "I'll miss you, too." He invaded her mind with one swift plunge and felt her shiver at the cold presence of his mind. Sleep, my love.

She exhaled slowly, and her eyes flickered shut. "I'm sleepy," she whispered.

"I know." He laid her gently on the couch. He set pillows beneath her head, then grabbed an afghan from the nearby recliner to cover her up. He kissed her brow. "Sweet dreams, ch rie."

Her mouth curled in a smile, then her face went blank.

Jean-Luc turned off the lights, then descended to his lonely bed in the cellar.

Monday passed peacefully, and Heather was grateful for that. She slept till midmorning when Fidelia and Bethany came downstairs and found her on the couch. After a quick breakfast, she began making phone calls concerning her house. She informed the preschool that Bethany would be out for a week. Hopefully, this mess with Louie wouldn't drag on any longer than that. Though she wouldn't mind if her relationship with Jean-Luc continued for weeks or months. Or years. He was such a wonderful combination of sweet and sexy. She couldn't wait to see him again tonight.

She brought some toys downstairs, and once Bethany was happily playing, she asked Pierre to let her into the design studio. She asked for the combination, explaining how she'd be coming and going. Pierre merely smiled and lowered the door stopper to keep the door propped open.

She soon forgot about the mysterious lock combination as she lost herself in work. She decided to remake the white gown from the showroom. She dragged the mannequin into the studio and positioned it next to a worktable. Then she located a dress form that could be adjusted to a larger size and stood it next to the mannequin. Before and after. Size zero and size twelve.

She scoured the shelves along the walls, searching for just the right material. There were so many exceptional fabrics, she soon had the table stacked with ten bolts.

Under the spiral staircase, she found shelves filled with office supplies. She selected a large sketching pad and several Prismacolor pencils. She sketched for a few hours, then went back to the kitchen for lunch.

Phil and Pierre joined them for hot dogs. Pierre made them laugh by insisting they call his lunch le hot-dog. Alberto finally made an appearance. He must have stayed up late and slept in. He looked askance at their meal.

Heather noticed how his turtleneck sweater hid the marks on his neck. She exchanged a look with Fidelia.

She grinned. "You'll burn up in that sweater, muchacho. It'll be ninety-six degrees today."

"Do you want some lunch?" Heather asked.

He shuddered. "I'll go to town to eat. There's a German bakery on Main Street that's rather good."

"Oh, yeah." Heather knew the one he was talking about, since it was the only German bakery on Main Street. "Finkel's makes the best apple strudel in Texas."

"Vraiment?" Pierre handed Alberto the car keys and a twenty-dollar bill. "You must bring back strudel for all of us, d'accord?"

"I'm not an errand boy," Alberto grumbled. "But all right. Ciao." He grabbed the keys and money and left.

"Thank you." Heather smiled at Pierre.

He shrugged. "I am a bit homesick. In Paris, we have the patisseries everywhere. The most delicious bread and pastries. I miss them."

"Sounds wonderful." Heather sighed. "I've always wanted to see Paris. I hear the rats are really special."

Pierre sputtered with a horrified look. "Paris is the most beautiful city in the world. I will tell Jean-Luc to bring you. My mother will cook you the best coq au vin you have ever tasted."

"I'm all for that." She went back to work, her spirits lifted. After an hour of sketching, she heard Alberto enter the studio.

"The strudel's in the kitchen." He eyed the fabric on her worktable. "You like colors."

"Yes."

He circled her table, examining her work. "I'm more into black and neutrals. More sophisticated."

"Ah." That must mean she was less sophisticated.

He wrinkled his nose at the dress form she'd enlarged to a size twelve. "This is much too big for haute couture."

"I don't really aspire to be that fancy. I want to make something that would look good on someone like me."

His eyes widened. "Why?"

"Why not? I wear clothes, too."

"Well, yes." His gaze drifted painfully over her T-shirt and jeans. "But surely you understand there is a huge difference between mere clothes and fashion."

"I know that. I want to bring fashion to women like me. I want them to enjoy their clothes and take pride in how they look."

He looked like she was speaking an alien tongue. "Take pride in being a size twelve? Does Jean-Luc know what you're doing?"

