His smile faded very quickly. “Do you think someone’s in there?” The hidden left hand popped around as he reached into his pocket with the right. Instead of a knife or a sword, he held a very pretty bouquet of mixed flowers. “These are for you,” he said absently, all but thrusting them at her.
Claire took the flowers…not that she had any choice considering the way they were shoved at her chest…and carried them to her nose while Simon opened the door to his apartment and stepped inside, worried about a burglar he wouldn’t find. Vampires were known to be very romantic, at least in the books she read, but she would’ve expected the flowers to be blood red or starkly exotic. Instead they were springy and bright and very much not reminiscent of the undead. It had been a very long time since any man—or whatever—had given her flowers.
“What kind of sound was it?” Simon called from inside his apartment.
Flowers in hand, Claire stepped into his apartment through the door he’d left wide open. When Mrs. Tillman from across the hall opened her door to peek out—nosy old woman—Claire closed the door to Simon’s apartment. She didn’t miss the disapproving glare from her stodgy neighbor.
Claire’s eyes scanned the main room, which was laid out much like hers but was decorated very differently. Simon had a state-of-the-art CD player, but no television, at least not in this room. A couple of comfortable chairs, but no sofa. Blinds instead of curtains. Framed antique album covers instead of family pictures or art. The lines were stark and clean, and he used little color in his decorating scheme. There were no mirrors, not that many men would hang mirrors anywhere but the bathroom.
There was no coffin in sight, but of course he’d keep that in the bedroom, if he had one.
“What kind of noise?” he asked again.
Claire rose up on her bare toes and dropped down again. “It was just kind of a thud. You know, now that I think about it the sound probably came from upstairs or downstairs. My mistake. Sorry.”
Simon glanced into the bedroom and the bathroom, and then returned to her with a very skeptical expression on his face. “Everything appears to be fine.”
Claire shrugged her shoulders and glanced back to the kitchen, which like hers was open to the main room. It was clean and uncluttered and probably for the most part unused.
“You are so odd,” he said as he walked toward her.
“I’m not odd,” she said defensively.
“You’re definitely odd,” he argued. “Don’t get me wrong, I like odd girls. Ordinary girls are boring and predictable. I have a feeling you’re neither.”
Her life was both predictable and boring, but she wasn’t about to share that information with Simon. Not now.
“Thanks for the flowers,” she said, trying desperately to change the subject.
He took the bouquet from her hand and tossed it onto the closest chair. The blooms looked so out of place there, so wonderfully bright against the black leather. “No more games, Claire. What do you really want from me?”
She opened her mouth, but did not get a chance to speak.
“No more lies about lost earrings or noise from the apartment, no more quotes from the Southern Women’s Code. What do you really want?”
She could defend herself and swear she had not lied, but those eyes of his…they would see. Somehow he would know. “Honestly?”
“Please.”
She licked her lips and listened to one thud of her heart before answering, “I don’t know what I want.”
Simon moved in closer, hovering in her personal space, stealing her breath and making her heart pound even harder. He leaned toward her, his mouth heading directly for her throat. Something in her wanted to back away and clap her hand over her vulnerable artery, but another part, a deeper part, wanted to lean into him, to meet him halfway.
Maybe she was hypnotized and didn’t know it. Maybe she was moments away from calling her studly neighbor “master” and begging him to bite her.
Deep down Claire considered the possibility that Simon wasn’t a vampire at all. She’d allowed her imagination to run away from her, that’s all. He was just a man like any other. Well, not like any other but still…he might be just a man. She closed her eyes as he placed his mouth on her throat and kissed. He didn’t bite, he kissed. Her reaction was immediate and intense. It was no wonder she read and fantasized about vampires. There was no place on her body as sensitive as her neck. Well, one, but other than that…When it came to erogenous body parts that were not located between her legs, she’d prefer a man at her neck over her breasts any day. Simon knew exactly how to kiss her neck.
One fine, strong hand gripped the back of her head while he kissed her throat gently. Claire felt that kiss everywhere. Her knees went weak, her insides tightened, she grew wet…just like that.
Why had she suspected him of being a vampire? It was easy to rely on imagination when reality sucked. Well, usually reality sucked, but at this moment it did not. Not at all. Simon kissed her throat and her body responded with an unexpected fierceness. Her body was pressed against his, and so she knew she wasn’t the only one affected.
“What do you want?” he whispered against her throat.
“Don’t you have another question?” she asked breathlessly. Men could be so single minded. Why did he feel the need to talk at all?
“No,” he said briskly.
Claire could hardly speak at all when she answered. “I want more.”
Simon sighed. “Finally, an honest answer.”
His hand slipped beneath her skirt. She was shocked at first, but then…not so much. It was a natural if rather quick progression, and she would not pretend to be demure or hesitant when she was neither. Simon’s hand, large and warm, caressed her inner thigh and then moved up with agonizing slowness. The higher that slow hand moved, the more intensely Claire felt the caress. She held her breath and waited for contact. Almost there…almost…bingo.
Simon touched her through silk panties and she shuddered. All the while he kissed her neck. If he was a vampire, if he really did drink blood, he could have every drop of hers as long as he didn’t stop.
He didn’t stop, and Claire felt herself spiraling out of control. Control. Did she have any? Had she ever? Her head tilted back, and as Simon took full advantage of the new position by kissing a portion of her throat he had missed, his hand slipped into her panties to touch bare, damp flesh. He did not hesitate, he did not falter. It was as if he knew her body well, as if he had touched her this way before and knew exactly where and how. His hands were warm and large and foreign…and yet somehow not so foreign. Claire wriggled a little, her panties slipped, and she spread her legs slightly. Simon took advantage of that new position just as he had when she’d offered him a better shot at her throat. His touch changed, it shifted, and then he slipped one finger inside her.
It had been a long time since any man had touched her, and she came hard and fast, convulsing, gasping, holding onto Simon so she wouldn’t fall to the floor. The orgasm itself didn’t take her by surprise—good heavens, she’d been rushing toward orgasm since he’d placed his mouth on her throat—but the intensity did. She came, and she came, and she grasped Simon hard as the waves washed over her.
“Oh, my,” she whispered when she was able.
Simon held her up, thank goodness, but he took his hand away and he no longer gave his attentions to her throat. After a moment he released her and backed away. Claire straightened her clothes and smoothed her hair. She must look a mess, and Simon…Simon, looked as calm and collected as he had before he’d touched her.
A quick glance down proved what the press of his body to hers had told her, that he had not been unaffected. Well, didn’t this change everything? She’d started out determined to prove that he was a vampire, and had ended up here, shaking from an unexpected orgasm and shamelessly wondering when there would be more.