by Susan Crosby
She angled toward him a little, which created a gap in the robe, allowing him a glimpse of the upper swell of her lush breast. He really needed to stop fixating on her body.
“Business,” he said. Which was not entirely true. He’d manufactured some business that needed one of the partners’ attention, then had volunteered to go. His ad agency was already hugely successful, but there was always room to expand.
“I see.”
A long silence followed.
“Why are you here, John?”
He finally remembered the reason. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay with…what happened. I don’t want things to be awkward between us, since we’re bound to run into each other now and then.”
“I think picturing you naked will remove any sense of awkwardness for me.”
Her eyes took on some sparkle. He was glad to see it.
“It’s vivid for me, too,” he said.
“It was good, John, but emotionally charged. We need to remember that. Make it real, instead of…”
“Surreal.”
“Exactly. A fantasy, nothing more.”
“And a one-time thing.” He added the tiniest inflection at the end, turning the phrase into a question if she chose to hear it that way.
“Absolutely.” Definite. Certain. No question.
He looked away. He had his answer. “Okay. I’m glad we cleared that up.”
“Me, too.”
He shifted a little. “I didn’t use protection.”
“We both got carried away. But there’s no problem.”
“Good. Great.” He stood. “I’ll go, then.”
He heard her follow him. The air seemed thick. Breathing took effort. He turned when he reached the door, wishing he could read her mind.
“Is there something else you want?” she asked, reaching toward him then pulling back.
“You,” he answered, catching her hand, tugging her toward him. “I want you.”
“John….” There was hunger in her voice, need in her eyes.
Then they were in each other’s arms, kissing, moaning, hands wandering, bodies pressing. She tipped her head back as he dragged his mouth down her neck, her robe separating, revealing her naked body, warm and dewy, as if she’d just stepped out of the bath.
“You’re all I’ve thought about,” he said just before drawing a nipple into his mouth, cupping the most feminine part of her with his hand. “You. This.”
“Me, too.” Her voice was deep, breathy. “Come with me.”
He went willingly into her bedroom. Lights were on full. Sketches were everywhere—tacked on corkboard on the wall, scattered over the floor, even on the bed, an unmade jumble of linens. She swept the papers away. They drifted to the floor, as did her pale blue robe, pooling around her feet, making her look like a goddess rising from the sea.
He jerked his sweater over his head, got rid of his shoes and socks. He touched his belt. She brushed his hands away and undid it, all the while looking at his face. Her color was high, her cheekbones sharp, her eyes a deeper green. Her lips were swollen from kissing, and parted slightly. He felt his slacks drop to the floor and kicked them away. Then she hooked his briefs and tugged. As she knelt to remove them, her hair brushed his abdomen, then his thighs, his shins.
He dug his fingers into her scalp, pulled her hair into his fists, squeezed his eyes shut. A month of fantasies became reality. Hell, not just a month, a lifetime, but a month of specific fantasies about one particular woman.
When her exploration became more daring, he pulled her up, moved her back and made her stretch out on the bed. He wanted to drag it out, make it last, but he lost all sense of control and finesse. He plunged into her. She arched into him. His body blasted apart in a long series of hot, explosive, rhythmic sensations. She clenched him from inside and climaxed with him, her face contorted, her mouth open. Then their movements slowed…stopped. He rolled over, taking her along. She stretched out on top of him and he wrapped her close.
For a long time, neither spoke.
Scarlet had spent the better part of the past month—months, really—convincing herself that she didn’t love John, that she’d merely been infatuated because he was so different, attentive to Summer in ways that no man had been attentive to her. She’d been envious, that was all, and had created a fantasy about him. Now she was back at square one. Because she did love him.
Now, how could she keep him in her life long enough for those feelings to run their course? Obviously absence hadn’t helped. And obviously they couldn’t go public. People would assume that John and Summer had slept together, so the idea of Scarlet sleeping with her sister’s ex-fiancé was—She couldn’t even come up with the right words.
Appearances were important, especially for John, personally and professionally. And while Scarlet had a reputation, such a liaison with John would be beyond her usual outrageousness. How could they get past that? Not to mention him coming in contact with Summer.
And also not to mention she was probably a kind of substitute for her sister, a way to end his curiosity about her. Why else would he have come on this strong? He would certainly want closure; she would, in his shoes. Since he’d missed out on a physical relationship with Summer, having one with Scarlet could give him closure. Of sorts.
The thought that she and Summer might be interchangeable in his mind made her a little sick to her stomach. But maybe he wasn’t thinking that way at all. Maybe she was just imagining it.
So, now what? It seemed to Scarlet they needed to let the attraction burn in a controlled environment or it might be a bank of embers forever, taking on too much importance as time passed, always waiting to flare.
She had an idea….
“Do you still want lessons?” she asked, burrowing against him, not wanting to see his face.
His arms tightened around her, and he drew a long breath, as if she’d awakened him. “Lessons?”
“Last time you asked for help honing your skills.”
“You said I didn’t need lessons.”
