Silhouette - Dynasties - The Elliotts 04 -The Forbidden Twin

by Susan Crosby

  So…her big dilemma now was whether to end things early with him, before he got hurt, too. She would suffer at the loss of him, but she’d gone into the relationship with her eyes open to that potential. He hadn’t. He’d thought it would be a purely sexual relationship, that his heart wouldn’t be in danger. She sensed that was changing. Maybe he wasn’t in love with her, but he liked her a lot. They had become friends as well as lovers.

  It was a dangerous situation for both of them. How had he put it at the beginning—a game with potentially disastrous outcomes? She’d been led by her heart. His mind had presented a more realistic view of the future—then, anyway.

  Could she give him up before she had to?

  Applause erupted around her as the lights came up. Intermission already?

  Georges stopped beside her grandfather’s aisle seat and chatted for a moment. Fin stood behind him, expressionless. She wouldn’t make eye contact with Gram. Scarlet hated that most.

  The Frenchman moved on. It appeared Fin would, too, then she stopped next to her father and in a low voice said, “If there’s something you want to know, just ask me. Don’t recruit spies.”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” he said calmly.

  “Liar,” Fin fired back before she went to catch up with her escort.

  Gram’s hands were clenched. Scarlet laid a hand on hers, but her grandmother couldn’t even smile.

  “Want to attempt the line at the ladies’ room, Gram?”

  She shook her head. “I see an old friend. I’ll go off and visit for a few minutes. Stretch the kinks out, then.”

  After she left, her grandfather turned to Scarlet. “Do you know what Finola was talking about?”

  “Yes. Don’t you?”

  He looked away, saying nothing. Scarlet didn’t know whether he was telling the truth or bluffing.

  Scarlet wished John was beside her, holding her hand, defusing the situation. He was diplomatic. He would know how to change the mood. She was too emotionally involved and didn’t dare get into it. Instead no one spoke the rest of the evening beyond necessary, polite words.

  When she climbed into bed later, she eyed her phone. She knew John’s number by heart now. She wanted to hear his voice, but needed to come up with a reason to call….

  Food. Food was always a safe topic. She would ask him if she should pick up something to eat tomorrow on her way to his place. He would have appetizers at the gallery, but not dinner, and she wasn’t planning to stay for dinner at JoJo’s, just to have a drink and show her face.

  She dialed. The phone rang four times, then his answering machine picked up. She didn’t wait for the beep, but hung up. She glanced at the clock—almost midnight—and tossed the phone out of reach.

  Neither of them ever questioned what the other had done on nights when they weren’t together, but this was the first time she’d called and not found him at home.

  Jealousy reared up. She tamped it down. He’d said they didn’t have an exclusive arrangement, but she didn’t buy it. He wasn’t a player. But she was curious about why he wasn’t home yet.

  Of course, she had no business calling him at midnight on a work night, when most people were sleeping, and especially to ask a question she could talk to him about the next day. He would see through her ploy. It didn’t matter. She didn’t care. Let him think what he would.

  The phone rang. She leaped across the bed to grab it.

  “Hey!” Summer said. “Where’ve you been all night? I’ve been calling for hours.”

  Scarlet settled into her pillows, the phone tucked between her shoulder and ear as she adjusted the bedding. Her disappointment that it wasn’t John disappeared. “At the symphony with the Grands. What’s up?”

  “I just wanted to let you know that we’re coming home a day early. The twenty-eighth instead of the twenty-ninth.”

  One less night. “How come?”

  “I’m homesick.”

  “Really?”

  Summer laughed. “No. Well, kind of. Zeke’s got a meeting in New York on the twenty-ninth. This is not for public broadcast yet, but he’s going to do the music and lyrics for a rock musical.”

  “Good for him!”

  “We think so, too, especially since it means we’d get to live close to home.”

  “You’re going to live together?” Scarlet had assumed they would, but having it confirmed—

  “Well, yes. What did you think?”

  “Are you coming back to work?” She recalled her grandfather assuming Summer wouldn’t return to the job, and had wondered, herself.

  “I don’t know yet. I’m still figuring things out. Scar?”

  “What?”

  “You’ve seemed really distracted every time I’ve talked to you. This whole month. Longer than that, even. What’s going on?”

  “Nothing worth talking about.”

  Static crackled in the silence. “When I get home, we’ll catch up. When I can see your face, I’ll know whether there’s something I should know.”

  She was right, of course. Nothing Scarlet could say or do would prevent Summer from seeing into her soul—her broken heart at that point, since her relationship with John would have ended.

  “Are you planning your wedding yet?” Scarlet asked, changing the subject.

  “Not yet. We don’t feel we need to hurry. Maybe at Christmas.”

  “You’ll want the fairy tale, I think. It takes time to plan.”

  “You’ll design my dress, won’t you?”

  Scarlet smiled. “I already have.”

  Summer’s voice softened. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too,” Scarlet managed to say before her throat swelled shut.

  “See you soon.”

  “Okay. ’Bye.”

  Scarlet could never do anything to alienate her sister. Watching Fin tonight with Gram and Granddad settled that in Scarlet’s mind. Family came first. Always and forever.

