She sighed. “I knew you were aware of my attraction to you and didn’t want it to seem like I was . . . I don’t know, trying to make myself seem more appealing to you, like I was saying, ‘Hey, you should totally date me because I can be transformed,’ or something.”
That’s right. She could be transformed. If he actually thought she could fall in love with him and that she could do so without facing pretty damned dismal consequences, he would be bouncing off the walls right now.
“Have you . . . thought about being transformed?” Subtle.
She nodded. “Down the line sometime. I’m not really ready to give up the sun.” She smiled ruefully. “Or my favorite foods. That sounds pathetic, I know, but there you have it. I know all of you immortals only eat organic, and most of my favorite foods and snacks are anything but.”
“Well, I hate to tell you this, but those favorite foods won’t taste the same to you after your transformation.”
She frowned. “They won’t? Why?”
He motioned to his nose and his eyes. “Our sense of smell and our vision aren’t the only senses that were heightened during our transformation. Our sense of taste was, too.”
Cool. “Then my favorite foods will be even yummier.”
“A hundred years ago, I would’ve said yes. But now . . . We can taste every individual ingredient.” He nodded at the pot pie. “I can taste every spice and every vegetable in this pie and tell you in what proportions they were used.”
Melanie may not be able to judge the proportions, but she could taste many of those flavors, too. “And . . . ?”
He gave her an apologetic smile. “And I can taste the difference between vanilla and synthetic vanillin. Or the difference between an organic chocolate bar made with seventy-three percent cacao and one of the chocolate bars I’ve seen you eat that contains twenty-five percent cacao and makes up the difference with vegetable oil and artificial flavoring. It’s as obvious as the difference in taste between turkey and tofurky would be to you.”
Melanie stared at him. “Are you telling me that all of my favorite foods are going to taste like crap after I’m transformed?”
“Not the organic ones.”
“I don’t eat organic!”
He motioned to the pie. “That’s organic. You like the taste of that, don’t you?”
“Yes, but . . .” Crestfallen, she said, “That sucks.”
“Not as much as you might think. I heard Sarah say making the switch isn’t as hard today as it would’ve been forty years ago because there’s an organic version of most of her favorite snacks. And, on the up side, you gain near immortality and never age or get sick again.”
“Which is why I’ll probably ask to be transformed at some point in the future. Just not now.” She winked. “I like junk food too much.”
He laughed.
Squeezing his hand, she sobered. “Listen. Since we’re spending more time together, and considering my near-death experience earlier, I feel like I should tell you that if something should happen to me—”
“It won’t. I won’t let it.”
Lowering her fork, she covered their clasped hands. “Let me finish.”
He nodded, silently vowing to do everything he could to keep her out of danger in the future.
“If anything should happen to me, if I’m fatally wounded and the network can’t save me and no immortal healers can be reached, I want to be transformed.”
Her trust and her confidence that he would see that her wishes were carried out flowed into him via his gift, making his heart pound. “You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.” Her lips tilted up in a small smile. “I may love junk food, but I don’t love it enough that I think life isn’t worth living without it. And I can still enjoy the sun from a distance. I may not be able to go out and frolic in it—”
He smiled, enjoying the image her words evoked.
“—but I can leave the blinds and curtains open as long as I don’t sit directly in the sunbeams.”
He nodded and squeezed her hand. “As you wish.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m honored that you’ve chosen to confide in me.”
For some reason that pleased her, which pleased him.
When Melanie leaned toward him, he met her halfway for a tender kiss.
“Are you kidding me?”
Melanie jumped at the sound of Richart’s irate voice.
Bastien swore silently. That was the bad thing about teleporters. You couldn’t anticipate their arrival because there was no approach to hear.
“I’m busting my ass trying to keep Chris from figuratively hanging you—he would do it literally if it were possible—and you’re here having a romantic dinner for two?” Sighing, Richart raked a hand through his hair, drew out a chair, and sat down. “Hell, I don’t blame you. Is there any pot pie left?”
“I don’t know,” Bastien said. “Sheldon prepared it.”
Richart let out a piercing whistle.
A thud sounded somewhere deep in the house. “Damn it! Don’t do that!” Sheldon shouted. “You scared the crap out of me!”
