THE UNDEAD NEXT DOOR - By Kerrelyn Sparks Page 0,4

no one would remember there was a huge cellar beneath the abandoned store. Pierre, a mortal who worked for MacKay Security and Investigation, would guard the building during the day while Jean-Luc lay in his death-sleep.

He watched the party below. Simone and Inga were flirting with a white-haired old man, hunched over a cane. He had to be rich, or they wouldn't waste their time.

Jean-Luc's gaze wandered about the store. He'd always enjoyed people watching. The thought of this building being empty for the next twenty-five years was damned depressing. Ah well, he was accustomed to loneliness.

He spotted the new model Alberto had hired for his last show in Paris. Sasha Saladine. She was talking to someone standing behind a mannequin. Alberto approached, and Sasha introduced her companion. Alberto accepted a gracefully extended hand and kissed it. A female. And possessing an arm that wasn't pencil thin. She wasn't a model. A customer, then. Most likely mortal.

Alberto and Sasha wandered off together, leaving the showroom. What was that about? Jean-Luc forgot to speculate when his gaze drifted back to the customer and stuck. She was moving into view, and what a view. She had curves. And breasts. A derriere a man could grab on to. And mounds of curly auburn hair that fluffed around her shoulders. She reminded him of lusty tavern wenches from medieval pubs who laughed heartily and made love with wild abandon. Mon Dieu, how he had adored those women.

She was like the old movie stars he had loved to design clothes for. Marilyn Monroe, Ava Gardner. His intellect might design clothes for a size zero, but the rest of him yearned for a lusty, full-figured woman. And here was a beautiful one right in front of him. Her black dress clung to a luscious hourglass figure. And yet the most important feature, her face, remained hidden. He moved to the left and peered closely through the glass.

He caught a glimpse of a pert nose, slightly tilted up at the tip. Not a classical nose like all his models possessed, but he liked it. It was natural and...cute. Cute? Not a word that could ever apply to his models. They all aspired to perfection, even by artificial means, but the end result was they all looked alike. And in their quest for perfection, they lost something. They lost a sense of personality and unique sparkle.

The woman in question pushed her thick, curly hair behind her ear. She had high, wide cheekbones and a sweet curve to her jaw. Her eyes were wide and intent as she focused on the white gown. What color were her eyes? he wondered. With her rich auburn hair, he hoped they were green. Her lips were wide, yet delicately shaped. No collagen there. She was a natural beauty. An angel.

She retrieved some items from her purse - a small writing pad and a pen. No, a pencil. She was writing something. No, sketching. His mouth dropped open. Zut! She was drawing his new gown, stealing his design.

His eyes narrowed. What nerve she had to blatantly copy his gown right in front of everyone. Who the hell was she? Had she come from New York with Sasha Saladine? She probably worked for one of the other major fashion houses. They would love to have copies of his latest designs.

"Merde." He grabbed his tuxedo jacket off the back of his desk chair.

"Where are ye going?" Robby asked, ever vigilant.

"Downstairs." Jean-Luc shrugged on his jacket.

"To the showroom?" Angus frowned. "Nay. Someone might recognize you. Ye shouldna risk it."

"They're local people," Jean-Luc explained. "They won't know who I am."

"Ye canna be certain of that." Robby moved toward the door. "If ye want something from the store, I'll bring it to you."

"It's not a thing. It's a person." Jean-Luc motioned to the window. "There's a spy down there, stealing my designs."

"You're kidding." Emma ran to the window to look. "Where is he?"

"She." Jean-Luc glanced out the window. "By the white - no. Zut, she's moved to the red gown."

"Let us deal with her." Angus joined Robby at the door.

"No." Jean-Luc strode toward the exit and stopped in front of the two Scotsmen blocking his way. "Move. I need to find out who's paying her to spy on me."

With a stubborn lift to his chin, Angus folded his arms and refused to budge.

Jean-Luc arched a brow at his old friend. "Your company works for me, Angus."

"Aye, we're paid to protect you, but we canna do it if ye