by Beverly Long
When the movie ended, she turned to Josh. “Bedtime. No video games.”
He groaned and then rolled off the couch. Stood and stretched. His T-shirt pulled up, and she could see his ribs. He was too thin, but he ate like a horse. The empty pizza box was proof. “Good night,” he said.
“I’m going to turn in, too,” she said, in Blaine’s general direction. “Tomorrow is a workday.” Then she practically ran to her bedroom. Closed the door tight and immediately went into the attached bath.
She showered, dried off and got dressed for bed. But before climbing in, she opened her door just a crack. There were no lights on in the family room, and the television was off. Blaine was probably in the guest room.
She wasn’t going to think about him being down the hall.
Instead, she was going to think about what she needed to accomplish in the final three weeks of the semester. Yes, that was better.
She lay in the middle of her bed. Who was she trying to kid? All she could think about was Blaine Colton. About how incredibly brave he’d been when he’d been hanging over the elevator shaft, how incredibly strong he’d been, and how incredibly wonderful it had felt to have him hold her in his arms.
Today’s word of the day, class, is incredibly.
Ugh.
Silently she said a string of words that would never, ever be eligible to be the word of the day. Yup. That about summed it up.
* * *
The bed was comfortable enough, and given that he’d missed sleep earlier in the week when he’d gone after Josh, his body needed rest. But his head was too full.
Tilda was upset. About something. He understood if it was the close call this afternoon. But he had a feeling that it was more.
He wanted to talk to her. And he didn’t want to wait until morning because they’d both be in a hurry to get to work. He slipped out of bed, crossed the room and opened the door.
He stopped outside Josh’s door, feeling a ping in his heart. How many nights had Dorian stood outside this room, listening for sounds from within? How many times had he opened the door and stood over Josh, watching the boy sleep?
But oddly enough, instead of feeling grief and anger that the man had those experiences, for the first time he felt acceptance and some measure of joy that his son had been loved, well-cared for. That Tilda had not been alone to raise their son.
Funny how a near-death experience made a person reevaluate.
He opened the door. The room was mostly dark, but a small night-light was plugged into an outlet on the far wall. It gave off enough light that he could study the face of his sleeping son.
He seemed very young. And innocent. And it was sort of shocking to Blaine to think that he’d been a mere five years older than Josh when he’d left for the army.
He hadn’t handled things well with Tilda. But he’d really been just a kid, not nearly as mature as he’d thought he was.
Maybe it was time they had the conversation that they hadn’t been able to have as eighteen-year-olds. He left his son’s room and walked down to Tilda’s, hesitating just a second before knocking softly.
“Yes,” she said.
He opened the door. There was a night-light in her attached bath. That and the fact that she’d left the blinds partially open and moonlight filtered in offered up enough light. She was in her bed. “What’s wrong?” she asked, sitting up fast.
“Nothing,” he said, motioning for her to stay put. “May I come in?”
“Uh...sure.” She scooted up in the bed until she was sitting with a pillow behind her.
Her hair was hanging down, and it looked damp. She wore no makeup, but then again, she’d never needed any. She had on a loose, white T-shirt, and he couldn’t tell what else because the sheet and blanket were in the way. There was no chair in her room and, not wanting to tower over her, he sat at the far end of the bed, by her feet. “We need to talk,” he said.
“About?”
“About the fact that I’ve been kind of a jerk.”
Her pretty eyes opened wide. “I gave you a pretty good reason.”
“No, I gave you a pretty good reason to hide the pregnancy from me. After all, I was almost giddy with relief when you’d said you miscarried. You painted a nice picture of me to Josh, but it wasn’t the truth. I didn’t want to stay in Roaring Springs. I didn’t want to be forced into joining the Colton Empire and dancing to my father’s tune. I didn’t want to be married. And I sure as hell didn’t want a baby.” There it was. The bald and ugly truth.
“We were very young,” she said softly.
“We were. You know, I just had that epiphany as I stood over Josh’s bed and watched him sleep. We were just five years older. How the hell did we think that we were equipped to deal with something like a pregnancy?”
“Other people have. Other people do.”
“Of course. And you’re one of those people, Tilda. You carried on. Alone. You had to have been so scared.”
“I cried every night,” she whispered. “For nine months. I’ve never told anybody that. And I would never want Josh to know. But every night. I was just so overwhelmed.”
He could just imagine that. He moved closer to her and reached for her hand. Her skin was very soft, very warm. “I don’t want you to ever feel that way again, Tilda. I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere. You’re not in this alone anymore. I should have handled things better thirteen years ago. I’m sorry I didn’t.”
“A hundred times I started an email to you.”
His lips twisted into a rueful smile. “You sent just one. A Dear John letter.”
“I thought it would be best. You wanted to move on. I wanted you to have that chance. But after I sent that one, I drafted others.”
“That you never sent,” he said.