"Yes. He asked me to do this."

Alberto's brows shot higher. "You must be joking."

She gritted her teeth. "No. I'm very serious. Fashion should be accessible to everyone."

He snorted. "This must be some strange American idea of equality."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"It is a fantasy. The world of fashion belongs to the beautiful people." Alberto looked her over. "Jean-Luc is humoring you. It is clear what he wants."

Heat flooded her face. "You've not only insulted me, you've insulted Jean-Luc. He has enough business savvy to realize he's missing out on a huge market. A lot of women could never wear some of the bizarre things that come down the runways these days. Jean-Luc has the courage and vision to give women clothes they can actually wear."

Alberto's smile was smug. "I can see he is your hero. I wonder how long that will last. Especially once you know more about him." He sauntered toward the door. "I have work to do in my office. Real fashion to create."

Heather tried to get back to work, but found it hard to concentrate. Was Jean-Luc just humoring her because he was attracted to her? She looked over her sketches. They looked good to her, but drawing a good picture didn't guarantee a beautiful gown. And what did Alberto mean with that crack about her and Jean-Luc? Was she supposed to like Jean-Luc less the more she got to know him?

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She wouldn't do this to herself. She wouldn't let fear and self-doubt overwhelm her. She was at war with fear.

God knew she had plenty to be afraid of. A new career, a new relationship with Jean-Luc, a psycho killer who wanted her dead. Failure was not an option.

She could do the career. It would be difficult, but nothing worthwhile was ever easy. And the relationship with Jean-Luc was looking better than ever. He'd been so sweet that morning. And sexy. Her heart raced every time she thought about his kisses and the way he'd massaged her back and fondled her breast. Her skin prickled with goose bumps, eager to feel his touch once more.

He'd said he wanted her, and she knew that was the truth. The bulge in his pants had pressed against her rear, and God help her, she had wanted to touch him. She'd wanted to have sex with a man she'd met just a few days ago. Thank goodness she'd fallen asleep when she had.

What was happening to her? Love, a small inner voice answered. No, it couldn't be. But then why was he constantly in her thoughts? Why did she keep wishing the time away till she could see him again?

Love.

Unable to concentrate, she left her sketches on the worktable and returned to the kitchen. Fidelia was watching television while Bethany played in the kitchen. The stuffed crocodile was chasing Barbie around the kitchen table while the doll did her best to guard the box of strudel from reptilian attack. Heather helped herself to a piece of strudel, then played with her daughter. Soon they heard Fidelia snoring in the recliner, a sound that always made Bethany giggle.

Heather was making supper when Fidelia jerked awake with a cry. "What is it?" She stepped close to the older woman so Bethany wouldn't hear.

"I had the dream again," Fidelia whispered. "Red eyes, glowing in the dark. Danger."

Heather grimaced. "They still haven't found Louie."

Fidelia rubbed her forehead. "I saw something else. An oil painting. I think I've seen it before."

After supper, Heather took Bethany upstairs for her bath. They came back to the kitchen about eight P.M., so Bethany could have a bedtime snack. Heather wondered if Jean-Luc was back from his business trip.

Fidelia was loading the dishwasher. "I remembered where I saw that painting. I called and talked to the curator, Mrs. Bolton." She handed Heather a piece of paper.

Heather's eyes widened as she read the information. "I've heard of this place. It's a museum now?"

"S . Mrs. Bolton said she'd keep it open for you till nine o'clock tonight."

"Okay." Heather folded the paper and slipped it into her jeans pocket. What a strange place to take Jean-Luc. She wondered again if he was back. She glanced up at the newly installed surveillance camera with its red, blinking light.

"I know," Fidelia muttered. "I don't like being watched."

Who was watching? Heather wondered. Whoever it was, she hoped they enjoyed the ongoing saga of Barbie versus the crocodile. The kitchen door swung open, and Robby marched in, wearing his usual green and blue plaid kilt.

He smiled. "Good evening. Jean-Luc is in the design studio, and he'd like to see you."

Heather's heart beat faster. She hugged her daughter. "I have to go. Duty calls." Duty and hopeless attraction.