She set down her fork and grinned at me from across the dining table. “I don’t know how I’d manage to survive if I became lactose intolerant.”
I watched her face while wondering how I would manage to survive once I was back in California, a topic I’d steadfastly avoided. I dreaded the thought of leaving her, even though she wasn’t mine.
After dinner, I was pleasantly stuffed, not to mention exhausted from another stressful week of work on a failing TV series. Shelby retrieved tonight’s dessert from the refrigerator before we retreated into the sunroom, where I sank into her sofa cushions. She sat beside me and placed a tray of chocolate-dipped strawberries on the coffee table. From across the room, both “boys” appraised me with wary eyes.
“If the wardrobe supervisor has to let out my pants, I’m blaming you.”
“It’s not my fault if you can’t show some restraint,” she taunted. “Here, have a strawberry.”
Shelby picked up a berry and fed it to me, cupping it in her hand as though she was giving one of the cats a treat. When I bit into the sweet fruit, juice dribbled down my chin and, at that precise moment, reality and fantasy began to blur.
“Oh, we’ve made a little mess. Let me clean it up for you,” she muttered
In a move I never could have predicted, she leaned closer to lick the juice from my bottom lip. One brief touch was all it took before my mouth claimed hers in a deep, satisfying kiss. She broke away to wipe my sticky face with a cloth napkin while I contemplated what had happened.
“You look a little tired,” she said, studying my face. “Why don’t you put your head in my lap and relax for a few minutes before we go upstairs to bed?”
One again, I had no reason to object. What’s not to like about being treated like a king, as long as I didn’t get used to it? No attachments and no expectations.
Shelby grabbed the remote and the flat screen flickered to life. I stretched out on her cushy sofa, my head resting on a pillow in her lap while she fed me another strawberry.
“No more,” I begged, looking up at her. “Not another bite or I may have to unzip my shorts.”
“That could get interesting,” she commented, her expression giving away nothing. “Let’s watch some TV.”
I had a better idea.
Turning my head toward Shelby, I lifted the hem of her shirt to plant a row of soft kisses on her bare skin. She trembled before whispering, “That tickles, but please don’t stop.”
Hoisting myself up from her lap, I gathered her close as my lips met hers. From the moment I met her I knew we’d sizzle together, although this encounter resembled a kitchen fire, red-hot and out of control. I unbuttoned her shirt so I could touch her breasts, pushing her bra straps down to expose them. My tongue teased one nipple, which hardened immediately.
A low moan escaped her lips.
Filtering out all distractions, I focused on the sweet sensation of her body close to mine and the way she responded to the touch of my hands.
When she reached over to unzip my shorts, I guided her hand down to my already-throbbing penis.
“No underwear?” she whispered.
“John Thomas enjoys it when I go commando.”
“Who?”
“I’ll tell you later. Keep touching me.”
Shelby grasped me with one hand before leaning over to flick the tip of my cock with her tongue, making me groan out loud. My serene southern chef had tapped into her wild side. Never in my wildest dreams had I anticipated getting a blow job tonight while making out on her sofa.
“You’re so big,” I heard her say. “And rock hard.”
As she bent over again to take me in her mouth, her phone rang with the familiar melody of an upbeat jazz tune. Shelby ignored the call and got back to business, moving her lips up and down my shaft and teasing me with her tongue. Winding my hands through her hair, I urged her on with a series of encouraging moans.
The doorbell chimed.
She jerked upright and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, gazing at me with an expression of surprise tinged with horror. When her phone rang again, she looked at the screen, blinked and gulped.
“Oh, no.” Her voice was barely audible. “It’s Danielle. She’s standing outside the front door.”
Her daughter is here? And I’m sprawled on her mother’s sofa with my dick hanging out?
“Her message says she’s home for a surprise visit.” She adjusted her bra and re-buttoned her shirt in a rush before adding, “I’ve got to let her in. She forgot her key.”
“I’m in no condition to meet your daughter, Shelby.” I zipped up my shorts, sending John Thomas back into hiding, where he throbbed in protest.
“You’ve got to stall her at the door for a few minutes until I pull myself together.”
Chapter Thirteen
Shelby
Couldn’t she have called first? But then it wouldn’t have been a surprise, would it? Why tonight, of all nights, when I was looking forward to waking up with Ian in the morning and having him all to myself until Sunday evening? It wasn’t her fault, though. She had no way of knowing her mother had embarked on a risky, short-term affair with her impossibly handsome client.
Poor Ian! I brought him right to the brink of orgasm, causing him to suffer from that painful condition men get when they can’t finish what they started. What a disaster.
I called Dani back and announced, “I’m here. I was at the back of the house and didn’t hear the doorbell.” A flat-out lie, but what was I supposed to say? I ignored the phone because I was performing oral sex on my new lover?
I smoothed my hair with the fingers of one hand before extracting myself from the sofa. Ian’s eyes stayed on my face.
“Fix your lipstick,” he advised, before wincing.
“Are you okay?”.
“No, but I’ll muddle through. You’d better let her in.”
