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 br**sts 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 . . .”
“What?”
“It isn’t the easiest topic to broach. And telling her could put her in danger.”
Sheldon frowned. “You mean Reordon? He wouldn’t harm her, would he?”
Chris Reordon took his job protecting Immortal Guardians very seriously. “At the very least, he would interrogate and threaten her to ensure her silence. And if she didn’t react well and told someone else . . .”
Sheldon scowled. “No wonder Roland kept Reordon away from Sarah. But Jenna wouldn’t blab, right? I mean, you know her.”
“And Roland knew his fiancée several centuries ago when he told her. Did she accept him? No. She betrayed his trust, and he awoke the next morning to a mob wielding fire, wooden stakes, and pitchforks.”
“Wow. No wonder he’s such an untrusting bastard.” Sheldon glanced at the clock. “Almost time for the meeting.”
Richart took out his cell phone. “I really hate to do this. It’s her night off, and I didn’t get to see her yesterday.” But when Seth called a meeting, one didn’t balk at attending.
Disappointed, Richart dialed her number.
Chapter Three
A biting winter wind ruffled Richart’s hair. Barren limbs of deciduous trees clacked together overhead while the leaves of evergreens fluttered and swished.
What’s going on with you? a female voice with an accent identical to his own asked in his head.
Richart glanced over at his sister and brother, who examined him much like they would a previously undiscovered insect.
Stay out of my head, he warned them. Both were telepathic. Richart lacked that gift and had often bemoaned the fact as a child until he had learned he could teleport and they couldn’t. They could still read his thoughts or send him their own, though.
We know when you block your thoughts and have respected your desire for privacy, Lisette said and shared a look with Étienne. But we don’t have to read your mind to know something is up.
Richart frowned at the dark forest that surrounded them.
A vampire, claiming he desired the Immortal Guardians’ help, had arranged a rendezvous with Marcus, Ami, and Roland (the last of whom the vampires believed was Bastien) in a clearing that had once been the site of Bastien’s lair. Seth had ordered Richart, his siblings, and Roland’s wife, Sarah, to follow and linger downwind in case it was a trap.