Moonlight Becomes You: a short story (5 page)

"Why should I take your word about that?" she asked, certain that many a woman had been fooled by similar promises.

"I will never lie to you, Claire."

She shivered to the bone. Those were important words, and he spoke them as if they were absolute truth. Of course, she wasn't sure any man was capable of
never
lying. Still, the expression in his eyes was one of honesty as well as passion. Maybe she was a fool, but she believed him.

Yesterday she'd been stalking him down the hallway, convinced he was a vampire. Tonight he was in her bed, and she didn't care
what
he was.

He understood that she liked his attentions at her neck, and while he didn't neglect the rest of her body he spent many wonderful moments there. Claire touched the hard curves and planes of his body, and discovered that he was particularly sensitive just below the belly button, especially if she touched him there with the tip of her tongue. As she had suspected, there was no awkwardness, no hesitation.

Her curtains were open, so moonlight lit Simon's face as he spread her thighs and guided himself into her. Making love with him was like dancing with a lifelong partner, like waltzing without conscious thought—and maybe an inch or two above the dance floor. She didn't think at all with him inside her, not about vampires, not about being odd or boring, not about mirrors or crosses or garlic. There was just his body and hers and the way they came together.

It did cross her mind once, briefly, that the water on the stove was probably boiling by now, but it was a thought that didn't last long.

Simon looked at her face, he held her eyes with his as he rocked above and inside her, pushing deeper and deeper with each thrust. The way he looked at her... he saw her, truly saw her in a way no one else ever had. He knew her. He wanted her.

He held himself deep, and for a half second it seemed that his dark eyes were touched with streaks of red. Flashes of fire lit the depths. Claire came again, and with Simon inside her it was more powerful than before, more important. More complete. Her body convulsed around his, and he came, too. They were so incredibly connected, so very much together, that she wondered why she'd ever been satisfied with anything less.

And to top it all off, like the cherry on top of a hot fudge sundae, he drifted down and kissed her neck.

Claire's job was undeniably tedious, and on Wednesday her mind was elsewhere as she mindlessly entered data into her computer. She yawned a time or two, and fielded the questions from her coworkers who were sequestered in nearby cubicles. Do you feel OK? Are you coming down with something? You look like you didn't get enough sleep last night. What happened? You're a little pale, someone said.

She finally decided to tell them that a noisy neighbor had kept her up half the night. That was close enough to the truth, though to be honest she was much noisier than Simon.

Maybe if she'd felt closer to any one of them she might've said more, but while they were friendly coworkers they weren't exactly friends. Most of her good friends were now married and had kids, so she didn't see any of them on a regular basis, not like in the old days. Oh, they got together and had lunch now and then, but the talk always turned to potty training and which kid had learned the alphabet at the earliest age and which schools in the area were the most acceptable. None of them lived close by; they'd all located in areas outside the city, where the streets were quiet and the schools stellar.

There were occasional weekend barbecues or infrequent and horrific blind dates that made conversations about three-year-olds seem scintillating. No, her friends had changed, and so had she. Claire didn't feel like she could call even them to share what had happened.

Besides, what had happened with Simon last night had felt so very, very personal. More intimate than sex, more important than the laughing and the touching and the orgasms.

This morning was still a blur. Simon had given her a fabulous kiss that had led to more, and then he'd gone home—a conveniently short trip. Claire had been left with no time to get ready for work. She'd showered quickly and blindly grabbed clothes from the closet. The long blue skirt and blouse were comfortable. If the blues didn't exactly match and she'd forgotten to put in earrings, well, if anyone noticed the lack was excused because she hadn't gotten much sleep.

She'd never gotten around to putting on those sexy shoes that made her legs look good. Maybe tonight—if there was a tonight.

More than once during the day she'd remembered that moment when it had seemed she saw fire in Simon's eyes. She hadn't been herself at the time, and there
was
a red neon light across the street. Maybe his head had been in just the right position at that moment to catch a glare. That had to be it.

There were logical explanations for all the clues that had led her to believe he was a vampire. The dirt might've some from a potted plant, even though Simon didn't have any living plants—or fake ones, for that matter—in his apartment. Someone might've been passing by with a plant and stumbled as they were walking past his door. The howl might've been an overly excited Fluffy or—considering some of the sounds she'd made last night—a
very
happy woman somewhere on the third floor. The hypnotizing eyes... Simon just had great eyes, and that was enough of an explanation to suit her.

So she didn't tell anyone that she'd suspected her neighbor of being a vampire, or that she'd decided she was wrong and last night they'd eaten spaghetti in her kitchen—both of them starving from marvelously vigorous and unrestrained sex—she wearing nothing but her bathrobe, he in nothing but those incredibly sexy black jeans. She didn't tell them that for the first time in a very long time, she was happy. Tired, but happy.

