Her Immortal Love (2 page)

He released her hand. Lydia found herself regretting the loss of his touch.

You're way older than he is. Don’t you even think about going there. You’re not Saffron.

“I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening,” he said. He stared deeply into her eyes. “I will see you again, lovely Lydia. Of that I have no doubt. But only when you're ready.”

He surprised her by executing a short, quick bow. It was so unexpected and so out of place that it startled her and she forgot to say goodbye. By the time she remembered to do so, he had disappeared into the crowd.

She released her purse and the breath she’d not realized she'd been holding. He had been the most gorgeous man she’d ever laid eyes on. Never in her life had a man as handsome as he was even looked at her. Much less asked to buy her a drink. And the way he had stepped in so gallantly and chased away that rude young man. Like some knight in shining armor straight from out of a fairy tale.

And how had she responded to his chivalry? By rejecting him. And now he was gone. Never to be seen again, despite his promise that he would see her again. But only when she was ready, he had added. Whatever that meant.

Nothing, she told herself. It meant nothing.

Why, oh, why, did he have to have been so young?

She could at least have talked to him some more. Gaze into those twilight-blue eyes of his and watch the colorful lights of the bar play across his dark hair.

Saffron flopped onto her chair, sweat glistening on her face and neck. “Okay, so what'd you say to him?”

“Who?”

“The blond. What’d you do? Flash a badge and tell him you were a cop busting under-age drinkers?”

“Blond?” Lydia realized Saffron was talking about the vulgar young man. She must not have seen her talking to Tristan.

She frowned, recalling that disgusting encounter.

“I didn’t say anything to him,” she replied crisply. “It's what he said to me.”

“And what was that?”

“He asked me if I wanted to have sex with him.”

Saffron sighed “And you said no, of course.”

Lydia stiffened. “I didn't get a chance to say no.”

She was about to tell Saffron about Tristan, but a brown-haired man dressed in a white t-shirt, worn leather vest and black jeans strolled over to their table. He wrapped a thickly tattooed arm around Saffron’s shoulders.

“Ready, babe?” he said. He was not the young man Saffron had been dancing with. This man was old. At least old in that he looked to be in his mid-thirties.

Saffron must have noticed the confused look on Lydia's face. “Oh, sorry, hon. This is Reeve.”

“Hello,” Lydia said.

“Reeve, this is my best friend and all-around gal pal, Lydia.”

“Whassup.” Reeve didn't even look at her. His heavy, hooded eyes were locked on Saffron's chest.

“Reeve's an old friend of mine,” Saffron explained. Then she shot Lydia an anxious look. “Uh, hon, we’re about going to cut out.”

Lydia quickly rose from her chair, grabbing her purse and taking out her car keys. “Oh, no, that’s fine. Please don’t let me keep you from…”

She stopped, her cheeks warming. She knew perfectly well what Saffron and Reeve were cutting out to do.

“I’m ready to go home anyway,” she finished lamely.

Saffron stared at her then turned to Reeve. She placed a hand on his narrow chest and gently pushed him away. “Wait outside for me. I'll be right there.”

“Sure. Whatever.” He gave Saffron a quick, hard kiss. Then he strode toward the club's entrance.

She turned back to Lydia. “You sure you don't mind?”

“Of course. But what happened to that other guy you were dancing with?”

“Him?” Saffron made a vulgar, popping sound with her lips. “I could tell by the way that asshole was dancing he was going to be a lousy fuck.” She grimaced. “Plus he was way too young. Like robbing the cradle.”

Lydia sighed, recalling how young Tristan had been.

Saffron must have heard her. “What’s wrong?”

“How old do you think he was?” Lydia asked.

“I don’t know. Eighteen, nineteen, I guess.” Saffron shrugged. “Way too young for me, that’s for sure.”

Lydia gripped her keys. “Tiffany is twenty-five years younger than Douglas. That makes him old enough to be her father. But it was perfectly okay for him to have sex with her.” Anger and an old pain sharpened her voice. “Why should you feel guilty about being with a man that much younger than you?”

“Look, hon,” Saffron retorted, “I didn't say I felt guilty about it. I just didn’t want to—”

“A man marries a woman young enough to be his daughter,” Lydia interrupted. “Nobody blinks an eye. But if a woman lusts after a man younger than she is, the eyebrows shoot up and the tongues start to wag.”

