Chapter 21
Tallulah
Iquietly entered my house and eased the door shut.
I felt ridiculous—a forty-seven-year-old woman sneaking into my own home like a teenager after curfew, but I didn't want to wake Blossom and also didn't want to have a conversation about where I had been, what I had been doing, and with whom.
My lips were still swollen from Jamison's kisses, and my skin was extremely sensitive, as if each nerve ending was humming. If I focused too much on the way he had looked at me before I left—his light eyes filled with longing, as if he didn't want me to go—I'd start blushing.
I crept through the dark living room, cursing the old squeaky floorboards as I made my way toward the back.
Had I really slept with Jamison? It seemed like a reckless thing to do, but I had thoroughly enjoyed myself. He was a skilled lover. The control and precision he applied to spreadsheets and financial projections—or whatever he did at the bank—were apparently transferable to the bedroom.
Very transferable.
I bit my lip to keep from smiling like an idiot in the darkness.
As I neared Blossom's bedroom, her door flew open, and I froze. In the dim light, I saw my daughter dressed in pajamas, rubbing sleep from her eyes.
"Mom, what are you doing coming home so late?"
"Sorry. Did I wake you?" I purposely avoided answering the question and kept my face neutral.
"Honestly, I couldn't sleep. You didn't respond to any of my texts."
"I'm sorry. I missed your messages."
I even looked at my phone since I left Jamison's. I'd been in my own world, high off sex with a buttoned-up banker who wasn't so buttoned-up in private.
Focus, Tallulah.
"You could've called and told me you'd be coming home late. I was worried," Blossom said.
What was happening here? She was acting like a parent and treating me like a child. I was amused and slightly mortified by the role reversal.
"I'll be sure to respond next time. I'll see you in the morning," I said, trying to brush by her.
Please let this be over so I can escape to my room and continue processing what happened, I thought.
"Mom, you didn't answer my question. What were you doing out so late?" Frowning, she stared at me. "Were you having sex?"
Why did she sound alarmed? How did she think she came into this world?
And what the heck made her jump to that conclusion? Could she smell the sex on me? Was it somehow written on my face? Did I have a post-coital glow going on in the dimly lit hallway?
"Go to bed, Blossom," I said dismissively. "We'll talk in the morning. I'm tired, okay?" This time I didn't stick around. I took off toward my room.
"Are you tired from having sex?" This time, Blossom's voice was high-pitched, almost like a screech.
Good grief, this child. I was not having this conversation with her. I opened my door and locked it with a satisfying click.
"Mom! I'm not done talking to you!" Blossom wiggled the doorknob and rapped her knuckles against the door.
Sighing, I stood in the middle of my dark room, contemplating what to do next. I really didn't want to have a conversation with my daughter about having sex with her future father-in-law. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Not ever.
So I ignored her calls from the other side of the door, her constant knocking, and removed my phone from my purse and plugged it into the outlet next to my bed.
"Mom, stop ignoring me. You're being rude!" Blossom accused.
I considered responding but then decided against it. Silence was the best recourse at the moment. Besides, what was I supposed to tell her?
"You know how you wanted me and Jamison to get along? Well, we get along great now. Especially horizontally." Wink, wink.
Or better yet, I could say something like, "Well, my love, I had an amazing night with Manuel's father. We had sex—first on his bed and then I straddled him on the chair in his bedroom and rode him like a horse."
I seriously doubted she wanted to hear the details.
I went into the bathroom, stripped off my clothes, and stepped into the shower.
Lifting my face into the warm, soothing spray, I relived Jamison's hands on my body.
The way he traced my curves, not only with his fingers but with his lips and tongue.
The way he'd whispered my name like a prayer, and when his control finally snapped.
.. I shivered. He'd been like an animal—a sensually demanding animal.
I laughed to myself, shaking my head. I needed to focus on actually washing my body instead of standing under the spray, grinning like a fool.
When I finally stepped out of the shower, feeling refreshed and clean, Blossom was no longer knocking. She must've gotten tired and gone back to her room. Guilt nudged my conscience for ignoring her, but talking could wait until the morning.
Jamison and I didn't discuss what happened, but I was fairly certain he was of the same mind: this wasn't something we should share with our kids.
At least not yet. Maybe not ever. Sleeping together was complicated enough without adding our children's opinions into the mix.
I rubbed my vanilla and honey body butter all over my skin, smiling when I remembered how much Jamison said he enjoyed the scent.
Then I slipped on a sheer nightgown. Tonight, it felt especially sensual against my skin after my night with Jamison, the silky fabric sliding over my thighs reminding me of his touch.
Was he thinking about me too, or was this a slam-bam-thank-you-ma'am type of deal?
I sobered a little.
What if I were mooning over a man who had already moved on mentally, slotting the evening under "a pleasant hookup," and then going about his life as if nothing happened?
"Do not get attached," I muttered to myself as I gathered my hair into a high ponytail. I then tied a blue and gold scarf turban style around my head.
Getting attached to Jamison Harris would be a bad move. The sex had been amazing. Mind-blowing. But he hadn't made any mention of us seeing each other again.
My phone buzzed. Already under the covers, I leaned over to check the screen and saw a missed call from Jamison, which he had followed up with a text.
My heart did an Olympic-worthy somersault.
So much for not getting attached.
Jamison: I know I'm not supposed to be on my phone in bed, but I had to make sure you got home safely.
How sweet of him.
Me: Made it home fine. Currently in bed right now, about to go to sleep. Blossom gave me the third degree for coming in late.
I hit send before I suffered from Jamison-type overthinking.
Jamison: Uh oh. Are you in trouble?
I could practically hear the laughter in his text.
Me: I'm grown.
Jamison: So should I assume you're not going to tell her what happened tonight?
I stared at the screen, unsure how to respond. I hadn't planned to tell my daughter, but was he suggesting I should? Or was he hoping I wouldn't?
Instead of answering, I posed my own question: Are you telling Manuel?
He didn't respond right away, probably thinking about the answer the same way I had been.
The three dots appeared, then disappeared, then appeared again. I held my breath.
Jamison: I don't have plans to.
Relief flooded through me, maybe because I wasn't sure where our "relationship" was going.
Me: I don't plan to tell Blossom.
Jamison: Seems we're in agreement.
Me: Yes.
We were good at being in agreement when we were alone, apparently. Very good.
Jamison: I had a great time tonight. I'm not just talking about, you know.
I smiled.
Me: I did too.
The night had been special for many reasons, and it was the best night I'd had in a long time.
Dinner, dancing, and deep conversations with laughter sprinkled in.
I laughed at his jokes, and he laughed at mine, particularly my story about the time I had accidentally ordered five thousand ginseng tinctures instead of fifty.
An absolute nightmare, but I didn't mind sharing my mistakes with him.
Jamison: Good night.
Me: Good night.
I replaced my phone on the nightstand and stared up at the fan above my bed.
Moving forward, were we going to pretend tonight didn't happen and go back to being cordial acquaintances whose children were getting married? Could we? More importantly—did I want to?
Turning onto my side, I twisted into a more comfortable position and closed my eyes.
There was no point in dwelling on possibilities.
I couldn't predict the future, so I simply had to wait and see what the universe had in store for us.
For tonight, I'd hold onto the memory of Jamison's hands on my body, the look of adoration in his gray eyes, his mouth on mine, and the husky way he said my name, as if I were extremely special.
I hadn't felt special in a long time, so long I had forgotten the quiet pleasure of it. I intended to savor this feeling.
For now.