On the way to the front door, I stopped to assess my appearance in the hallway mirror. My mascara was smeared and my lipstick, or what was left of it, was a smudged mess. After wiping off most of the rosy stain with my thumb, I determined that I didn’t have time to do anything else. Taking a deep breath, I plastered a smile on my face and opened the door.
“Dani, honey, how great to see you!”
My daughter stepped in and dropped her bags before giving me a long hug. I always thought she looked like a true blend of Jean-Pierre and me with her father’s dark hair—which I noticed she had enhanced with purple highlights—and my eyes, but I wasn’t exactly sure where she got her attitude. Standing just shy of five-foot-four, Dani had a forceful personality in contrast to her diminutive size. She’d never taken crap from anyone, especially from aggressive men who’d tried to control her.
“Oh, you’ve done something funky to your hair,” I said, trying to delay for Ian’s sake. “I like it.”
She stared at me for a moment before asking, “Mom, are you all right?”
“Of course, I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”
She frowned.
“When I drove up, I could see lights on in back, but you didn’t answer your phone or come to the door. Why is your car parked out front? Did the garage roof collapse?”
Her eyes traveled over the sight of me.
“Have you been drinking? You look like you slept in those clothes. And your shirt is buttoned all wrong.”
Oh, hell. She hadn’t seen anything yet. Wait until she got a good look at the disheveled hunk of man in my sunroom.
“Come in the kitchen and we’ll talk,” I rambled on, hurriedly re-buttoning my shirt again. “Would you like a glass of sweet tea or wine?” I quickly headed to the kitchen. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
Her suspicions aroused, Dani followed me into the kitchen and opted for wine before we retreated into the sunroom, where the sight of Ian perched on my sofa stopped her in the doorway. He raked his hair back with one hand before offering my daughter a movie-star smile, although I detected a touch of nervou
sness in his expression.
“Danielle, I’ve heard so much about you,” he said in the precise British accent that made me light-headed. “I’m Ian.”
He stood up and they exchanged a brief, awkward hug. I kept my eyes on his face, not allowing my gaze to drift anywhere in the direction of his crotch.
“I know who you are.”
Danielle’s eyes narrowed as she looked him over. “Mom said she was cooking for you, but I didn’t realize…” Her voice trailed away as she turned her gaze in my direction.
“Oh, never mind.”
“We, uh, must’ve dozed off,” Ian asserted, although he didn’t sound too convincing. Where were those stellar acting skills of his when we needed them?
A few moments of uneasy silence ticked by.
“Are you hungry, sweetie?” I asked Dani. “I cooked baby back ribs tonight and there are plenty of leftovers.”
“I’ll help myself,” she said. “You stay here with your friend.”
She disappeared into the kitchen, Henri at her heels. Francoise opened one eye before returning to his nap on the rug, ignoring our unfolding domestic drama.
“Bloody hell!” Ian whispered.
“Fuck is more like it,” I responded, before dropping onto the sofa beside him.
He managed a tight smile, despite our embarrassing circumstances.
“Chef Durand, I have never heard you drop the f-bomb until tonight. All this time I’ve been operating under the assumption that you are a refined southern woman.”
I kept my voice low, hoping Dani wasn’t eavesdropping.
“I’d hate to disillusion you, but most refined southern women don’t get caught having sex on the sofa—by their daughters.”
He took my hand in his and squeezed it.
“I’m going home,” he said, which made my stomach drop. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to stay over, not with Danielle here. Spend some time with her and we’ll reschedule.”
“I know you’re probably right, but I’m disappointed.” There weren’t many more days left before his return flight to California, and our entire weekend had now gone up in flames.
I trudged upstairs, retrieved his overnight bag, and set it near the back door leading to the deck.
“Honey, I’m walking Ian to his car,” I called to Danielle, who was still in the kitchen. “He’s leaving.”
She strolled back into the sunroom carrying a plate with two ribs and a miniscule portion of mac and cheese, while eyeing his carry-on.
“Through the back door?”
“He parked his car in the garage. It’s a Mercedes, and I didn’t think it was a good idea to leave it on the street.”
“Hmmm,” she muttered, tight-lipped, before flopping into her father’s leather chair.
Inside my garage, Ian stowed his bag in the trunk before walking around to the driver’s side door.
“I’m sorry,” I muttered, moving close to him. “I had no idea she would drop in unannounced.”
“Not your fault, although it did make for some rather uncomfortable moments.” He put his arms around me and hugged me tightly before planting a kiss on my forehead.
“I’ll talk to her,” I pledged. “Why don’t the three of us meet for dinner tomorrow night at some neutral location?”
A smile flickered at the corners of his mouth.
“Only if you’ll ask her to leave the knife at home.”
***
“Mom, I’m worried about you.”
Danielle was sitting crossed-legged in her father’s chair with Henri in her lap. A plate of chocolate-dipped strawberries and a half-finished glass of wine rested on a side table.
I dropped onto the now-infamous sofa across from her and busied myself plumping the pillows.
“Why, Dani? Because I’m dating someone?”
She threw me a withering glance before answering.