“Not in bed. But you could learn something about being more romantic if you want to woo a woman into bed…in the regular way.”
After a long, drawn-out moment of silence, he rolled to his side with her, then propped himself on an elbow to look her in the eyes. His were filled with humor. His dimples deepened. “Woo?”
She shoved his shoulder as he laughed, apparently at her use of such an old-fashioned term. “You have to admit you could use lessons.”
His smile faded some. “I admit it. Instinct doesn’t seem to be serving me well. Except—” he slid a hand down her back and pulled her closer “—where you’re concerned.”
“Only in regards to sex, then.” She knew he didn’t return her feelings.
“No stronger instinct, is there?”
She shrugged.
He stroked her hair, tucked it behind her ear. “So, you’d be willing to advise me on how to properly woo a woman? What would that entail?”
Lots of time together. Lots of touching. Lots of— “Lessons,” she said instead.
“Homework?”
She hadn’t thought about that. He would have to experiment on other women, to see if the lessons worked. That would never do. “You’ll practice on me. If you can make me fall under your spell, then you know it can work on any woman.”
“She says humbly.”
“I’m not being egotistical. I’m just immune to the games of most men.”
“What happens if you do fall under my spell?”
She had no answer for that. She’d dug a ditch she couldn’t climb out of, however.
“Seems to me this is a game with potentially disastrous outcomes,” he said.
“Or fun ones.” She laid a hand along his face. “It’s very selfish, I suppose, to want this.”
“But if we’re both in agreement, what’s the harm?”
“We’re adults, after all.”
He said nothing for a few seconds, then seemed to relax.
“When would we start?”
“Sometime when we’re dressed.”
He grinned. “In the meantime…” He hooked a leg over hers, bringing her closer then kissing her until she forgot everything but the feel of his mouth. “Will this be part of the wooing?” he asked, dragging his lips along her jaw.
Huh? Oh. He was talking to her.
She didn’t answer immediately. She understood that he was trying to figure out what the parameters of their relationship were going to be. She wanted more than sex, but she knew that was all she could have. Too much stood in their way, especially how quickly they got together after the breakup. Should she settle for only sex? Would the desire fizzle in time?
“I’m enjoying this as much as you are,” she said truthfully, testing his own expectations. “Although we both know—”
He put a hand over her mouth. “We do. And we don’t need to talk about it.”
She moved his hand away. “I wouldn’t have guessed that you were an avoider of truth.”
“It’s my superhero role. That’s why you never see me in tights and a cape, and only in suits.”
“Oh, that’s why. I did wonder.”
“When do we start Woo University? Tomorrow?”
So, they weren’t going to define their relationship yet. Maybe that was a good thing for now. “Why wait?” she asked.
“I’m not done registering for class yet.” He rolled on top of her, bent to kiss her. “Haven’t finished uploading from my hard drive.”
She laughed. Who would’ve thought the man could be so playful? “You’re not what I expected.”
“In what way?”
“In every way. You always seem so serious.”
“You’d never seen me naked.”
She smiled. “I guess it does make a difference.”
He nuzzled her neck. “You’re not what you seemed, either.”
Her body tingled from the feel of his warm breath against her skin. “How?”
“Less bold.”
“I thought I’d been plenty bold.”
“Sexually, you have been.”
“What other way is there?”
He didn’t answer. The hand that had been roaming over her body stilled. “Do you really want to spend our time analyzing this?” he asked, pulling away, locking gazes.
No. It was a time to enjoy him, to make memories. He would change her life—she knew that without a doubt—but her obsession could finally end and she could move on, once and for all. Her relationship with her sister would never have to be tested, nor would Scarlet give the publicity hounds something to sniff out. If Summer could change, so could she.
“No,” she said, looping her arms around his shoulders and pulling him down to kiss him. “No analysis necessary. Although I do plan to study your moves.”
“As a mentor?”
She smiled slowly. “As a woman.”
“Nothing like putting on the pressure.”
His words may have indicated a lack of self-confidence but his actions didn’t. He knew exactly what to touch, and how, and when. She couldn’t remember being aroused so skillfully. But was that all there was—skill? Was his heart engaged even the slightest?
He cupped her face. She opened her eyes, sensing a question coming.
“You don’t seem to be in the moment,” he said.
“I am completely in the moment,” she replied honestly, although his interpretation was probably different from her own. All her desires, all her fears raced through her mind. She wanted to ignore them. They refused to go away.
His silence lasted several long seconds. He started to pull away. She wrapped him close, drew him down…and gave him no more reason to wonder.
Four
J ohn picked up his office telephone the next day, started to punch in a number, then stopped. His first homework assignment was to ask Scarlet for a date in the way he usually asked a woman out. He had to think about it. When he was seeing Summer they’d talked every day and decided together what they would do. He’d never wooed her, since they’d just sort of fallen into the relationship gradually. It had been a long time since he’d asked out a woman.