Happy as she was, she tried not to get her hopes too high. She'd been burned before, after all. A man who wanted a woman in bed might say or do anything to get her there, and then... then there were phone calls that never came, an old girlfriend who just happened to make an appearance, or that horrible "It's not you, it's me." For all she knew she'd get home and find out that her neighbor had moved during the day just to get away from her, or else he'd have a wife who'd show up out of nowhere, or else—worst of all—he'd ignore her and pretend that nothing had happened.

Claire was thinking about Simon so intently her fingers quit moving across the keyboard. She simply stared at the screen, imagining the worst. The worst, at this moment, had nothing to do with vampires.

She jumped when the phone on her desk rang, and answered it quickly with a too-curt, "Claire Murphy."

"Hello, Claire Murphy."

She smiled. No one else had a voice like that. No one else could make her shudder simply by saying her name. "Hi, Simon."

"What are you doing?"

"Working." Trying to, anyway. Her heart lurched. "How did you get this number?"

"I asked the building manager where you worked, and then I used all my detective skills to thumb through a phone book."

Would he go to so much trouble just to inform her over the phone that it wasn't going to work? That he was already tired of her? That he was married?

"What time do you get off work?" he asked, and when he did the connection faltered a little. Apparently he was calling from his cell phone.

"Four-thirty."

"That's too long. Ever leave work early?"

"Sometimes."

"Leave now," he said, his voice low and commanding and sexy as hell. "Right now."

Claire's heart fluttered. "I really shouldn't..."

"To hell with shouldn't. I need you."

Her mouth went dry, while between her legs she was anything but. "I suppose I can take half a sick day."

"Do it."

With that, he ended the call. No "See you later," no "Bye, now," no "I can't wait." Just a command and a click and a dial tone.

Claire closed down her computer program and picked up her purse. Her hands were trembling, and she couldn't wait to get home. Usually on pretty days she walked home, and on less than pretty days she took the bus. Maybe today she'd grab a taxi. It would get her home quicker than walking or a bus. She informed her boss that she was going home, and since she'd been yawning and droopy-eyed all day he didn't give her the third degree. In fact, he told her that she looked a little flushed and should stay home until she was sure she didn't have anything contagious.

Claire agreed and headed for the elevator with a decidedly un-sick spring in her step. Simon needed her. All the way down to the ground floor she had one thought in her mind. Please don't let him be a vampire or a jerk. Let him be just a guy. Maybe even
the
guy.

Less than a minute later she stepped off the elevator intent on grabbing a taxi and quickly making her way home, but she hadn't taken two steps before a hand fell on her shoulder. She almost screamed she was so startled, but when she spun around she smiled widely and her heart... her heart did something odd and unexpected.

"I told you I couldn't wait," Simon said. He took her hand and they headed for the front door. "I can't get you out of my head," he mumbled, and he didn't sound entirely happy about the fact.

"I thought about you today, a time or two," Claire said, hefting her purse on her shoulder and picking up the pace. Simon's steps were longer than hers.

"I went to bed after you left for work, and I woke up thinking about you," he said.

"Only good thoughts, I hope."

"What do you think?" He looked at her, and his step instantly altered. For her, he took shorter, slower steps.

At that moment Claire realized that her life had changed. In a matter of hours, everything had changed. She realized that she had found the perfect man. She realized that if Simon was a vampire... she didn't care. Not that she could tell him any of that. Not yet.

They exited through the front doors and into the afternoon sunlight. Simon's eyes narrowed as the sun's rays caught him full in the face, but he didn't explode or catch on fire or recoil. That was good. He gripped her hand in his and it felt very right. That was even better.

Claire had fallen in love before—many times, if teenage crushes counted—but she'd never fallen in so far so fast. Simon was a wonderful lover, an incredible lover, and when they weren't in bed he introduced her to his musical passion. Jazz. Maybe she would never love the music the way he did, but she did quickly find a few favorite tunes in his collection.

Simon was passionate about his music, almost as passionate as he was about her. He made her laugh, again and again. They danced. Naked. With her head resting on his chest she heard his heartbeat and it always made her smile. How could she have ever suspected him of being a vampire?

Mrs. Tillman kept close watch on their comings and goings as the days passed, and her disapproval was obvious. Once they even heard the whispered words, "foolish girl" drifting from the old lady's slightly opened door. Claire didn't have time to worry about one sour old woman. Not when her life was going so wonderfully well.

She felt incredibly silly when Charlie from downstairs, one of the three neighborhood lowlifes she'd believed had disappeared thanks to a bloodsucking vampire, showed up one evening in his usual classless manner, screaming at his wife and making loud, unintelligible excuses for his long absence. If Charlie wasn't a vampire's victim, odds were the other two were either in jail or had simply moved on to harass some other neighborhood.