Dating A Silver Fox (Never Too Late) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Special Thanks To Nicole Dadone

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Connect with me online

  Contemporary books

  Paranormal/SciFi/Fantasy Books

  Dating A Silver Fox

  Book Five of the Never Too Late Series

  by

  Donna McDonald

  * * * * *

  Copyright 2012 by Donna McDonald

  Cover by LFD Designs for Authors

  Edited by Toby Minton

  Edition License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to the author and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is coincidental.

  This book contains content that may not be suitable for young readers 17 and under.

  ***

  Acknowledgements

  Thanks to all those who participated and voted in the “Name The Baby” contest. Thanks to Joely Dabson for the winning name of “James Davis”. JD turned out to be quite the little character. I hope you all enjoy him

  Thanks to the book groups of Defiance, Ohio for their input on a “Sexy 60” cover. I spit popcorn all over my computer laughing at your feedback on my choices.

  Thanks to Karen Lawson for ‘accidentally’ submitting the entry I loved and could actually find and purchase. And thanks to all who submitted to the Sexy 60 contest

  Special Thanks To Nicole Dadone

  I would like to offer a very special thanks to Nicole Daedone and Kim Howerton of OneTaste. Nicole Daedone is a leader of the Orgasmic Meditation movement and the author of a very good book called Slow Sex where she discusses her thoughts and philosophies on female orgasm in detail.

  My introduction to Nicole was via a TED talk that I blogged about in February of 2012 when I was researching sexual healing for women, not really intending to use or mention any one technique in my story. But I kept stumbling as I wrote Lydia’s story. I was finding it challenging to try to write in the perspective of an older, sexually stifled woman. At the time, I was specifically looking for an exploration of sexuality that would work for any age and focus on teaching women to value their own pleasure. Growing up in the 1960’s, and having read extensively on practices such as Tantra and the Kama Sutra, accepting Orgasmic Meditation as a creative personal path of sexual exploration wasn’t much of a stretch for me. You can make up your own mind.

  I need to also seriously thank Kim Howerton, who works with Nicole, for patiently answering all my emails and for beta reading the parts of the manuscript containing references and hints about OM, humorous as I sometimes made them out to be between my struggling characters who were looking into it as a way to connect emotionally as well as physically.

  My heroine, Lydia, is probably luckier than most real women. If she had been willing in the story to practice OM, Lydia would not have had to look further than my hero, Morrie. But instead Lydia is resistant to the idea of her own pleasure, of deserving her own pleasure, as are many women. In the story, I was thrilled with every tiny achievement Lydia and Morrie made on their path to getting together.

  No—I haven’t forgotten that my story is fiction. I just know there are women like Lydia in the real world, women who think it’s too late to have the life they want, the love they want, the sexuality they want. Opening up to finding a path of healing—whatever that path happens to be—is one of the bravest things a person can ever do.

  I am grateful there are people like Nicole who are willing to share their ideas with the rest of us.

  Dedication

  This book is for Linda Elliot who read the entire Never Too Late series and then wrote me in August of 2011 to tell me Lydia McCarthy’s negative attitude problem would be greatly fixed if she ‘got laid’. I never intended to fix Lydia when I created her, but a person—even an author—should never say never.

  I hope you think the situation works out well for Lydia.

  And yes, I still really believe it’s never too late for love and romance

  Chapter 1

  “Good evening, Mrs. McCarthy. I have a table for one available right now if you’re ready,” the hostess said.

  Lydia nodded, deftly avoiding eye contact with the curious gazes of two couples waiting for a larger table. Widowed in her mid-forties, she had long ago grown accustomed to the pitying looks she received dining alone. At sixty-seven, the remaining discomfort was minimal.

  She drew herself up to her full five-foot-six height and exhaled loudly at their rudeness, making sure they heard. Normally, she would have said something to dissuade them of openly expressing unwanted sympathy, but miscellaneous confrontations tended to ruin her dinner.

  “Red wine, Mrs. McCarthy?” Andrea asked pleasantly, stepping around the hostess who had fled after pulling out the older woman’s chair.

  Andrea had been watching for her twice-weekly regular customer, not because she liked the woman and looked forward to serving her, but because kowtowing deference was simply expected. She had learned that the first time she’d served Mrs. McCarthy and received a hand written note with a list of improvements instead of a cash tip.

  “Yes. Thank you, Andrea,” Lydia replied formally, stiffening in her seat as the two couples from the lobby ended up at the table for four next to her. She shook her head over the bad judgment of the hostess, steeling her nerves to deal with the distraction they were sure to cause. Their current jabbering and laughter did not bode well.