  There would be another man to love someday, she told herself as she turned off her bedside lamp.

  Then she lay there in the dark, alone, denying herself the luxury of tears.

  Eleven

  A s director of sales for Snap, the celebrity-watcher magazine of the EPH empire, Cullen Elliott had worked closely with John for several years. Almost the same age, they also had a friendship unrelated to the business, having known each other longer than John had known Summer and Scarlet. The men golfed together. Challenged each other. Wagered with each other, too. John liked Cullen and was glad the friendship hadn’t been strained when the engagement ended.

  “I can’t believe you beat me by thirteen strokes,” Cullen muttered as they rode the elevator to John’s apartment late Saturday afternoon after a long day golfing. “How long has it been since you played?”

  John smiled leisurely. “I told you. The last time you and I played. October, I think.”

  “You didn’t squeeze in a round or two while you were in L.A. last month?”

  “Nope. But conditions weren’t the best today.”

  “Don’t be condescending.”

  John grinned as they exited the elevator and walked down the hall. Usually a prankster, Cullen had seemed to be forcing jokes all day, so John hesitated before he spoke again, not knowing whether he should discuss what he’d observed.

  “You did seem off your game,” he said finally. “And distracted. Woman trouble?”

  “Women,” Cullen scoffed. “Sometimes I wonder if they’re worth the effort.”

  “Amen.”

  “Although I don’t ever question it when I’m in bed with one.”

  John laughed. As he opened the door, an incredible scent rushed at him. Garlic. Basil. Something Italian.

  Cullen sniffed the air, making appreciative sounds. “I hope I’m staying for dinner.”

  Scarlet must be there.

  “Sorry, Cullen,” John said, upping his normal volume. “Private party.”

  He heard a soft scampering sound and talked over it,
hoping Cullen hadn’t noticed. “I’ll get that book you wanted.”

  “Don’t I get to meet the chef?”

  “I’ll check.” He walked into the kitchen and looked around. A pot of red sauce simmered on the stove, the source of the mouthwatering aroma. A salad was half prepared. And a pair of spiky black heels lay jumbled on the floor.

  He heard a noise from the pantry and headed there, opened the door—

  “What are you doing with my cousin?” Scarlet asked in a fierce whisper.

  She was wearing a French maid’s costume.

  John’s shock instantly became laughter.

  “It isn’t funny,” she said through clenched teeth.

  “From my vantage point it is.” He grabbed and kissed her. “I’ll get rid of him. Cool your jets, sweetheart.”

  He shut the pantry door in her face.

  “She left a note. Went to the store,” John said to Cullen as he passed through the living room on his way to his office. He grabbed a book from his desk. “Here you go. No hurry getting it back to me.”

  “Feels like someone’s shoving a boot against my ass,” Cullen said with a grin, heading to the front door.

  “What can I say?” The maid costume stayed emblazoned in his mind. The short, short skirt, revealing long, gorgeous legs in fishnet stockings. The low-cut, lace-edged top, exposing inviting mounds he wanted to bury his face in. He could untie her frilly white apron, strip her to whatever fancy lingerie she wore under—

  “I’m glad to see you’ve moved on, you know, since Summer.”

  John came to attention. “I’ve become a fatalist.”

  “Everything happens for a reason?”

  “Something like that.”

  Cullen stared out the window for a few seconds. “Have you stopped loving her?”

  I don’t think I ever did love her. He didn’t say the words aloud, but their truth hit him like a thousand-watt lightbulb. “As you said, I’ve moved on.”

  “Mind over matter?”

  The way Cullen pushed the conversation, John recognized there was something going on with him. “You need to talk, Cullen?” They couldn’t now, not with Scarlet trapped in the pantry, but…“We could get together for drinks one day this week.”

  “Maybe. I’ll give you a call.” He left.

  John returned to the kitchen and opened the pantry door. “Your master awaits.”

  She eyed him coolly. “My master?”

  “If you’re the maid, that makes me the master, right?” John admired her in full light. He’d never known a woman with so many dimensions. And he’d never known one so playful, so willing to get into a role just for the fun of it.

  He was tempted now to untie the lacy cap on her head and let her hair down. He reached for the dangling ribbons—

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were golfing with Cullen?”

  He lowered his arm, stuffed his hands into his pockets. Obviously she wasn’t into her role yet. “I didn’t want to wake you this morning. You looked so peaceful.”

  “You could’ve told me last night before we went to sleep.”

  “I could’ve.”

  “But?”

  “My relationship with Cullen is separate. I don’t relate him with your family, even though he is. Why didn’t you tell me you were coming over early tonight?”

  “I didn’t know until after you left your message on my cell, saying to keep the night open for you.” She shrugged. “And I wanted to surprise you.”

  “Which you did.” He trailed his fingers down her face, gently, caressingly. “Can I go out and come back in? Start over?”

  “First you have to put on your costume.”

  “Costume?” He hadn’t minded the other games, but he’d never had to wear a costume before, either.

  “It’s on your bed.”

  “What exactly am I?”

  “You’re a nineteenth-century duke visiting my master.”

