The front doorknob rattled as a key slipped in and unlocked it.

Aaaaaaand the moment’s over, she thought as her son opened the door and entered.

Jenna watched Richart with some trepidation. Saying he had no problem with her being a single mom was one thing. Not minding her son intruding on their romantic dinner was another.

John hesitated before removing his key from the lock and closing the door behind him.

Awkward.

Jenna smiled at him. “Hi, honey. How was school?”

“Same old same old,” he said with a shrug and a tentative smile.

Richart rose and, setting his napkin on the table, took a step forward and offered his hand. “You must be John.”

John set the tall pile of books he carried on the sofa. He often went straight from school to work. “And you must be Richart.” He shook Richart’s hand. “Am I pronouncing that correctly?” he asked, making sure Reeshart was correct.

“Yes. Richart d’Alençon. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

Jenna couldn’t gauge her son’s thoughts and had no clue how he felt about his mom dating. Such had rarely happened.

Richart motioned to the table. “Won’t you join us?”

“Oh.” Clearly surprised, John eyed the food with longing, glanced at Jenna, then looked at Richart. “Nnnno. No, thanks. I have some studying to do and wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“I made more than enough,” Richart tempted. “Please, sit and join us. Jenna has told me so much about you. It would be nice to get to know you better.”

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.”

“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.”