  “Chicken Alfredo, Mrs. McCarthy? It’s excellent tonight,” Andrea suggested, already writing it down, because this was Tuesday and she had long ago committed the meal rotation to memory. As the newest server on alternating evening shifts, she had inherited the unfortunate honor of always taking Mrs. McCarthy’s table on her nights. Tips were better in the evening, but sometimes she was glad to serve at lunch instead. She made sure to have days when the bitter woman never came by.

  Schooling her expression into a patient smile, Andrea kept her eyes trained on the menu as Mrs. McCarthy pretended to study it as if there might be something more appealing. It was a truth that the complaining woman had turned her into a better server, but her sorority hazing hadn’t been as bad on her personal self-esteem. Now all Andrea could do was pray for a newer server to join the evening shift and relieve her torture.

  “Fine. I’ll have the Chicken Alfredo. Please make sure it doesn’t sit too long before you bring it out this time. It was practical
ly iced over when I got it last week. There’s nothing worse than hardened Alfredo sauce on cold, slimy pasta,” Lydia said, her attention drawn once more to the laughing group at the next table.

  Oh there’s worse, Andrea thought bitterly jotting down an obedient reminder on her pad, tightening her face at the rebuke until her fake smile actually hurt her cheeks.

  “Yes, Ma’am. I will watch the timing tonight,” she said, turning with a quiet sigh of relief to leave.

  “Andrea?” Lydia called, rolling her eyes in exasperation.

  “Yes?” Andrea asked, turning back and hoping like hell her irritation over the delayed escape wasn’t showing because she needed her job.

  Lydia handed her distracted server the folded menu that she’d forgotten to take away. “Are you feeling okay this evening? You seem a bit preoccupied.”

  “I’m fine. Thank you for asking,” Andrea said politely, biting the inside of her jaw.

  “Try to get some extra sleep, dear. Young people don’t realize how much a lack of sleep affects their mental capacities,” Lydia said, eyes darting again at the loud, bright laughter just beyond her as the sommelier arrived to pour the first glass of wine.

  “Yes, Mrs. McCarthy. I’ll keep that in mind,” Andrea said, turning again and walking quickly away before the woman could stop her with another lecture.

  Lydia frowned at the noise level caused by the incessant laughter that kept erupting from the group next to her. With their gray hair announcing their aging process, both couples looked to be close to sixty.

  Not that being gray had obviously brought any true maturity to them, Lydia decided, watching the one couple being embarrassingly demonstrative with each other. They were holding hands like teenagers as they ate. The man had even leaned over and kissed the woman several times, once after he’d fed her a bite of something from his plate. The next time he leaned into her, he kissed her neck and the woman giggled.

  Disgusting, Lydia thought. How could they act like that in public? People their age ought to have more of a sense of decorum.

  She sipped her wine and tackled her dinner with gusto when it arrived hot and steaming perfect. But the laughter, the giggling, and the loud, bragging conversation were just too much to ignore long enough to enjoy her food. What was it going to take for her to finish her dinner in peace?

  Finally, Lydia stood and laid her napkin beside her plate. Hoping a trip to the ladies’ room would erase her unease and perhaps prevent her the unpleasant necessity of asking them to keep the noise level down at their table, she gestured to Andrea and held up two fingers. Her server nodded at the familiar signal indicating how long she’d be away and Lydia quickly walked to the bathroom with her purse tucked under her arm.

  Lydia had just chosen the last and cleanest stall of three when the two noisy women from the table next to hers came into the room. They were sighing and laughing as they filled the other two stalls. Lydia sat in the stall, staring at the ceiling, and wondering why she was being punished this evening.

  “Lana, you’re not going to let that woman ruin your anniversary are you?” one asked. “She kept glaring at you and George all through dinner.”

  “Ruin it? Are you kidding?” the other answered. “I felt sorry for her. She was eating her dinner all alone, pretending like it didn’t matter. Seeing her only makes me more grateful for my marriage. God, sixty-two is old, but most of the time I don’t care about time passing. I’ve been with George half my lifetime and still think he’s the greatest thing since sliced bread.”

  “I know. I admit I’m jealous. You two are so great. Have George talk to Len for me, will you? I think Len has forgotten what romance is,” non-Lana said. “I can’t remember the last time he kissed my neck and made me giggle. Maybe if I held the TV remote for ransom, he might get motivated.”

  There was more laughter, the sound of the stall doors opening and water running, and finally hands being washed. The rustle of paper towels filled a momentary silence without further chatter. Lydia sighed with frustration when they started talking again.

