Hotter Than Hell(154)

Simon—quite an old-fashioned name, eh?—didn’t touch the cross, but he didn’t recoil, either. She had to judge that test as inconclusive, since she wasn’t quite ready to leap forward and press the cross against his forehead to see if he began to smoke or howl in pain. He turned away from her and searched the dingy carpeting, his eyes scanning the faded fibers. Claire pretended to do the same, though her eyes often flitted to her neighbor. Oh, he really was studly, more so up close than from a distance. His dark hair was shaggy and a tad too long but was not completely neglected, and he had a very finely sculpted masculine jawline. The body, as she had already noted, was not bad at all. She took it all in, appreciatively and as surreptitiously as possible.



“I don’t mean to hold you up,” she said after watching him bend over to examine what turned out to be a piece of lint. “I imagine you have somewhere to be.”



“I’m not working tonight.”



“You work at night?”



“Not much call for jazz musicians during the day. The club’s closed until the weekend. Some sort of plumbing issue.”



Her head crept up slowly so she could once more check out his face, which was much more interesting than the old carpet. Simon Darrow wasn’t pretty—his features were too masculine to be called pretty—but his face was definitely fine. “You’re a musician?”



“Piano. I have a small electric keyboard at my place, but I practice while you’re at work so I won’t disturb you.”



A considerate vampire. “I’m sure I wouldn’t mind hearing you practice,” she said, determined to be no less considerate as she took a couple of unnecessary steps and her eyes scanned the floor for a nonexistent earring. This was an opportunity she could not let slip by. “So, if you’re not playing tonight, where are you headed?”



“Just out to grab a bite,” he answered.



Interesting choice of words. “Oh, really?”



“I thought I’d check out that sandwich shop down the street.”



“They close at seven so you’ve already missed them, and to be honest their food is better at lunch.”



“I’ll find someplace else, then.”



This was a golden opportunity that might never come again. She had her neighbor right where she wanted him, and he had no idea that she suspected his secret. “Maybe you can…” she swallowed hard and gathered her courage, “have dinner with me.”



“I knew it,” he said in a lowered voice touched with gentle wit. “You are stalking me.”



“I am not,” she protested. “You’re new to the building. I’m simply adhering to the Southern Women’s Code, Section One, Paragraph Three. Feed Thy Neighbor. I could make spaghetti,” she said before he could argue again that she was stalking him. “And garlic bread.”



He didn’t sneer at the garlic bread any more than he’d sneered at her cross. Hmm. Maybe she was wrong about him. Even though she was drawn to Simon Darrow in a way that had to be unnatural, and there were a number of unanswered questions about him and his life, and Claire knew to the pit of her soul that there was more to the night than what made the newspapers and the evening news, her neighbor might be exactly what he appeared to be. A man with a mysterious past who’d had the misfortune to move into the building just when people in the general area started disappearing and someone spilled dirt in the hallway.



“I love spaghetti,” he said. “But I’m meeting some people later so I really should get going.”



Her heart sank a little. “Okay. Maybe another time. I don’t want to be in violation of the Southern Women’s Code.”



“Heaven forbid.” He smiled, and it was very nice.



Claire decided to take a chance, one more time. “How about tomorrow night? About seven?” Normally on Tuesdays she went to the gym after work, but it would really be no chore to skip a workout. Wouldn’t be the first time. She held her breath and waited for another refusal, another excuse.



“Sure.” Simon glanced down at the carpet one last time. “I’m sorry to say I don’t think we’re going to find your earring.”



“Yeah,” Claire sighed. “Me neither.”





Claire didn’t expect Simon for about an hour. Her homemade spaghetti sauce was simmering, and the garlic bread was ready to be popped into the oven. The pasta would go on at the last minute. After changing her clothes three times, she’d settled on an outfit that made her look at least three pounds lighter. The slightly snug black shirt showed off her boobs—the advantage of carrying a few extra pounds—and the knee-length skirt was flattering and comfortable. It was pretty without being an obvious date outfit. There were very cute open-toed shoes with high heels that made her legs look better than they really were waiting close by, but she’d save those for the last minute, like the pasta.