by Anna DePalo
“They’re just curious,” Summer responded. “They know I broke off the engagement to John, and now, tonight, I show up with you.”
“Did you tell them that it was you and not Scarlet at the Waldorf?”
“No, but they’re curious nevertheless.”
“Do they have anything to be curious about?” he couldn’t resist countering.
She cast him a sidelong look. “Not anymore.”
He noted, however, that, when their shoulders accidentally brushed, she moved away self-consciously. She was clearly not as cool and collected as she wanted to appear.
He handed her drink to her and took a sip of his own. “I like your cousins. They’re interesting characters.”
“Interesting?”
“More than they seem,” he elaborated.
She tilted her head inquiringly.
“Bryan and Cullen seem like they have a few secrets. Bryan in particular.”
Summer looked doubtful. “You know, Cullen was joking when he said Bryan was the International Man of Mystery. It’s just that, more than most of the rest of us Elliotts, Bryan has a separate life away from the family.”
He arched a brow. “Something tells me there’s more to it than that.”
Summer looked skeptical, but then smiled. “I’ve known them my whole life and, believe me, there’s never been anything mysterious about them. Bryan is a restaurateur at heart, and Cullen…Cullen is exactly what he said he is. He’s a magnet for women.”
Zeke decided not to push the point further, though he remained unconvinced Bryan and Cullen were as uncomplicated as baby cousin Summer thought they were.
He followed Summer to a buffet that had been set up at the back of the restaurant and they helped themselves to items such as fried Kumamoto oysters, crab and avocado millefeuilles, and a lobster and melon salad with Asian pear and Thai mango dressing.
Later, Cullen joined them again, and Zeke met a few more of Summer’s coworkers, who all seemed curious about him.
Eventually, however, they were left alone at a corner table, and an awkward silence reigned—a novel situation for him where women were concerned.
Slowly, though, he succeeded in drawing her out. They talked about the places that he’d traveled to, and he regaled her with stories about strange and unusual fans and even weirder tabloid headlines.
They discovered that they both knew how to speak Spanish well and French badly, that they loved Malta in the summertime, and that they preferred their Mexican food really spicy. They debated whether they’d had better skiing in Vale or the Alps, and which were the best places to go on St. Bart’s.
“So,” he finally joked, “what’re your musical tastes? Who do you like?”
“They’re all dead.”
He laughed. He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised. “Classical?”
She took a sip of her wine. “Yes, and oldies. Sinatra. Nat King Cole.”
“Are you just being diplomatic and trying not to admit you prefer my competition?” he teased.
She looked at him from beneath her lashes. “If I did, would you mind?”
Realizing that she was flirting with him, he banked his satisfaction. “I’d be heartbroken, but I’d console myself with the thought that we’re both Beethoven fans.”
A smile tugged at her mouth. “I enjoyed your concerts. You’re very good.”
“Only very good?” he teased again.
She looked into his eyes. “Compelling,” she said softly.
As he continued to look into her eyes, he felt himself go up in smoke. Man, she had an effect on him.
He decided to let her—and himself—off the hook. “Actually, chances are I’ll be leaving the performing behind sooner rather than later.”
He could tell he’d surprised her. “Really?”
“Yeah, I see myself concentrating on songwriting instead.” He looked around. The crowd had thinned a bit, though the party was still going strong.
“Are you ready to leave?” she asked.
“Yeah.” He looked at her. “I’m ready, are you?”
It was a loaded question, and he knew it, but he wanted her badly. Being near her and holding back was torture.
“Yes,” she said, “let’s go.” She gave no indication that she’d taken him at other than face value.
They wound their way to the front door, saying good-night to people on the way, and he retrieved her coat and his jacket from the attendant at the cloak room.
Fortunately, Shane and Cullen were nowhere to be found. Bryan, on the other hand, just tossed him a significant look that said Zeke had a modicum of his trust and shouldn’t do anything to waste it. Zeke gave him the barest of nods that said the message had been delivered and noted.
He held the front door open for Summer, and when they got outside the restaurant, he pulled a baseball cap out of his jacket pocket and pulled it low over his eyes.
She looked at him questioningly.
“Keeps me from being recognized by paparazzi,” he explained. “Can I get you a cab?”
“No, thank you,” she said. “Home is just a few blocks away.”
“I’ll walk with you, then.”
She hesitated for a second. “Okay.”
Eight
S he was burning up. It was crazy, of course. It was only thirty degrees outside. But beneath her cashmere coat and underneath her wraparound top, she was burning up.
And it was all due to the man beside her.
Zeke.
Her lover.
When they arrived at the Elliott townhouse, Summer watched as Zeke looked up at the huge gray structure, taking it in.
She was used to people being impressed by the place that she and Scarlet used as a weekday residence and that her grandparents used when they were in town.
She tried to see it through his eyes, as if for the first time. The three-story mansion boasted white trim and was set ten feet back from the street, shielded from curious passersby by a black wrought iron gate covered in ivy.
Zeke looked at her. “Your grandfather wasted no words in making a statement, I’ll say that for him.”
