by Susan Crosby
Had Gram told him about the note in the balloon? She’d said she wouldn’t, but…
Mrs. Bitton, his assistant/watchdog, wasn’t at her desk, and the door to his inner office was open. She peeked in.
He was on the phone and waved her in.
“I will be there in time,” he said gently into the telephone. “And I’m not working too hard, cushla macree. In fact, Scarlet just stopped by, so I’m going to visit with her for a while, then I’ll head home.”
Scarlet shook her head at his ability to twist things for his own purposes. As if she would just stop by on her own. Ha!
She wandered to the opposite wall to study a painting of her grandmother as a young bride. Most of the Elliott women took after her in one way or another. In this pose, Scarlet could see Fin’s heritage directly.
“Prettiest woman on earth,” her grandfather said, coming up beside her.
“Inside and out,” Scarlet said.
“Why she’s put up with me all these years only God knows.”
Her instinct was to agree with him. Because of that, she didn’t.
“No comment, missy?”
She smiled and shrugged. He invited her to sit in one of the wingback chairs in front of his desk. Surprisingly, he sat in the other instead of taking his position of authority behind the desk.
Hmm. He must not want to intimidate her this time. What was going on?
“Would you like something to drink?” he asked.
Curiouser and curiouser. “I’m fine, thanks. What’s up, Granddad?”
“Are you dating anyone in particular these days?”
She went on full alert. “Why?”
“Just making conversation.”
“Since when?” The words slipped out before she could stop them. She regretted being sarcastic, but his question worried her. Did he know about John? No. He would’ve been direct if he knew.
His lips compressed. “Can’t I be interested in your life?”
“So, you’re just making conversation? You really don’t care if or who I’m dating, right?”
“Of course I do.” He shifted in his chair, obviously uncomfortable.
“What if I told you I was dating, oh, say, John Harlan?” Was she stupid or brave to test him? she wondered.
“I would know you were just being obstinate about answering.”
“Why?”
“You would never betray your sister like that.”
Betray. Of all the reasons she’d come up with for why she couldn’t see John beyond this month, it had never entered her mind that she would be betraying Summer. Summer had given up John. Period. Scarlet hadn’t stolen him. But Granddad would see it as a betrayal, probably because it would be like shoving Summer’s nose in her mistake, a reminder of how much she’d hurt another human being.
“Nor would John go out with you,” he added. “Don’t even joke about such a thing. Although I was surprised to see you dance with him.”
Scarlet couldn’t find words to reply.
“Okay, I can take a hint,” he said after a few seconds. “No personal questions. I called you up here because I’ve been hearing good things about the job you’re doing. Competent and creative, that’s what people are saying. I wanted you to know I’m proud of you.”
Scarlet was stunned into further silence. She couldn’t remember her grandfather ever doling out compliments to her. “Thank you,” she managed to say, fighting back the sting of tears.
“I’m looking to you now, Scarlet. Summer has gone off to live in sin with that rock star. Even if she does come back to work, she’ll probably have babies soon. I think you’ll stick around. You’re not one to romanticize.”
He shocked her anew, this time in a way that ticked her off. Did he think he was complimenting her by saying such a thing? “Meaning?” she asked.
“I think you’re part of the future of EPH. Like your aunt, you’ll devote yourself to your work.”
Considering that Fin was driving herself to an early grave, Scarlet didn’t consider her aunt’s devotion something to strive for.
Then there was the other issue, how Scarlet wanted to be a designer, not an editor. How long would she have to pay family dues before she could do what she wanted? How much did she owe her grandfather for raising her after her parents had died?
“You’re not usually so reluctant to argue with me, missy.”
“Maybe I’m growing up.”
“That’s a welcome possibility.”
She kept her expression serious. “It couldn’t be because you’re getting feeble, and I’m being careful not to cause you to have a heart attack or something.”
His fists landed on his thighs. “Feeble?” he roared.
She drew a deep breath, exhaled slowly. Now this was the Granddad she knew and understood. She decided to take advantage of his bluster to kiss his cheek and leave while she had the upper hand. “Let’s do this again sometime, Gramps.”
She heard him chuckle as she walked through the door. It made her smile—until she got into the elevator and remembered his comment about betraying Summer. Summer wouldn’t see it as a betrayal, but she would surely be uncomfortable. Adults made choices in life. Scarlet could choose to make things easy on her sister or difficult.
Without question, Scarlet would always make things easy for Summer—even to the point of denying herself love and passion, something Summer had found, and wanted Scarlet to find.
But probably not with John Harlan.
John knocked on Scarlet’s door at precisely eight o’clock. He was nervous—seventeen-years-old, first-prom-date nervous. Which was stupid, since he’d already slept with her. How could he be tense about seeing her, making conversation now?
Because he had to act like he hadn’t slept with her. Hadn’t seen her incredible body in its natural state. Hadn’t seen her face as an orgasm overtook her. Hadn’t felt her hands and mouth all over him, hot and curious….
Okay. That line of thought had to be stopped right now, or else when she opened her front door she would see a bulge in his pants and he’d get his hand slapped with a ruler or something. The thought made him smile. Sister Scarlet. There was an image.
