Predatory (Immortal Guardians #3.5)(71)

Jenna stared, knowing with absolute certainty that Richart wasn’t simply mouthing platitudes to score points with her. He actually meant it.

Again, John looked to Jenna.

She nodded and smiled.

“Okay.” He started for the kitchen.

Richart followed. “Jenna tells me you attend UNC Chapel Hill.”

“Yes.” John pulled down a plate and turned toward the stove, where Richart waited.

Richart motioned him closer and began filling his plate.

John met Jenna’s gaze and raised his eyebrows.

She grinned.

John was almost as tall as Richart and still seemed to be growing at age twenty. His shoulders weren’t quite as broad and his physique was leaner, but his brown hair was cropped short like Richart’s.

“A friend of mine used to teach at UNC,” Richart mentioned.

“What department?”

“Music.”

“Oh, yeah? A guy in my study group is minoring in music. What’s his name? Maybe they took some classes with him.”

Richart smiled as the two returned to the table. Richart retook his seat at Jenna’s elbow while John took the chair across from him. “Dr. Sarah Bingham.”

John’s eyebrows flew up again. “You know Dr. Bingham? Carl said she was really something.” Something awesome, his tone declared.

Richart picked up his fork. “She is.”

Jealousy stirred as Jenna watched Richart smile with what could only be affection.

John tucked into the food. “Man, this is good.”

“Thank you.”

“Whatever happened to Dr. Bingham? She only taught there for a year, then disappeared.”

“She married a friend of mine and now works in the same business I do.”

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.”