His insightfulness surprised her. Most visitors’ observations ended with the physical structure before them. “Granddad started the EPH empire,” she said. “On his way up, I think appearances were very important to him.”
“Yeah.”
“Jealous?”
A smile quivered at his lips and he glanced at her. “More like envious of his privacy.” He added, “And feeling like an idiot now for thinking you’d be impressed by my suite at the Waldorf.”
She flushed. She didn’t like being reminded of how she’d misled him that night, but he didn’t look angry now, only as if he was enjoying teasing her.
Still, now that they’d arrived at the townhouse, an awkwardness fell over her. Trying to cast off the feeling, she heard herself ask, “Would you like to see the inside?”
“Sure.”
As they made their way up to the front door and inside, she had time to rue her impulsive offer. She should’ve said goodbye outside.
Should’ve, could’ve, hadn’t.
Instead, after they had deposited her coat and his jacket and cap in the front hall, she showed him around. The house was quiet because of the late hour, the few servants asleep or gone for the day.
She was very aware of him behind her as they made their way from the grand entry hall, with its impressive stained glass skylight, to the library and then on to the dining room and living room. She showed him the family room and kitchen, and they looked out at the back porch, which overlooked a private garden.
Eventually, he followed her up to the next level, where bedrooms for family and guests were located, and then to the top floor, where she and Scarlet had sleeping quarters.
Finally, he stood in the open doorway of her bedroom.
Trying to gauge his reaction, she babbled, “And this is my room. It’s been redecorated over the years. Fortunately, Scarl
et and I never had to share a bathroom. I’m not sure our relationship would have survived otherwise.”
She looked around at the white-and-cream color scheme that contrasted dramatically with the antique cherrywood furniture, and at her brass bed with its matelassé cover.
What was he thinking? Too cozy?
He said nothing, just looked around, and she stopped fidgeting.
Finally, he murmured, “Very feminine.”
He strolled in and stopped by the closed laptop and paperwork on her desk. Looking down, he asked, “You’ve started writing up our interview?”
“Yes.” She walked over to him. She’d forgotten she’d left her draft sitting out.
He picked up some sheets of paper and cast her a curious look. “Do you mind?”
“No—I mean, no, I don’t mind.” She gave a nervous laugh. “As long as you don’t expect the right to censor it.”
He quirked a brow. “Don’t worry,” he murmured. “Given all the stuff that’s already been written about me, I doubt I’ll be shocked.”
She waited nervously as he read.
She’d labored over every word of the article so far. And every word had brought back in stunning detail thoughts of him and of that night at the Waldorf.
She’d toiled over how to describe him without sounding trite or love struck. Zeke Woodlow, soul of an artist, body of a sex symbol, she’d written before deleting the words. She’d called herself ridiculous and more, then had stared at the blank computer screen for ages.
Finally, she’d decided to open with the heart of the matter: a quote from Zeke himself on striving to keep his music fresh and relevant.
Just then, he broke into her thoughts. “Very good,” he said. “I like it.”
“Really?” Realizing she’d sounded embarrassingly surprised, she tried again, “I mean, really?”
A smile played at his lips. “Yeah, really. I have just one criticism.”
“Oh?”
He put the article down. “It needs more research.”
“I’m not sure there’s anything else I need to know.”
He moved closer until he was standing within scant inches of her, and she felt her breath catch in her throat.
“Are you sure?” he murmured. “Because there are lots of things I need to know about you.”
Their sexually tinged banter was causing her skin to prickle with awareness. “Such as?” she whispered.
His hand came up to cup the side of her face, the pad of his thumb tracing over her lips. “Such as whether your skin is always so soft.” He drew her closer and bent his head. “Such as whether your mouth is always as kissable as it looks,” he whispered against her lips.
His mouth fit over hers expertly, and soon she was lost in the same sensations that had swirled between them that first night at the Waldorf.
She clung to him until he lifted his head and looked down at her, his eyes lingering on the deep V created by her wraparound top. “I like what you’re wearing tonight,” he said in a low voice.
“I went shopping,” she confessed. She’d finally nabbed some time and headed to the stores, determined to have something to wear for tonight that sent the right message. She hadn’t spent too much time analyzing why it mattered so much what she wore.
“Very sophisticated.”
“Maybe it’s the emergence of the new Summer Elliott,” she joked.
“If it is, I’d be only too happy to help with the process in any way I can,” he said seductively.
She felt a strange fluttering in her stomach. This dance of desire that they were engaged in was still new territory for her. “We were talking about the interview.”
“Yes…and research.”
“Are you trying to seduce me?”
“If I am, is it working?” His gaze lingered on her chest, where her nipples pressed against the material of her top. “You seem kind of turned on.”
“You’re not really my type.” Was she trying to convince him or herself? “Everyone that I’ve dated has had conservatively short hair.” They’d also had desk jobs. A closet full of business suits. They hadn’t been rebels.
He laughed. “Learn to live dangerously.”
Did she dare?
“And you’re definitely my type,” he teased.