He saw the doorknob turn and tried to get himself into character. First date…First date.
“Hello, John,” she said, looking soft and sweet in her buttoned-to-the-neck, electric-blue dress, her hair piled on top of her head but still looking touchable.
“Hi.” He handed her a single white rose wrapped in green florist’s paper and tied with a satin ribbon. He watched her bury her nose in it and smile. She looked nervous, too, he decided. It relaxed him.
“Thank you,” she said. “It’s lovely.”
“Are you ready to go?” he asked.
“Let me put this in water and get my wrap. Come in.”
He almost told her not to bother putting the rose in water, then decided not to spoil the surprise he had for her later.
She was Scarlet but not Scarlet, he thought, as she disappeared into her tiny kitchen. Her dress wasn’t as daring as she generally wore, except that long line of buttons begged to be undone. Her jewelry was understated, and not as musical as usual. A couple of bangle bracelets that made a little noise, diamond studs instead of intertwining hoops in her ears, but that was all.
“I’m ready,” she said, slipping a silvery wrap around her shoulders.
Should he tell her she looked beautiful? Was that kind of compliment encouraged at this point? Man, he felt like a kid.
“You changed your perfume,” he said instead. It wasn’t her usual citrusy scent, but tempting nonetheless. He couldn’t put a name to the fragrance. Not flowery. Not powdery. He’d smelled them all in his years of dating. Scarlet’s was just arousing.
She smiled. He guessed it was a good thing, noticing a detail like that.
He rested his fingertips lightly against her lower back as they left her apartment. It was going to drive him crazy not being able to touch her more than that all ni
ght. But he planned to kiss her good-night at her door later, a decent kiss, not a polite, end-of-evening peck. He didn’t care if it messed up the Woo U curriculum at that point.
While in the car, they didn’t speak beyond routine chitchat about the traffic and weather. The awkwardness of knowing what they did about each other, and pretending not to, tied his tongue. Hers, too, he guessed.
He pulled into his underground parking garage, a luxury he paid a huge premium for.
“This is your apartment building,” she said, sitting up straighter.
“Yes. I hope you like paella.”
After a long, uncomfortable pause she gave him a tentative smile. “It’s one of my favorites.”
They rode the elevator in a silence that wasn’t completely awkward, but unusual for them. He opened his apartment door and took in the scene, trying to see it through her eyes—the table set for a romantic dinner for two. The fireplace ready to light. Candles waiting to be lit. The scent of paella lingering, being kept warm in the kitchen.
“What a wonderful view,” she said as if seeing it for the first time. She moved to the window.
It gave him time to turn on the stereo, set to play a classical guitar CD to match the dinner theme. He lit the candles, then the fire. He went into the kitchen to pour them some wine. By the time he returned she’d moved to the fireplace.
“Thank you,” she said, accepting a glass.
He touched the rim of his glass to hers. “To the lady in blue. Welcome to my home.”
She didn’t make eye contact as she sipped. What was going on? Something was obviously wrong, but what?
“Have a seat.” He indicated the couch facing the fire. “How was your day?” he asked when they were settled.
“Busy. I walked to the office so I could use the gym. Talked to Fin and my grandfather there for a little while. Went shopping. How about you?”
He’d spent the entire day getting ready for this date, worrying about things he’d never worried about before. “I spent the day awaiting the night.”
Everything about her relaxed—her expression, her shoulders, her spine. Had she just been nervous? She couldn’t possibly be more nervous than he.
Still the evening dragged. Where was the vibrant Scarlet he knew? Oh, she smiled, even laughed, and touched his hand across the dinner table with her fingertips, but their conversation was less than dazzling. He plied her with work anecdotes and celebrity stories, but she kept her distance. He told her that the vase of eleven roses on the table was for her, to add to the one he’d given her earlier. She thanked him sweetly.
He had no idea how to fix what seemed to be wrong.
When she excused herself to use the bathroom he pushed back from the table, moved to a cabinet and poured two brandies. To hell with Woo U. He wanted Scarlet back.
He heard a slight noise and turned. Scarlet stood a few feet from him—and it was definitely Scarlet. There was fire in her eyes, a flush of color in her face. She’d taken down her hair. She looked like every fantasy he’d ever had of her.
He started to pass her a snifter of brandy, but she held up a hand.
“I’m sorry, but this just isn’t working, John.”
Nine
S carlet saw him retreat, his expression distant and self-protective. She hurried to assure him.
“No. Wait.” She blew out a breath. “I shouldn’t have said it that way. I meant that this…dating thing isn’t working for me.”
She’d tried all evening to just be his date, but she knew too much about him, wanted him too much. Loved him. And what was she doing, turning him into a better date for other women, anyway? How ridiculous was that?
He set the glasses on the table and took her hands. “Why didn’t you say so earlier? I thought I’d really screwed something up.”
“Well, actually, you had, but that wasn’t the problem.”
His brows drew together. “What’d I do wrong?”
“You brought me to your apartment on a first date.”