He ran a hand down his face, then dialed Scarlet’s work number, feeling like a novice at this dating game instead of a twenty-nine-year-old veteran.
“Scarlet Elliott,” she answered, all businesslike.
Which turned him on. He pictured her as she was last night, leaning against her headboard, her hair tangled, face flushed, the sheet tucked over her chest but drifting bit by bit while they talked, until he’d tugged it away and gathered her close.
“Hel-lo?” she singsonged.
He ignored his body’s stirrings. “Good morning.”
A pause, then, “Who’s calling?”
“The man who heated up your sheets last night.”
“Stop that,” she said in almost a whisper. “You’re supposed to have just met me and are asking for a date.”
Role-playing? He considered that for a moment. It might be fun—for a day or so. “Not my fault. My mentor didn’t give me a syllabus for my first Woo U class.”
He heard her laugh briefly.
“Start over.” She hung up before he had a chance to say a word.
John sat back in surprise then began to laugh. He redialed.
“Scarlet Elliott.”
“Good morning, Ms. Elliott. This is John Harlan of Suskind, Engle and Harlan. We met at the Charisma open house over the holidays.”
She sighed. “If you have to add the name of your firm, you didn’t make much of an impression in the first place. Start over.” She hung up.
He was tempted not to call her back, but after a minute, he did.
“Scarlet Elliott.”
“Good morning, Ms. Elliott. This is John Harlan. We met at the Charisma open house over the holidays.”
“I remember. You defended the existence of Santa Claus quite well.”
He smiled. “Someone told me your name was Virginia.”
“Friend or foe?” she asked.
“Someone who wanted me to embarrass myself, apparently, by calling you by the wrong name.”
“You didn’t. Embarrass yourself.”
Was there double meaning in her remark? “That’s good to hear.” He was aware she wasn’t calling him by name, probably so that no one could overhear her. “I’d like to get to know you better. I was wondering if you would have dinner with me.”
“When?”
“Saturday night.” This was too easy. How long could he draw out the lessons? He’d have to play dumb just to drag it out.
A long pause ensued. “This is Friday,” she said coolly.
“Would you rather go out tonight?”
Dead silence.
He brushed a speck of dust from his slacks. Something told him he’d just messed up his first assignment, big-time. “Scarlet?”
“You don’t think it’s a little insulting to ask me out the day before? You don’t think I would have other plans already?”
“We only started this class today,” he countered. “If we’d started on Monday, I would’ve asked you then.” Although he’d would’ve asked her for Tuesday, but he wasn’t about to tell her that. “Do you have plans for Saturday night?”
“Yes, I do.”
He wasn’t sure what to say. Should he ask her for the following Saturday?
“Start over,” she said, then hung up.
He decided to make her wait. When he finally redialed fifteen minutes later, he got her voice mail.
“Ms. Elliott,” he said, starting from the beginning. “This is John Harlan. We met at the Charisma open house over the holidays. I was wondering if you’d like to have dinner with me a week from Saturday. Here’s my private line.” He recited his phone number. “I look forward to hearing from you.”
He’d barely hung up when his private line rang.
“It’s a good thing I came into your life,” Scarlet said. “Has that method worked in the past
?” She said method as if it were something that stank.
“What method?”
“Leave a message for a woman asking her on a first date?”
She sounded either shocked or disgusted.
“I asked for more than a week from now.”
“You asked her answering machine.”
He massaged the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. “Which is apparently the wrong thing to do. I’ll start over,” he said, hanging up before she could. Normally he would’ve been frustrated by that kind of game by now, but he found it stimulating. She challenged him. The trick would be to challenge her in return.
He lifted the receiver, then hesitated. She would be expecting him to call back.
“Not this time, Ms. Elliott,” he said as he flipped through his Rolodex. He wanted an A on his first homework assignment.
She’d gotten him thinking outside his normal box. He wanted her to see what he’d already learned.
“Somebody likes you,” a woman said as she rounded Scarlet’s cubicle.
She smelled the flowers before she even looked up from her computer and spotted the bouquet, not something neat and tidy like a dozen roses, but an exotic bundle of baby orchids in a variety of deep colors. Her heart did a little dance at the sight. She hadn’t been sent flowers in a long, long time. Even so, she resisted the temptation to bury her face in the blossoms as the vase was set down in front of her by Jessie Clayton, the vivacious twenty-three-year-old intern assigned to work with her.
“Shall I read the card?” Jessie asked, green eyes sparkling behind trendy glasses as she snagged the tiny envelope and held it over Scarlet’s head.
“I write your performance reviews.”
Jessie laughed and handed Scarlet the card. “I don’t suppose you’re going to read it out loud.”
“Good guess.”
Alone, Scarlet held the envelope to her lips for several seconds before opening it. Inside was a phone number. No flowery sentiment. No invitation to dinner. Just a phone number.
She smiled, slowly. Score one for John.
She picked up the phone and dialed.
“John Harlan.”
She heard expectation in his voice, maybe because he was trying to cover it. “Nice move.”
“Who’s calling?”