“You’re an honorable man, Blaine. I knew that you’d find a way to come back. But it wouldn’t have been for love. It would have been out of obligation.” She sighed. “And in some crazy way, I guess I convinced myself that I was doing you a favor by letting you go. And once Josh was born and Dorian and I were married, that made me sleep easier at night.”
He scratched his head. “I don’t like the idea of you sleeping with Dorian. How sick does that make me? I’m jealous of a dead man.”
“I...came to love Dorian. And I was very grateful to him. And he was wonderful with Josh. But...he wasn’t you, Blaine. He never could have been.”
“The two of you did a good job with Josh. I may hate Dorian for some reasons, but overall, I just have to be damn grateful to him.”
“I’d like to think that the two of you might even have been friends.”
Blaine grimaced. “Let’s not push it.”
She laughed and looked so beautiful in the moonlight. And before he could think about what he was doing, he reached for her and pulled her into his arms. “I love hearing you laugh. I want you to be happy and to sleep easy every night. I...” He stopped. He’d almost said that he loved her, that he’d always loved her.
Her forehead was resting against his shoulder. “We did one thing right,” she said, her voice soft.
“What’s that?”
“Josh.”
He pulled back, just far enough that she could lift her face. Her lips were very close. “He’s perfect,” he rasped. “Like his mother.” Then he bent his head and kissed her.
* * *
Their third kiss. Different than the other two. Seeking. Smoldering. Intense, but perhaps with a hint of question.
Yes, yes, her heart sang. Oh God, she’d missed him.
“Tilda?” he said, his voice husky, his mouth close. He was unsure, and it made him all the more perfect.
“I want...,” she whispered.
“What do you want? Tell me.”
There was no time to be coy. Too many years had already been wasted. “I
want you. In my bed.”
He evidently didn’t need to be asked twice. She drank him in as he stood and tossed off his T-shirt. He was beautifully made, his muscles honed from years of demanding physical exertion.
He reached for the waistband of his sweatpants.
But she held up a finger. Motioned for him to come close. Then swung her legs over the edge of the bed and spread them. The hem of her white T-shirt pushed up and her blue bikini panties peeked out.
Thirteen years ago, she’d been shy and awkward and wouldn’t have dreamed of taking the lead. But now, it felt right. He stepped toward her, breathing fast.
With her thumbs, she slid his sweatpants and boxers down his lean hips. Let them drop to the floor. He was naked.
Thirteen years ago, she’d been afraid to look. Now she boldly reached out and stroked him.
“Aaagh,” he moaned.
“Shush,” she said gently. Then she bent her head forward and took him into her mouth.
“Oh,” he sighed. “You’re killing me.” After a few minutes, he pulled back. “I’m too close.”
He gently pushed her back, until she was lying on the bed. “I love those panties but they have got to go.”
And he was efficient in undressing her. And then infinitely slow in kissing and caressing every part of her until she was literally shaking. “Now. Now, Blaine.”
And he entered her. Smoothly. No sign of the awkwardness or tentativeness that had plagued them so many years earlier. His strokes were confident and long and she could feel her climax build.
“Blaine,” she begged.
“I know, honey. I know.” And with one final stroke, he took both of them over the edge.
* * *
It was four thirty in the morning when she felt him slide out of bed. “I’m going back to my room,” he said. “I’m pretty confident Josh understands the facts of life, but I don’t really want to have that discussion in relation to his mother.”
She smiled. But it was true. Josh finding him in her bed might upset the fragile balance they’d achieved. “I get up in an hour anyway.”
“Want me to start the coffee?”
“Are you going to sleep?” They hadn’t done much of that last night.
“Maybe try to catch an hour,” he admitted.
“Then don’t bother with the coffee. I’ll wake you up by six.”
He leaned down to kiss her. “Last night was...”
She held up a finger. “It was wonderful. But let’s not try to figure out what it means. Not today or tomorrow or anytime until we know that Davis James and his craziness are behind us.” It was an excuse. But a reasonable one.
“Fair enough.”
She relaxed. Thirteen years ago, circumstances had forced their hands. Decisions had been made. Actions executed. Paths chosen. This time they needed to take it slow.
He left her room, and she lay in bed, her body feeling deliciously tender in all the right places. She hadn’t had sex in four years, but damn, she’d caught up fast tonight. Blaine had fortunately been better prepared than she was, carrying a good supply of condoms in his bag.
Her body was sated and happy. It was in sharp contrast to her head, which felt muddled and oddly discontent. She hadn’t been honest with Blaine. What chance did they have if she continued on this path?
But would he believe her? She had no proof. No records.
Her word against his father’s. But if she didn’t tell him now, it would only be harder in the future. More might be at stake.
She swung her legs over the bed. Now wasn’t the time to cower in bed. Now was the time to put it all on the table, to bare the truth for inspection.
She opened her door and walked down to the spare room. She knocked lightly. The door opened immediately.
“What’s wrong?” Blaine asked, his eyes already moving, looking past her.
“We need to talk.”
Chapter 18
“Okay,” Blaine said, stepping back.