“Where was I supposed to take you? We can’t be seen in public.”
“You could’ve gotten creative. You could’ve thought of someplace to go, something to do where no one would know us. We’re not that recognizable.”
“You’re right,” he said after a moment. “Bringing you here, especially when we already had memories here…”
“Exactly.” She laid her hand against his chest and looked into his eyes. “But that’s minor. Truly. Let’s be honest. The real issue is that we both know that Woo U was only a ploy to keep us in proximity, an excuse and nothing more so that we could…”
“Sleep together.”
She nodded. “We only have two more weeks until…Until. I don’t want to waste that time going on ‘dates.’”
He scooped her into his arms. She knew where his bedroom was, knew he was headed there. She kicked off her shoes along the way. He said nothing. Maybe he couldn’t. She wasn’t sure she could, either, she wanted him so much.
It had been nine days since they’d slept together. During that time they’d aroused each other to fever pitch twice—last night and at the country club the week before. This wasn’t going to be slow or tender, and she didn’t care. Except that sometime she wanted slow and tender.
He didn’t wait for her to undress, didn’t undress himself. In the bathroom she’d taken off her underwear. When he discovered that, he shoved his pants and briefs out of the way, and drove into her, filling her so suddenly and completely that she cried out.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t—”
“It’s fine. It’s good,” she interrupted in a rush. “I was more than ready. You feel wonderful. Incredible.” She arched toward him as he moved, finding a strong, hard rhythm. Demand became need. Need didn’t want to wait another second. Was that her making that noise? His mouth covered hers, open, wet. He changed the angle of the kiss, groaned into her mouth. She grabbed his hair as the climax hit her, no gentle buildup but a thunderous explosion, matched by him in sound and intensity. Life stood still. Life went on. Life suddenly had direction.
The two other times they’d been together were good. This was phenomenal.
This would never be matched by anyone, anywhere, anytime. She wasn’t given to exaggeration, so she believed her own prophecy.
She wrapped her arms around him as he sprawled over her, taking off some of his weight with his elbows, but mostly lying on her like a warm, heavy quilt.
“That was quick,” he said, his mouth near her ear.
“And good.”
“And good,” he agreed, rolling to his side, keeping her in his arms.
She snuggled close, savored the way he stroked her hair. The pent-up tension dissipated. He felt like home.
“Hungry?” he asked.
“Not yet.”
“Want to sleep?”
“Hmm.” She burrowed closer.
“Let’s get undressed first.”
She left her eyes closed as he unbuttoned her dress and slipped it off her. She didn’t even have the energy to watch him undress. He pulled a quilt over them, wrapped her in his arms, ran his hands up and down her back, then over her rear, along her thighs. When he gently stroked her breasts, she wriggled.
“Relax,” he whispered as her nipples puckered. “I just want to touch you. Go to sleep.”
She laughed drowsily. “Sure.”
He propped himself on an elbow, continuing his exploration. She opened her eyes.
“Spend the night, Scarlet.”
“Okay.”
His hand stilled for a moment, then journeyed on. A while later, his generosity accepted and enjoyed, she fell asleep in his arms.
He could get used to this, John decided, sitting next to Scarlet. They’d dozed for half an hour, showered together, then decided to have ice cream by candlelight in the kitchen. She was dressed in his robe. He’d pulled on boxers and a T-shirt.
“I would’ve guessed you didn’t even own a T-shirt,” she said, spoon in hand
. Candlelight flickered across her face. “You look younger.”
“Since when is twenty-nine old?”
“Since you dress like you’re fifty.”
“I do?” He set down his bowl. “In what way?”
“Your suits are boring. And your shirts. And your ties.”
He felt too relaxed to take offense. “I think anything compared to your clothing probably seems boring.”
“It’s an observation, not a comparison.”
“I’ve never felt a need to keep up with the trends.”
“You should. You’re supposed to be selling cutting edge, whether it’s products or people. You should look like it.”
He’d never considered that. “What should I do?”
Even though she didn’t rub her hands together, it seemed like she did. “Let me help you choose some new things.”
“Put myself in your hands?” The image that came to mind had nothing to do with clothes, but rather the lack of them.
She set down her bowl carefully then moved over to straddle his lap. He was learning just how complicated she was. He’d always expected her to be a sensual, sexual woman, although he’d based that opinion on her reputation more than anything tangible. But he saw shyness at times, too, which surprised him.
This wasn’t one of those moments. When it came to sex, she was bold and demanding, but not domineering. A partner in every sense.
“What are you thinking about?” she asked, planting little kisses all along his jaw. “You’re so serious.”
“Everything that should be at attention is at attention,” he countered, with a smile. He had no interest in starting a conversation at the moment.
She dragged her fingers down his cheeks. “I don’t get to see these dimples often enough.”
“When a clock is ticking on a relationship, there’s not much to laugh at.” He surprised himself admitting such a thing out loud.
She kissed him, tenderly, chastely. “Let’s go to bed.”
They blew out the candles, set their bowls in the sink, turned out the lights. In his bedroom they got naked, slipped under the covers and held each other close.