“No, because you’re dating him. When I suggested you dip your toe into the dating pool, I had no idea you would dive headfirst into the deep end. What were you thinking, Mom? You don’t really believe this could turn into something long term, do you?”
“I never expected it to.”
I also never expected to defend my sex life, or what there was of it, to my adult child.
“I know what I’m doing,” I asserted, marking the second time tonight I had lied to Dani. Reality check: I had no idea of what I was doing, preferring to stay lost in my silly daydream of lingering kisses, laughter, and the anticipation of astonishingly good sex.
She shook her head in disbelief.
“This is a casual hook-up? My mother is having an affair with a Hollywood actor?” She kept firing questions before I had time to respond.
“Haven’t you heard about his divorce from that TV reality show host? He’s on the rebound. This is possibly the worst situation you could have put yourself in…and he’s too good-looking.”
“Are you serious?” Caught off guard by her outburst, I was now on the defensive, and I didn’t like being backed into a corner.
“Men that handsome are hardly ever sincere. You’ve said so yourself. They’re arrogant and self-absorbed.”
Folding my arms over my chest, I met her unsmiling gaze. For a moment, I pondered whether Dani’s demanding job, combined with Jean-Pierre’s untimely death, had hardened her heart. She wasn’t always so judgmental.
“And you know this because of your wide-ranging experience with attractive men?” My voice carried a brittle edge that I didn’t quite recognize.
“He’s not merely attractive,” she snapped back. “He’s in a whole different league.”
“So, what you’re saying is that he’s too good-looking for me? Is that it?”
She sighed, pitched Henri off her lap, and pressed on.
“He was planning to spend the night, wasn’t he?”
My face flushed with embarrassment. Leaping up from the sofa, I kept my arms wrapped tightly around my waist.
“I think the answer to that question is obvious. Yes, I invited him for the weekend. He’s fun to be with, and we have more in common than I first thought. I’m sorry you disapprove. I thought you’d be happy that I’m finally moving on with my life. Without your father.”
Her mouth tightened.
“And do you think Dad would have approved?”
“That’s so unfair, Dani.” Unwanted tears filled my eyes. “What do you want me to do? Stop living because he died?”
She turned her gaze to the floor, but not before I witnessed her quivering lip.
“I know your father would want me to be happy.”
She looked up, then stared at me in silence for a moment before asking, “Are you going to be happy when Ian goes home to California?” Her harsh words stung like a slap.
I stood mute, verbally defeated and unable to respond.
No. As a matter of fact, the absolute worst has happened. I’ve gone and done exactly what I told myself I wouldn’t do. I’ve gotten in over my head, driven by loneliness and desire, and it’s going to hurt when he leaves.
“I’ll never be able to look at that couch the same way again,” my daughter claimed. “I’m going up to bed.”
Tonight marked the worst fight we’d had since she went through a Goth phase in high school and shaved off most of her eyebrows.
***
“I haven’t been with anyone since.”
A man like Ian, deliberately celibate? I saw the way that girl at the Harpers Ferry seed market lusted after him, and I’m certain he could’ve found a willing partner without too much effort. Monica must have inflicted some severe emotional damage to have left him unwilling to risk intimacy again.
Until now.
Sleep eluded me for most of the night. Feeling lost in the king-sized bed that Jean-Pierre and I shared, I turned and thrashed until both cats jumped off in disgust. I was angry with Dani for making unfounded assumptions about Ian, and irritated that I had to defend him to her. My nagging little warning voice ha
d returned, this time in the form of my bossy daughter.
Am I being naïve to think I can trust him, or believe any of the things he says? Is he playing me? Am I a foolish widow, desperate for a man’s touch?
I could not allow myself to conjure up some romantic fantasy that would never become reality. In a few short weeks, Ian would be gone, and we would get on with our separate lives.
It was well after midnight before I finally drifted off, only to be awakened early by two demanding cats crying for their breakfast. I threw on shorts and a t-shirt before padding downstairs, barefooted, to make a pot of coffee and top off the cat food bowl. There was no sign of Danielle, so I decided to let her sleep as late as possible, hoping that a good night’s rest might improve her attitude.
After the coffee had brewed, I poured myself a mugful and added a generous amount of half-and-half before continuing into the sunroom to retrieve my phone, which I’d left downstairs in the wake of our argument. When I checked my messages, I found a text from Mom’s nursing facility that was sent several hours ago.
Nurse: Your mother’s blood pressure has stabilized, and she ate most of her dinner.
One more entry in the diary of a dying woman who didn’t recognize either her daughter or granddaughter.
On a brighter note, I also had a text from Ian that had been sent a few minutes earlier.
Ian: Wish you were here, or vice versa.
A warm wave flushed through me, and I knew it wasn’t from the hot coffee. Now I felt guilty again, this time for doubting him.
Shelby: Me, too. How are you this morning?
Ian: Fully recovered. I came home and took a cold shower.
Me: Isn’t John Thomas what the gamekeeper in Lady Chatterley’s Lover called his penis?
Ian: You are correct.
Me: Give him my fondest regards, along with apologies for what I did to him.
Ian: He tells me he’s more than willing to give you another chance.
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