“Is this a date?”
“If you want it to be,” he said. “If you don’t, well... I hope you’ll give me a chance to have a proper first date with you, give it another shot.”
She looked dubious, and he might have been worried if she hadn’t reached out to take his hand. The bolt of electricity that occurred when she touched him was more muted this time, maybe because they knew it was coming.
“Another shot,” Ros echoed. “What else could our first date be?”
“If you want to give it another shot, we could do some culture. I saw a quilt museum in town. We could maybe go fishing, if you like fish. We could do a county fair. There's one up north this weekend. Anything. Everything.”
“You sound like you mean that,” she said, almost as if she was too sensible for such things, but she was hanging on to his hand as if she couldn’t bear to let go. Would never let go.
“I mean it. Every word. As many times as I need to get it right, and as many chances as you’ll give me, Miss Roscomman.”
She laughed unexpectedly.
“Please, not Roscommon. It’s where my parents met. Just Ros.”
“Well, Just Ros, name the time and place for our first date, and I’ll be there.”
Ros looked up, and, hell, but you could light up the tri-state area with her smile.
“Pot roast at the world’s biggest collection of novelty fishing tackle was perfect, except for your coleslaw,” she declared. “Sorry I didn’t warn you.”
“Apology accepted,” he said, and then it was too much.
Nothing in the world could have kept him from Ros in that moment except her saying no, and when their lips touched, the only words he heard wereoh god, yes, finally.
Still he took his time, because that was what his true mate deserved. She deserved time to rest, to know him, to become comfortable with him and to know her own mind, and he was going to give it to her. Only first, he wanted this, and she wanted it, and if she wanted it, there was nothing in the world that was going to stop him from having her and giving her at least as much pleasure as she gave him.
They both gasped when they broke apart, and the look she gave him ran him straight through
“Ros,” he said, and she laughed, a high and breathless sound.
“How do you keep doing that?” she asked.
“What?”
“Being magic.”
There was a moment, just a moment, when he almost told her, about his eagle, the shifter world, the fire condors, everything. Then sense reasserted itself, and he managed a shrug.
“Good genetics?” It was sort of true.
“I owe your mom and dad a thank-you card. But this is where we should call it for tonight.”
“All right,” he said. “Can I walk you to the door, at least?”
“I’d like that.”
She even let him get the truck door for her, but when they gained the porch, fortunately with no fire condors in sight, she turned to him again.
“Wait, where are you sleeping?”
“Hm?”
She raised an arch eyebrow.
“I think that was pretty clear, don’t you? Where are you sleeping tonight? Are you driving home this late?”