John’s eyes widened. “Dr. Bingham works in private security? Doing what? She’s like five feet tall and weighs less than my mom.”
Richart pointed his fork at John. “But she’s a fierce fighter and could take you down in seconds.”
“No shit?” He darted Jenna a look. “Sorry, Mom. No kidding?” John was usually careful not to curse in front of Jenna. He thought doing so was disrespectful, and he would probably pass out if he ever heard some of the language she used when she was stuck in traffic.
“No kidding,” Richart insisted.
“Wow. You can’t judge a book by its cover, can you?”
Richart gave his plate a wry smile. “No, you can’t.”
Silence fell.
“So,” John began slowly, “is this weird? My being here?” He glanced back and forth between them.
It seemed weird as hell to Jenna.
Richart shook his head. “I don’t want it to be weird. I’m very taken with your mother. If I haven’t bungled tonight too badly”—he sent Jenna a flirtatious smile—“I hope to see her again.”
“I’d like that.” Had she said that too quickly?
Richart reached out and took her hand, giving it a squeeze, then returned his attention to John. “Which means I’ll be seeing you again, too, so I want us to be comfortable around each other.”
John eyed their clasped hands. “Sounds good. But it still feels weird.”
Jenna laughed and was relieved when Richart did, too.
“We’ll figure it out eventually,” Richart promised. “What courses are you taking?”
While John gave Richart a quick rundown on the classes he was taking, Richart leaned back in his chair. He stroked Jenna’s hand with his thumb, sending little sparks of electricity dancing through her, as he nodded and commented here and there.
John finished his meal and pushed back his chair. “Speaking of which, I need to go ahead and hit the books. Finals are coming up and I don’t want to wait until the last minute to cram.” He offered his hand to Richart, who stood and shook it. “Thanks for dinner.”
“Thank you for joining us. I enjoyed meeting you.”
“Me, too.” John put his plate in the sink, then gathered his books. Offering a final wave, he went to his bedroom and closed the door.
Smiling, Richart met Jenna’s gaze as he retook his seat. “I like him. He’s everything you said he is. And I see a lot of you in him.”
“You do?” John looked so much like his father. It warmed her to know there was a little bit of her in there, too.
He leaned in closer. “I meant what I said, you know.”
How could a man who didn’t wear cologne smell so good?
He caught her hand and brought it to his lips. “You have totally captivated me and I would love to see you again.”
“I’d like that, too.”
“Would tomorrow night be too soon?”
She smiled. “No, but I work tomorrow night.”
“How about an early dinner?”
“Sounds good.”
He nodded and glanced at the clock hanging in the kitchen. “I hate to leave, but . . .”
“Work?”
He nodded and rose, collecting their dishes.
“Don’t worry about those. I’ll take care of it.”
He frowned and shook his head. “You still aren’t feeling well.”
“I’m feeling much better.” She didn’t know if it was his company or the fettuccine, but she really did. “I’ll do it.”
“If you’re sure . . .”
“I’m sure,” she insisted, took the plates, and carried them to the sink. When she turned around, she found Richart donning his long black coat in the living room.
He was so handsome.
She walked him to the door. “This was nice.”
He nodded. “I was just thinking the same thing. I haven’t smiled so much since . . .” He tilted his head to one side. “Actually, I’m not sure. It’s been a long time.”
“Then I’ll endeavor to make you smile more often.”
“An easy task to accomplish. Just keep being you.” Leaning one shoulder against the door, he cupped her face in one large hand and studied her, his smile softening. “You’re so beautiful, Jenna.”
In that moment, staring up at him, she could almost believe it.
Lowering his head, he captured her lips.
This kiss was nothing like the one they had shared in the kitchen. It was no first tentative exploration. This kiss was explosive and intense, his velvety warm mouth sending her up in flames.
He slipped his tongue inside to duel with hers, tempting and teasing. One strong arm locked around her waist and drew her into his tall muscled form, pressing her breasts to his hard chest and washboard abs, her hips to the arousal that sprang to life behind his zipper.
Holy crap. Her pulse turned to molten lava. Her knees weakened even as she rose onto her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck, burrowing her fingers through his short silken hair.
He ended the kiss and pressed his forehead to hers, eyes closed, his breathing as harsh as hers. “I wish I didn’t have to work,” he murmured.
She nodded. Sliding her hands down to tangle in the soft material of his shirt, Jenna lowered her heels to the floor. “And I wish my son weren’t in the next room.”
He muttered something in French. “I forgot about that.”
Gradually their breathing calmed.
He sighed. “I keep telling myself to go, but I don’t seem to be moving.”
“I can live with that.”
Chuckling, he raised his head. “All right.” He stole another quick kiss and opened the door. “I’m out.”
With great reluctance, Jenna stepped back. “Okay.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said softly as he stepped out into the night. “Feel better.”
“I already do.”
For the next week Richart lived a dual life. He began each evening by having dinner with Jenna. Sometimes he took her out. Sometimes he cooked for her at her place. Then they parted ways. She went to work, and he left to hunt and fight bloody battles with vampires.
He thought about her all the time. Her laugh. Her smile. Her wit. Her delectable body pressed to his. He was falling in love with her and thought—hoped—she might be falling in love with him. Her face lit up when she saw him, as did his own, he was sure. They never ran out of things to talk about when they were together. And the passion building between them. . .
Richart was having a hard time concealing his nature from her.
Whenever immortals experienced strong emotion, their eyes glowed. That was damned difficult to hide when the slightest touch of her hand enflamed him. Hell, just looking at her made him want to rip her work clothes off and lick every inch of her body.
But he resisted the urge and, though he knew it frustrated her, was glad either work or her son frequently intruded and kept them from doing more than the most basic of passionate explorations. He just didn’t feel right about making love with her without first revealing who and what he was.
“Earth to Richart.”
Richart blinked and realized his Second stood in front of him, holding out two daggers. “Oh. Thanks.”
Sheldon shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest as he watched Richart tuck the blades into the sheaths on his thighs. He was young for a Second, only twenty years old. Inexperienced. And not the quickest learner. But Richart liked him and appreciated the boy’s humor and teasing nature.
“When are you going to tell her?” Sheldon asked. He alone knew Richart was seeing someone.
“That I can’t see her tonight?”
“No, genius. That you’re two hundred years old. Don’t you think she should know she’s sleeping with Methuselah?”
“First, thank you for that,” Richart offered dryly as he grabbed a couple more daggers. “Second, we haven’t slept together yet. And third . . .”