  “I don’t get it. I bet she’s not even our age. Why would someone as good-looking as that woman not have a man in her life?” Lana pondered.

  “Lord—that’s an easy answer, which you would have figured out yourself if George hadn’t scrambled your brain kissing you on the neck,” non-Lana answered. “She’s obviously a total bitch to live with. Did you hear the way she talked to her server? Who would want to put up with that bitchy criticism all the time? No one looks that good. Her last man is probably even now in bed with an ugly woman who talks all sweetie, baby to him.”

  “You don’t even know her story. That’s an awful thing to say,” Lana said, laughing at her slightly drunk friend’s joke.

  “Yes—awful to say, but also probably true,” non-Lana said with a snide self-confidence, bumping open the door. “Come on, I’m ready to go dancing. The guys are waiting. It feels like prom all over again.”

  Their laughter faded as they walked out the door and away.

  Inside her hiding place, Lydia stared at the back of the stall door and breathed through the discomfort of what she had heard. The pain was familiar, but it had been a while since she’d overheard such a sharp critique of herself. Normally, criticism like that only came from her daughter. But even Lauren cloaked her displeasure in innuendo instead of cold words.

  As she tidied her clothes, Lydia ordered herself to shake it off. What did it matter if strangers thought she was a bitch? It wasn’t the first time she’d accidentally heard bad news in a bathroom. Gossiping women was how she had discovered William had taken his first mistress. Hearing bad news had hurt then too, but the pain had dulled by the time the other two long-term mistresses had come along. William had told her about them himself.

  It had been many years since she’d found herself thinking about William’s indiscretions. After the first one, talk among their social group and friends had spread so badly that divorce had seemed the only dignified option at one point. Her mother’s stinging reprimands about the social scandal had doused the flames of the personal anger that had flared inside her at living with a man who showed little remorse for replacing his wife with multiple bed partners. Lydia decided her sense of fairness had been beaten back only by her parents focusing on what everyone else thought about her circumstances. It was the only time in her life she could remember her mother had ever pleaded with her not to do something. It had been one more convincing reason to try to salvage her relationship, but it had cost her to win her mother’s approval.

  Choosing not to divorce a man she hadn’t wanted in the first place had required she and William come to a civilized agreement about their relationship—or rather lack of one. He had told her that he intended to have his needs met and she could either deal with it or divorce him. If she had loved him, things might have turned out very differently, but she’d never really felt that about any male—or at least not that she could recall.

  Now she was certain that she had done the right thing socially by staying, ironically becoming a more virtuous woman for her own lack of looking outside her marriage. But how could she with her husband’s insistence that she was frigid and needed help echoing in her mind? His sexual criticism lingered still today, refusing to be banished even by his death and the passage of more years of widowhood than she could bear thinking about at times.

  Maybe she should have sought another relationship, but she had never come across a man that had seemed worth the effort. Or the risk of failing again, and maybe with someone who would have told everyone she knew about it.

  Not that she considered her efforts to be a good wife a failure.

  Hadn’t she always submitted to William’s occasional attempts to be intimate, regardless of how they made her feel? Hadn’t she done everything her husband had asked? It hadn’t been enough, had never in all their years together been enough.

  Nothing she had done had made him any happier with her. In the end, there had only be
en more and more women. By the time he had his first heart attack, all compassion for him had fled in the face of how miserable she was to be his wife. Though she’d kept him in the house for many months of his sickness, Lauren had visited him more than she had in the hospital during those last days. His death had been a sad liberation for her. She had not had in her to grieve him.

  At William’s request, they had kept the truth from the child they had created. Lydia had done all she could over the years to confront the wagging tongues and hurtful stares with the appearance of normality, but Lauren had found out about it in college anyway. The daughter of a woman William had dated ended up telling Lauren the truth about her father’s philandering ways.

  Lauren’s confrontation with her about her part in maintaining the illusion was still one of Lydia’s most painful memories.

  And then history repeated itself. Everyone said so, and it certainly was the case with the women in her family, Lydia decided. When Lauren had married eventually, she had ended up with the same kind of bed-hopping husband. Like William, her son-in-law was not a bad man—just a weak one. Fortunately, Lauren had not had a child with Jared. If she had, she’d likely still be in that relationship and not have managed to find anything better.

  Lydia frowned as she waited three more minutes, then walked out of the stall and to the sink, automatically running water and washing her hands—hands Lydia couldn’t help noticing were trembling. Thinking about why, she decided it was the bitch remark that had stung the most.