Saffron threw up her hands. “Whoa! Rein it in there, pardner. Where the hell is all this coming from?” She glanced around the club. “You lusting after somebody? Where is he?”

Lydia shook her head
. He’s gone
.
And he’s gone because I sent him away and I sent him away because I was too much of a coward to deal with it.

“I'm sorry,” she said instead, not wanting to talk about her encounter with Tristan. It wasn’t as if she was ever going to see him again. “It just makes me mad. This double-standard when it comes to age.”

“Hey, you're preaching to the choir here.” Saffron shrugged. “But that's just the way things are. Can't let it drive you crazy.”

If Tristan had been a younger woman and she an older man, she wouldn't have had to think twice as to whether it was appropriate to have a drink or a dance or even have sex. She could have go on and done so if she’d wanted to. But Saffron was right. That’s just the way things were. Best to just let it go and move on.

“So where'd you find Reeve?” she asked.

Saffron’s face brightened, making her look years younger. “Well, after I got rid of that escapee from kindergarten, I had to take a piss. On my way back I ran into Reeve.”

Lydia smiled. “Your old friend.”

Saffron laughed. “Yeah, I guess you could call him that. Considering the fact I've fucked him at least a dozen times these last four months I suppose that qualifies him as one.”

“You must like him.” Lydia had never heard of Saffron spending that much time with anyone.

She shrugged. “He’s okay. Doesn't talk much. And when he does, it's mostly about his bike. He rides a Harley. But don't let his skinny bod fool you. He's got an amazing cock. And he knows how to use it.” She made an exaggerated shivering motion. “I get wet just thinking about it.”

“Well, don't let me keep you from it.” Lydia blushed. “I mean, from him.”

Saffron laughed then her face sobered. “I'm sorry, Lydia.”

“About what?”

“I know you didn't have a good time tonight.”

“It's okay.” She glanced around the club then realized she was looking for Tristan. She quickly looked back at Saffron. “It's just not my thing. You know?”

Saffron patted her arm. “Yeah, I know. C'mon. I’ll walk you to your car.”

Once they were outside, Reeve, who had been leaning against the wall of the club smoking a cigarette, pushed himself away from it and joined them.

When they reached her car, Lydia turned towards Saffron. “Thanks again for taking me out.”

Saffron's expression was worried. “You sure you're going to be okay?”

“Yes, I'll be fine. Don't worry about me. You go and have fun.”

Lydia unlocked her car and got inside. She looked through the window at Saffron and Reeve. He once again had his arm around Saffron’s shoulders. But this time he also had hold of one of her breasts. He slowly caressed it, his fingers inching toward the taut nipple. He looked directly into Lydia's eyes as he did so. Her throat tightened as she watched his long fingers tug and squeeze Saffron's nipple. Then, with a wide, leering grin, he winked at her.

Despite herself, Lydia felt a stirring in her pussy, and she couldn’t help imagining him playing with her nipple. She quickly jerked her eyes away, started the car and drove out of the club parking lot and into traffic.

Saffron was on her way home with someone who was going to fuck her. Yes, fuck her. Even Saffron admitted it was first and foremost about the fucking when it came to the men she dated.

As for Lydia, she was on her way home to a half-eaten box of dark chocolate and her erotic romances. But it could have turned out differently. She had been propositioned. She could have gone home with someone too.

Not that blond young man. No, not with him.

The other one. The one who’d called himself Tristan Drake. Her knight in shining armor with the face of a fallen angel. He had seemed to like her. Had asked to buy her a drink. Had even asked her to dance.

Lydia made a left turn onto a quiet cul-de-sac and drove down the road that led to her house. She pulled into the driveway and stopped the car. She stared out the front windshield. There sat her house.
Her
house, which she’d bought after her divorce from Douglas, who was now married to a woman nearly half his age. The adultery had been bad enough, but it had hurt even worse when he betrayed her with someone so much younger.

She keyed off the ignition and listened to the soft ticking sound of her car cooling down. She could have been with someone younger. Tristan had seemed interested in her. Maybe she could have even brought him home. Taken him to bed.

