In Still Darkness

She laughed.  "Thank you for being such a good sport about it." 

"Thank you for letting me cook you dinner."  He set  his bags down on the counter and started removing the ingredients he'd  purchased on the way there.  "I should probably warn you that I haven't  been on a date in quite a while, so I'm a little rusty." 

Her eyebrows flew up as she transferred the cold foods to her refrigerator.  "How long has it been?" 

"Longer than I care to admit.  My job and odd hours tend to make dating difficult." 

She nodded.  "Being a single mom and working the night shift does, too.  I haven't dated in a while either." 

"Excellent.  Then, if neither of us remembers the rules, we don't have to follow them." 

"Sounds good to me."  She closed the refrigerator  door and leaned her hip against it, crossing her arms just beneath her  breasts.  "Listen, I'm sort of a  get-the-truth-out-there-so-when-it-comes-up-later-it-won't-be-an-issue  kind of gal, so there's something I wanted to mention." 

This couldn't be good. 

She hesitated.  "You know I'm older than you, right?" 

Richart stared down at her and forced himself not to  laugh at the irony.  He may be over two hundred years old, but he  looked as if he were in his late twenties, thirty at the most.  And  Jenna was worried that her being thirty-seven would be a problem? 

"Honestly, I could not care less how old you are,  Jenna," he assured her, all the while calling himself a bastard for not  taking the opening she had provided and broaching the topic of who and  what he was.  She valued truth.  If he continued to keep it from her . .  . 

A hint of insecurity entered her features.  "I don't  mean to press this, but . . .  I dated a guy once—very briefly—who said  the same thing until his friends found out and started to razz him  about it.  I'm thirty-seven.  Are you sure that isn't a problem?" 

"I don't know why his friends would tease him about  dating you unless they were envious.  You look like you're in your  twenties, Jenna.  Not much older than your son, in fact.  And, if you  looked like you were in your forties, guess what.  I would be just as  interested." 

She smiled and closed the distance between them.  "And if I looked like I were in my fifties?" 

"Still interested." 

"Sixties?" 

"I happen to think laugh lines are hot." 

She laughed.  "Good, because I have a feeling you're going to give me a few." 

"I should hope so," he said, telling himself not to  think about the fact that he would still look and feel as he did now  when she was in her sixties, seventies, and eighties and all of the  problems that would generate. 

You're getting ahead of yourself, old man.  This is your first damned date.  Not your engagement party. 

"You don't mind that I'm older than you.  You don't  mind that I'm a single mom, putting a son through college."  She shook  her head and smiled up at him, expression soft.  "You're a rare breed,  Richart d'Alençon." 

She didn't know the half of it. 

Unable to resist, he dipped his head and touched his lips to hers in a gentle caress.   

Her breath caught.   

Lightning struck.   

Both their hearts began to beat faster. 

Resting a hand on her waist, Richart tilted his head  and explored those smooth pink lips that had drawn his gaze so often,  then drew back before his emotions could take over and make his eyes  begin to glow. 

"Wow," Jenna breathed, staring up at him. 

"I am so smitten with you," he admitted softly.