one.
Until now.
He thought of Leanne, and her memory engulfed him with a warm, sustaining glow. She had brought light to his existence, given him a reason to live, pierced the protective wall he'd erected around his heart and forced him to accept that he had fallen in love again.
Fallen in love with a woman who looked enough like Jolene to be her sister.
A long, slow sigh escaped his lips. He could not endure the agony of watching another woman he loved grow old and die, nor could he be responsible for giving her the Dark Gift. Leanne was a creature of sunshine. He could not condemn her to a life spent in the shadows?
And yet he could not think of facing the future without her, not now, when he had glimpsed her goodness, felt the sweet magic that had flowed between them the moment their eyes met for the first time.
* * *
He was tired of meeting her after the theater and spending the evening in a darkened movie house or a smoke-filled bar, and since he dared not go to her house, which no doubt contained several mirrors, he brought her home.
Never before had be brought a woman into the house. He bade her wait in the entry hall while he went inside and lit the candles. No doubt she would think it strange that he eschewed electric lights, but he much preferred candlelight to lamp light.
Returning to the entry hall, he bowed over her hand. "Welcome," he said and kissed her hand in courtly fashion.
"Do you mind if I look around?" Leanne asked.
"Please," he said. "Make my home yours."
Leanne wandered through the house, enchanted by the works of art, the sculpture. Several of the paintings were signed J. Blackthorne. The signature was bold and distinctive.
"Blackthorne," she exclaimed softly. "Of course. I saw one of his paintings in a museum." She turned to look at Jason, a question in her eyes.
"An ancestor," Jason said, "prolific but mostly unappreciated."
Leanne studied the larger of the paintings. It portrayed a tall, dark-haired man standing alone on a sea cliff. A black cape swirled around his shoulders, buffeted by the wind. Dark gray clouds hovered above storm-tossed waves. Just looking at the painting filled her with a sense of loneliness, of emptiness. "He was very good," she remarked.
Jason shrugged. "For his time, perhaps."
With a nod Leanne continued her tour, ever conscious that Jason was only a step or two behind her.
The rooms were sparsely furnished, and she noticed he had only a few small table lamps, none of which he turned on, obviously preferring the softer, more romantic glow of the candles that lit every room, even the bathrooms.
The living room was decorated in earth tones. A sofa faced the fireplace; there were two matching over-stuffed chairs on either side of the hearth. A book on ancient Rome sat on a carved oak table beside the couch. Heavy beige draperies covered the windows.
The master bedroom was decorated in shades of blue and white. Standing in the doorway, she had the oddest impression that the bed had never been slept in; indeed, she had the feeling that the room had rarely been used at all. Adjoining the master bedroom was a large bathroom with a sunken tub and a skylight.
In an enormous den next to the bedroom two of the walls were lined with bookshelves that reached from floor to ceiling. She paused in front of one of the bookshelves, her gaze perusing the titles. She saw Shakespeare and Homer, Louis L'Amour and Stephen King, Tom Clancy and Anne Rice's Vampire books, as well as numerous books on history and geography, medicine, art, literature, and folklore, many of which were written in foreign languages.
"Have you read all these?" she asked, amazed by the quantity and variety of books. Some of them appeared quite old, judging by their fragile covers.
"Not all," Jason replied.
Leanne smiled, thinking it would take a hundred years to read every book on the shelves.
Turning away from the bookshelf, she glanced around the room. A beautiful black marble fireplace took up most of the third wall. The fourth wall contained a large window that was covered with heavy floor-to-ceiling drapes. A big, comfortable-looking black leather chair stood in front of the hearth.
Leaving the den, she peered into the kitchen, noting that it was stark and white. Again, she was overcome with the impression that, like the bedroom, the kitchen was rarely, if ever, used. But then maybe that wasn't so strange. Jason