But it wasn't because he’d been so much younger that she turned him down. She didn’t take Tristan up on his offer for a drink, a dance, or possibly even some wild, hot monkey sex because she wasn't ready.

She was scared. Scared shitless as Saffron would have put it. She had trusted Douglas. She had loved Douglas. All those years they’d been married loving him had been her sole reason for being.

He repaid her love with betrayal.

Now she was so scared of being hurt she’d rather be alone than take a chance on being hurt like that again.

Lydia gripped the steering wheel, tears stinging the edges of her eyes.

Damn it all. She just wasn’t ready.

Not even for someone as incredibly gorgeous and sexy as Tristan Drake had been.

Chapter Two

“No, Mother, I don’t have any plans for next Saturday night.”

Lydia pressed the cell phone against her ear. She was in the back of the New Age bookstore where she’d recently started working. She was on her fifteen-minute break. She didn't need to work. Douglas, defying the advice of his lawyer and, out of a sense of guilt she suspected, paid her more than enough alimony.

But she’d been bored sitting at home reading or working in her garden. Saffron, who shopped at the store, had given her the heads up about the job opening. It was nothing fancy. Just your basic, part-time retail position.

She didn’t have any work experience or much in the way of job skills. Douglas had been one of those husbands who liked to brag that his wife didn't need to work. He had rebuffed all her attempts to get a job. She didn’t even have a degree. She foolishly dropped out of college when Douglas asked her to marry him.

Her eyes roamed over the tiny storeroom. Colorful posters advertising psychic fairs, meditation retreats and conferences on the mind/body connection were taped to the wall. They’d probably been kept for their artistic value since all of them were months out-of-date. Recently delivered boxes of merchandise lined the walls and covered the floor. At some point she and Elaine, the store’s other employee, would open them up and inventory them.

“What? No, I told you, Mother, I’m not interested in learning how to play bridge.”

Her mother had been trying for months to get her to join her bridge club, which consisted of wealthy widows in their seventies like herself. All the women did as they played cards was complain about their investment portfolios, the current state of the world (which was always terrible and getting worse), their ungrateful children, and their maids and/or gardeners who refused to learn to speak decent English and who were, or so the women claimed, either stealing from them or plotting to do them in.

Lydia used her foot to push the door to the storeroom open a bit wider. The sound of voices from the front of the store came through a bit clearer. She had ten minutes left on her break but if it got too busy, she didn’t want to leave Elaine out there all alone to handle it. But so far it didn’t sound terribly hectic.

She switched the cell phone to her other ear. When she did a man’s voice, low but melodic, flowed towards her from the front of the store.

Her heart skipped a beat.

She’d heard a voice like that before. Two weeks ago, in the pulsing darkness of a campus club.

“Mother, I have to go. Yes, now. I’m at work and I—” She could no longer hear the man’s voice. “Goodbye, Mother.”

She thumbed off her cell phone and pushed it into the pocket of her slacks. She hurried out of the backroom and to the front of the store. It was empty except for Elaine, who was arranging crystals on a shelf.

“Was someone just here?” Lydia asked.

Elaine turned towards her. “Is your break over already?”

“Was a man just here?”

Elaine stared at her then a smile broke across her pixyish face. “Oh, yeah. Sir Lancelot.”

Lydia blinked. “Who?”

“That’s what I call him. He’s soooo handsome. He reminds me of Lancelot du Lac.”

Elaine was obsessed with anything Arthurian. She’d seen every movie and read every book about King Arthur. She claimed that her mother had named her after the two Elaines from the Arthur stories; Elaine of Astolat, who had hopelessly loved Lancelot, and the Elaine who gave birth to Lancelot's son, Galahad.

“What did he look like?”

Elaine tilted her head, her blonde, chin-length hair brushing across her cheek. “Well, he's tall. Gorgeous. Nice body.” She grinned mischievously, her green eyes lighting up. “Very nice body. Really hot—”

Lydia must have made a face because Elaine quickly went on with the rest of her description.

“Black hair. Dark blue eyes.” She frowned. “No, they’re more indigo. Or a kind of twilight blue. Or maybe a—”

Lydia moved past her.

“Hey, where are you going?” Elaine cried.