of her. Or the Kincaid clan, for that matter. If anything, she’d given him even more reason to believe the worst of them. He’d made her feel like a spoiled child who couldn’t handle not getting her own way.
Once again Jasmine felt the tears well up in her eyes. She pounded a fist against the steering wheel, refusing to give them release. Her feminine pride wouldn’t allow the show of weakness.
Silently she vowed no man would ever make her cry.
A light shone from the front porch of the B and B. Upstairs, the guest rooms were dark, their occupants asleep for the night. Navigating her Jeep around to the side of the house, she parked and let herself in the back door.
Thankfully, the kitchen was empty. At the moment she didn’t think she could face her mother. She was in no mood for another lecture. Slipping off her heels, she tiptoed through the dark and silent house. Midway up the stairs to the third floor, a loose board creaked beneath her weight. She froze, straining her ears for signs of life.
The house remained quiet.
Relieved, she continued upstairs, longing for a soak in a hot tub. After her encounter with Storm, she felt dirty, soiled. Disappointment rested heavily against her heart, making it hard to draw a breath. Disappointment not because of what had happened, but because of what hadn’t.
Despite everything, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she and Storm had missed a chance at something special. Perhaps it was just wishful thinking on her part, but she still believed they were meant to be together.
Wearily, she moved past her sister Cleo’s empty bedroom. The light shining from beneath her mother’s door told her she wasn’t asleep. Guiltily, instead of stopping to say good-night, she continued on. Jasmine took only two steps past before her mother’s door swung open, startling her. In the swath of light coming from the room, her mother stood in the doorway, wrapped in a cream-colored dressing gown.
“Jasmine, it’s late.” Concern laced her mother’s voice. “Where have you been?”
Instinctively, Jasmine backed away from the light, unwilling to let her mother see her disheveled appearance. “Dinner, Mother. I told you I was going to meet Summer—”
“Summer called nearly an hour ago. She wanted to make sure you’d gotten home all right. And to apologize for having to cut dinner short.”
Jasmine nearly moaned in dismay. Earlier this evening she’d told her mother she’d be dining with Summer and Gavin. Not wanting to upset her mother further, she hadn’t mentioned her other dinner companion, Storm. Now, barring another lie of omission, she had no excuse for her tardiness.
“Is anything wrong, Jasmine? Why are you hovering in the dark? Come closer, where I can see you.”
Reluctantly, Jasmine stepped forward.
Her mother’s sharp gaze scanned her from head to toe, lingering on her mussed hair, her swollen lips and rumpled dress. With a tsk, she shook her head. “You’ve been with that man, haven’t you?”
“’That man’?” Used to her open-mindedness and free thinking, Jasmine was stunned by the condemnation in her mother’s tone. “He has a name, Mother. It’s Storm Hunter.”
“I know his name. I know all about him and his family,” she said, her voice quavering, her expression hard. “I told you to stay away from him. He’s too old for you, Jasmine.”
“Too old? Mother, I can’t believe you’d mean that.”
“I refuse to argue with you.” Celeste turned from the doorway. In a flurry of cotton and lace, she swept across the carpeted length of her bedroom floor.
Reluctantly, Jasmine followed her inside.
Candles lined the fire place, setting shadows dancing against the floral-and-striped wall paper. The pungent scent of incense spiced the air, telling her that her mother had once again been calling upon the spiritual world for guidance.
“Why can’t you understand?” Celeste demanded, calling her attention. “It would never work between the two of you. You and Storm come from two entirely different worlds.”
“Surely you don’t mean because he’s a Native American?”
“No, of course not,” Celeste said impatiently. She stopped, narrowing a gaze to study her. “I’m talking about life experiences. You’re so young, Jasmine. He’s nearly twice your age. Is it any wonder that I’d be concerned?”
“Mother, really.” Jasmine sighed. First Storm. Now her mother. When would everyone stop bringing up her age as though it were a handicap? “I’m not a child. Nor am I completely inexperienced. You know as well as I do that I’ve been dating since I was sixteen.”
“You’ve dated men your own age. That isn’t the