  “Did I time-travel forward or did you time-travel back?” he asked, pointing to her modern costume.

  She ignored his question. “Do you know how men of your stature were treated in the merry old days?”

  “With more respect than today?”

  His comment earned him raised eyebrows instead of a laugh, then she hooked a finger behind his belt and pulled him toward her. “When a titled man visited, the lady of the house was often sent to assist him in bathing.”

  “I was born in the wrong century.”

  Her smile was slow and sultry. “When there wasn’t a lady of the house, often a maid was sent.”

  No joke came to mind. “You’re going to…bathe me?”

  She dragged his shirt from his waistband and slid her hands up his chest. “I’m going to feed you, then undress you, then bathe you, then have my way with you. And you have to promise not to tell my master, or I could lose my position.”

  He closed his eyes and enjoyed the feathery touch of her fingers against his skin, although he was more than a little stunned that she had willingly assumed such a subservient role. Another layer of her. Another fascinating layer.

  “I think you should go change now, your grace,” she whispered. “You can wait in the parlor. I’ll bring you some ale to sip while I finish supper.”

  He’d rather hang out in the kitchen with her, but he acknowledged that anticipation was an appealing part of the game. He expected to stay aroused until she chose to do something about it.

  He just hoped his costume wasn’t too dorky.

  The following Friday, Cade McMann, Charisma’s executive editor, stepped into Scarlet’s cubicle just as she was about to head to a meeting. Noting Cade’s distant expression, she said nothing, especially since he’d come to her. Usually he summoned her to his office.

  “You seem to have more influence with Fin than anyone,” he said in a low, brusque voice.

  “As her niece, not as her employee.”

  “I don’t care which role you assume—whatever works, as far as I’m concerned—but she slept in her office again last night. Obviously I want her to win the contest as much as she does. I stand to win, too. But there’s no reason for her to sacrifice everything to it. Someone has to convince her of that.”

  “If you can’t settle her down, Cade, I don’t think anyone can.”

  “I’ve tried. Short of sending an armed escort to her office to take her home each night, there’s nothing I can do. She’s the boss. But I’m worried about her.”

  “So am I.” She tapped a finger to her lips. “Maybe I should talk to Uncle Shane.”

  “They may be twins, Scarlet, but they are in competition.”

  He was right. “Back to square one.”

  “Just talk to her, please. Better yet, kidnap her for the weekend. Take her to a spa.”

  This would be her last weekend with John. Summer would be home on Monday. “I can’t this weekend, but I’ll try to arrange it for the following one.”

  “Good. Thanks.” He turned to leave and bumped into Jessie.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said, her eyes widening.

  Cade frowned.

  Looking a little flustered, she turned to Scarlet. “John Harlan is in the conference room.”

  “Thanks, Jessie.”

  She hurried away after muttering another “sorry” to Cade.

  “She’s always hovering,” he said, watching her leave.

  Scarlet picked up a file folder and stood. “What do you mean?”

  “Just that. And she’s too eager to please. She volunteers for everything.”

  “The way our internship program is set up, she’s allowed to float from department to department if help is needed, or if she wants to be involved in a particular project. She just has to clear it through me.”

  “Is she good?”

  “She’s a natural. As if she’s had years of experience instead of just having graduated.”

  “People said that about you.”

  “They did?” She smiled, pleased. She didn’t wan
t to tell the boss to get out of the way, but she did have a meeting to attend. She held up the file. “Is that all for now?”

  “Yeah. Thanks.”

  She was the last to arrive at the conference room, which was populated by most of Charisma’s department heads. She was not in charge of the project, so the discussion was being led by the managing editor and the art director.

  Scarlet slipped into a chair. John, flanked by members of his own staff, sat across the table. She met his gaze briefly, saw a smile flicker in his eyes, then she tried to focus on the meeting. An hour and a lot of discussion later, the meeting ended. She had no official reason to approach him, plus he wasn’t alone, anyway.

  She’d been waiting all day for him to call and make plans for their last weekend together. He’d had a lunch meeting, so they hadn’t even met at his apartment as they often did. But Summer would be home on Monday. That fact had to be faced.

  Scarlet lingered near the conference room in hopes of catching him for a second, but his employees were on his heels and he only got to say a quick goodbye, then he was gone.

  Fin was in her office, hunched in front of her computer. Scarlet considered going in and talking to her about getting away next weekend, but decided it didn’t matter when she did that, since Fin probably had no plans to interfere with anyway. Scarlet would need next weekend away even more than Fin. A time to mourn.

  She returned to her cubicle. It was almost four o’clock. She and John were bad about making plans, but this was ridiculous. It was their last—

  She spotted an envelope on her keyboard, her name printed on it. She opened it, unfolded a sheet of ivory-colored parchment. The note was handwritten:

  Good afternoon, Ms. Elliott,

  Your mission, should you choose to accept it, will begin at 6:00 p.m. You will be picked up from your home and taken to a secret location, where you will be wined, dined and sublimed until Sunday evening. Bring only the basics; no finery required. Lingerie optional but not preferred.

  This paper is encoded with a special substance that can read your mind. If you decide not to accept this mission, this note will self-destruct in ten seconds.