No

Dinner was... excessive.

Course after course, each plate a tiny masterpiece of foam and garnish, paired with wines Emily could never pronounce. Laughter had grown louder as the evening wore on, voices slurred ever so slightly with champagne and red blends older than she was. A string quartet played something slow and sensual from the far end of the dining hall, their instruments nearly drowned by the hum of intoxicated conversation.

Jason sat close—closer than he had in months. His hand found her thigh beneath the tablecloth, fingers warm and firm. She jumped slightly at first, giggling into her napkin.

“You okay?” he murmured.

“I want you to take me upstairs,” she whispered back, her words half-champagne, half-lust.

Jason smirked, slow and sure. “After dessert.”

She didn’t think she could wait that long.

When crème brûlée and espresso were finally cleared away, she leaned in to kiss his cheek, lips grazing his stubble. “Tell the host we’re calling it a night. I’m going to find the bathroom, then I’ll meet you in the room.”

He nodded, running his hand down the small of her back as she slipped away.

-0-

The powder room was all marble and dim lighting, with orchids in sleek vases and linen towels folded like origami. Emily stared at her reflection, chest still flushed from the wine, lips glossy and slightly parted. Her nipples had perked up beneath the dress again—the chill, or maybe the anticipation. She tugged the neckline slightly, teasing them harder under the silk.

She exhaled, cheeks warm. She felt sexy. Actually sexy. Not mom-sexy. Not trying-to-feel-sexy. But that unshakable, heady confidence she hadn’t touched since before Chloe.

The music pulsed faintly through the floor as she left the bathroom, heels soft on the carpeted stairs. She ascended slowly, trailing her fingertips along the banister, the scent of roses and old books clinging to the air.

The second floor was dim. Hallways stretched in multiple directions, lit only by wall sconces. Everything was symmetrical—same cream walls, same ornate carpets, same antique furniture set into alcoves.

Her room was… left of the main stairwell?

Or was it right?

She paused at the landing, trying to remember.

Jason had said Room 23. But which hallway was that?

She glanced both ways. One direction sloped slightly upward, a string of closed doors evenly spaced along one side. The other was shorter, with double doors at the end and a faint flicker of light escaping from beneath one of them.

She bit her lip, heart thumping, brain fuzzed from champagne and arousal.