She looked at him disbelievingly.
“Authentic,” he clarified. “Fresh and natural and lovely.”
She looked into his gorgeous blue eyes and felt her self-control slip, but she said, “For once, I’d like to think of you outside a haze of desire.”
He laughed. “Why? Some people say the luckiest ones are those that never emerge from the haze.”
Maybe he was right, she thought. Ever since the night at the Waldorf, a question had lingered: Who was that passionate woman who’d tangled the sheets with Zeke Woodlow? An aberration? Or a part of herself that the sensible Summer Elliott had kept bottled up, fearing to let loose?
She wanted to find out, and Zeke seemed all too willing to oblige her.
He shifted closer at the same time that she took a tiny step toward him. She fit seamlessly into his embrace, and mouth met mouth.
Summer felt Zeke’s hand fit over her breast and rub her nipple, bringing it to a peak and making her want him all the more. When his lips moved away from hers, he feathered kisses over her eyelids, along the side of her face, and down to the hollow of her throat.
She tugged at his crewneck shirt until it came free from where it was tucked into his jeans. He finally obliged her by yanking it over his head.
Not waiting for an invitation, she trailed her fingertips over his chest, feeling his hard muscles flex under her touch.
When he stilled abruptly and cursed, she raised her eyes to his. “What’s wrong?”
“I didn’t bring any protection.”
“I have some.”
“Why, Ms. Elliott,” he drawled, “were you planning to seduce me?”
She batted her eyelashes at him. “Not until tonight, but I happen to know Scarlet has some condoms in her bathroom. Scarlet’s a better-safe-than-sorry kind of girl.”
Sure enough, Summer located an unopened pack in her sister’s bathroom cabinet. As she returned to her own bedroom, she thought she heard Zeke humming. Walking into the room again, she discovered he’d lit some of the candles. The faint scent of roses hung in the air.
“Now, where were we?” he asked coming toward her. He took a foil packet from her hand and tossed it on the night table.
He took her in his arms and kissed the corner of her mouth, pulling at the tie of her wraparound top until it came undone. Pushing the delicate material off her shoulders, he exposed her breasts, encased in a lacy bra.
He looked up at her, his lips quirking. “I’ll say this for you. You’ve got fantastic taste in lingerie.”
She smiled, embarrassed. The truth was, she’d taken to heart Scarlet’s advice from the night of the concert: dress sexy and you’ll feel sexy. So, she’d gone out and bought more sexy underwear. “It’s a recent development.”
“Well, hurray for small changes.” He cupped her breasts and stroked them, arousing her.
“Zeke…”
“Yeah?”
Take me. I’ve got to have you inside me. She longed to give him the kind of sexy words that he’d whispered to her on the first night they’d made love, but she found she couldn’t speak.
“What do you want, Summer?” he asked, his voice low and seductive. “Tell me.”
“Kiss my breasts.”
“Mmm,” he said, his eyes hooded. “Kiss them? You mean like this?” He bent and placed openmouthed kisses at the cleavage revealed by her bra. “Is that what you want?”
“No,” she said, her voice tinged with frustration. He knew what she wanted.
He seemed to pretend to consider. “No?”
All at once, she knew what she had to do. Two could play at this game. He was teasing her, and suddenly there was every reason to shed her inhibitions.
/> Keeping her eyes steady on his, she took a step back.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“Nowhere,” she said seductively. “Why don’t you have a seat, Zeke?”
His eyes widened a fraction, but he sat down on the bed.
“Comfortable?” she asked as she went to the bedside lamp and dimmed the lighting.
“Yeah.”
“I hope you like jazz,” she said as she turned on soft music. “Some people say it puts them in the mood. Do you agree?”
“Come here and find out.”
A thrill coursed through her at his words. She moved toward him, and, while she did so, she unclasped her bra and let it fall to the floor. Reaching him, she pushed him back against the bed until he rested on his elbows, and then she straddled him.
His face registered surprise and then delight. “Now that you’ve got me, what are you going to do with me?”
She bent and kissed him, deeply and languorously. When she pulled back, she said, “Kiss me.” She gazed into his eyes. “I want you to kiss my breasts. I want you to do all those wonderfully erotic things that you did that night in your hotel room.”
He sat up. “With pleasure.”
She guided him to her and when his mouth closed over her breast, she sighed, her fingers tangling in his hair and her eyes fluttering shut. He played first with one breast and then with the other, until she thought she couldn’t stand any more.
Clasping her, he tumbled her down onto the bed and came down beside her, his leg wedged between the two of hers. She could feel his erection pressing into her hip.
He kissed her, making love to her with his mouth, his hands caressing her while hers stole up and down his arms, playing over hard muscles.
When the air between them had become charged to a fever pitch and they were both breathing deeply, he levered himself off the bed.
He stripped the remaining clothes from her and then shed his own jeans and shoes.
She surveyed him unabashedly. He was aroused and gorgeous.
“Feel free to touch,” he said.
She wanted to.
She sat up and reached out, taking his erection in her hand and stroking him.