Richart grinned. “I love Seconds.”
Melanie laughed.
Even Bastien had to smile as Sheldon stomped into the room, rubbing one elbow. “Dude, the next time you invite Satan to dinner, give me a little warning first.”
Bastien flipped him off.
Richart looked up at his Second. “Is there any pot pie left?”
“Yeah. You want me to heat you up some? You look beat.”
“Wrap it up and I’ll take it with me. We’re expected at David’s. I can heat and eat it there.”
“Sure thing.” Sheldon headed into the kitchen.
“No luck swaying Reordon?” Bastien asked.
Richart shook his head. “As I said, he would hang you if he could. Or at least kick your ass. In fact, I think if the man were a gifted one, he would ask to be transformed just so he could kick your ass.”
Melanie patted Bastien’s hand, her sympathy with him.
Damn, that felt good. And how odd was it that Richart’s sympathy seemed to be with him, too?
“You aren’t going soft on me, are you?” Bastien asked.
“Hell, no. I just have more important things on my mind than mocking you.”
Melanie’s brow furrowed. “Jenna isn’t feeling any better?”
Richart straightened in his chair, his countenance darkening. “Where did you hear that name?”
Bastien released Melanie’s hand and leaned forward, resting an arm across the table in front of her in a gesture meant to remind Richart he would have a fight on his hands if he threatened Melanie in any way. “Watch your tone.”
Melanie didn’t appear worried. “Sheldon let it slip.”
Richart swore and rolled his eyes. “The boy is entertaining but sometimes can be a real pain in the ass.”
Sheldon walked back in, carrying a cloth lunch bag Bastien assumed was full of Richart’s meal. “Says you,” he retorted and winked at Melanie.
Bastien bristled. Damn it. Why was every man on the planet suddenly flirting with her?
Richart took the lunch bag and gave his Second a reproving glare.
“What?” Sheldon said. “It was an honest mistake. A tall guy with black hair, your build, and dressed like you was shoving his tongue down a woman’s throat in our living room. I drew the obvious conclusion.”
Sighing, Richart transferred his attention to Bastien and nodded toward Melanie. “You know this isn’t going to go over well, right?
“Such has occurred to me, yes. As long as the fallout only falls on me, I can handle it.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
Bastien gave him a tight smile. “Then I’ll handle it in a whole different manner.”
Melanie sighed. “Don’t encourage him, Richart.” She rose. “And both of you need to remember one thing: I’m a grown woman and can take care of myself. If someone has a problem with my feelings for Bastien and thinks I shouldn’t get involved with him because they don’t like him, they can kiss my merry mortal ass.”
Sheldon burst out laughing, moved forward, and held up a hand.
Melanie high-fived him and gave Bastien a truly appealing so-there look. “Now, I believe Richart mentioned something about us being expected at David’s.”
They opted to drive to David’s. Richart had teleported so many times in recent hours that he said his batteries were running low, which Melanie took to mean he would have to consume more blood if he kept it up.
His was a fascinating gift.
Richart took the wheel with Sheldon in the passenger seat that Melanie had refused so she could sit in the back with Bastien.
Both immortals seemed preoccupied.
Melanie leaned against Bastien and toyed with one of his hands while Sheldon bobbed his head to Skillet.
It was a nice drive. Melanie had been raised in the city. The apartment had been small and cramped. No yard. No fresh air. Constant noise. When she had moved to North Carolina, she had had to sleep with the television on every night because she was so unaccustomed to the quiet.
She loved it here now, though. Sure it sucked that Walmart and gas stations were about the only things open past midnight. But the fresh air . . . the clear skies so full of stars . . . the scenery . . .
As if on cue, the headlights illuminated two deer grazing by the side of the road.
Bastien draped an arm around her.
She looked up and found him smiling down at her.
“I like this moment in time,” she said.
“So do I,” he admitted, curling his fingers around hers where she played with them.
Richart turned onto the long drive to David’s home, pulled up behind a shiny black Prius parked at the end of it, and cut the engine. Skillet stopped midsentence.
Melanie didn’t want to go in. Chris was probably already inside ranting and calling for Bastien’s head on a platter, and she really didn’t have the patience for it tonight.