She shook her head. “At the table. I’ll start the coffee.” She turned and walked back to the kitchen. Made a full pot of coffee instead of the two cups that she generally started on a weekend. When she turned, he was sitting at the table.
He was so handsome, with his five-o’clock shadow and his hair falling over his forehead. He looked relaxed, but Tilda wasn’t fooled. He had to know that she’d not called this meeting for no reason.
“I haven’t been completely honest,” she began.
He said nothing.
“A few weeks after you left, just when I’d realized that I was still pregnant, I came home from work to find your father waiting outside my house.”
“My father?” Now he looked startled.
She’d been pretty damn surprised that day, too. “His car was parked in my driveway when I got home from my job. It was the middle of the afternoon.” Her parents had been at work. She’d felt small and inconsequential next to the powerful Russ Colton, even before he’d uttered a word.
Once he’d started talking, she’d realized that he hadn’t come in peace. “He’d come with a warning. He said, ‘My son is not going to marry you. If you’ve got any ideas of trying to trick him into it, then you need to understand that you’ll regret it. Your whole family will regret it.’”
He stared at her. “That doesn’t make any sense. He didn’t even know that we were considering marriage, or about the baby. I didn’t tell anybody. I...”
He stopped. Closed his eyes.
“What?” she asked.
“I told Decker. Not about the baby, but that I was going to marry you.”
“He told your father,” she said.
Blaine nodded. “He must have. He thought I was crazy. That I needed to go to college, take my rightful place in the Colton Empire.”
“My parents both worked at the wagon factory. The economy was getting soft, and I knew they’d have a hard time finding another job in Roaring Springs.”
“But why?” Blaine said contemplatively. “I’d already decided to enlist. Made my decision to not join the family business.”
“I suspect he didn’t think I was good enough for you.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “You know that’s not true. Right?”
She had to tell him the whole truth. “What I knew at eighteen is that your family lived in a very different world than mine. And I was scared. Scared that if it ever became known that Josh was a Colton, your family would find some way to push me aside and take him away.”
He didn’t immediately wash away her concern. That, in itself, made her feel valued. Finally, when he did speak, he sounded weary. “I’m sorry that happened, Tilda. You already had enough to worry about. You didn’t need my father pushing you around.”
“Do you think your mom knows?” she asked.
He cocked his head. “I don’t know. But I’m going to find out.”
* * *
Once Josh was up and fed, Blaine dropped them both off at their respective schools. He headed toward The Chateau. The same place that Tilda would go Saturday night to chaperone the prom. He really didn’t want her doing that. But she’d given him a reasonable explanation of why she couldn’t back out. And, quite frankly, after the night they’d shared, he didn’t want to argue about it.
The sex had been mind-blowing. And when he’d held her in his arms afterwards, he’d simply felt happy. At rest. Not a feeling that he was all that used to. He was a hard-driving guy, always had been. Always focused on the next objective.
But for hours last night, he’d simply enjoyed the feeling of Tilda, the smell of her skin, the texture of her hair. Even the very light snore when she’d sunk into her deep sleep. But he suspected she wouldn’t appreciate hearing him say that.
He pulled into The Chateau parking lot. It was still early, but his mother would be working.
Especially given that the film festival was less than two months away.
He found his mother in her office. He knocked on her partially closed door, and she looked up. After waving him in, she said, “I wasn’t expecting you. Decker told us what happened yesterday afternoon. I am so relieved you both weren’t hurt. How’s Tilda doing?”
“Okay. I think she’s tougher than she looks. I guess... I guess that’s why she didn’t scare away thirteen years ago when Dad threatened her.”
His mother sat back in her chair. Her eyes flashed, but not with questions, more so with dismay. She had known. He was sure of it. And he felt even more betrayed. From his father, he expected such behavior. But his mom was a different story.
“What the hell were you two thinking?”
She glanced at the door, as if to ascertain that it was closed tight. Yes, she definitely didn’t want people knowing about the Coltons’ dirty laundry. Rage threatened to overtake him. Maybe, just maybe, if Tilda hadn’t been so frightened for herself, for her family, she’d have reached out to him about Josh. Maybe he wouldn’t have lost thirteen years. Tilda hadn’t offered it up as an excuse, but he’d heard the very real fear in her voice as she recollected the conversation with his father. She’d believed Russ Colton would carry through with his threats.
“This is awkward,” Mara said.
“Really. That’s all you have to say. God forbid that I do anything that is awkward or gauche in any way.”
His mother drew in a breath. “It’s awkward because I want to tell you the truth. But to do that, I feel as if I’m betraying your father’s trust. And that’s something, quite frankly, that’s rather tenuous between your father and me.”
He refused to feel sorry for her. “I’m not sure I can ever trust either one of you again.”
It was fact, but the minute he said it, his eyes registered the distress on his mother’s face, and damn him, he did feel badly about it. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I’m angry. Hurt.”
“I know,” she said. “So, what did Tilda tell you?”
