by Susan Crosby
10…9…8…7…6…5…4…3…2…1…
See you at 6:00.
Scarlet smiled. A weekend. A whole weekend…To say goodbye.
Twelve
“I know it’s unusual to come to the beach this time of year,” John said, following Scarlet as she stepped onto a weathered porch. The surf pounded softly. Clouds hid the moon. Distant houses were the only points of light, like earthbound stars.
“It’s perfect,” she said, leaning her elbows on the rail. “How’d you find it?”
He rested a hand on either side of her, spooning their bodies, sheltering her from the breeze. “Belongs to a client. He’s offered it a number of times.”
It was late. They hadn’t rushed to get there, had even indulged in a leisurely dinner at a roadside diner about an hour out of the city as they drove up the sound toward Rhode Island. They’d lingered in the small, homey restaurant—their first and probably only restaurant appearance as a couple—keeping watch on the parking lot, checking out the new arrivals, even as it seemed an unlikely concern.
After dinner they made the decision not to talk about anything serious while they were at the cottage. Maybe on the drive back, but not now.
Scarlet straightened, forcing him to, and leaned against him, nestling in his arms.
“I haven’t been to the ocean in so long, except for The Tides,” she said with a sigh.
Until now they’d always been in a hurry, as if someone or something would tear them apart at any moment. For two days, however, they could relax and enjoy each other’s company. It was probably a big mistake to end their relationship with a trip to paradise, but he felt entitled to the grand finale. It had been about sex these past weeks—intense, driven sex, with a few quiet or playful moments now and then. That kind of intensity was good in the beginning, but now…?
Now he wasn’t guessing anymore. He’d come to believe that Summer hadn’t broken his heart at all. Maybe he’d assumed it went with the territory of broken engagements, that he should have been brokenhearted. He had been surprised, disappointed and a little humiliated when she called off the engagement, but he’d recovered too quickly for her to have been the love of his life.
But this Elliott woman—this one was the heartbreaker.
“Congratulations, John.”
He pressed a kiss to her temple. Her hair blew against his skin. “On what?”
“On graduating from Woo U, with honors.” She turned to face him and looped her arms around his neck.
He’d been inspired to do the weekend up right, just now realizing he’d been arranging a honeymoon.
And a farewell.
“I think it requires a valedictorian’s speech,” she said, her eyes sparkling.
He kissed her slowly, gently, thoroughly, savoring the warmth of her mouth, the softness of her lips, the searching brush of her tongue. It was a luxury not to rush, to know no one could arrive unexpectedly or recognize them out walking tomorrow. They could pretend they were a normal couple for once—except they would wear ball caps and sunglasses as a precaution.
“Ah, the ol’ actions-speak-louder-than-words speech,” she said, snuggling against him, shivering.
“A month in the making. Let’s go inside.”
The house was typical of seaside cottages, with a nautical theme and blue-and-white decor. Seashells decorated lamp bases and a mirror frame. Interesting glass containers held more, here in the living room, and everywhere, even the bathrooms. The master bedroom’s French doors allowed a view of the ocean from the bed. The bathroom held a claw-footed tub with showerhead, and a wraparound curtain on a track.
“Would you like to take a bath?” he asked, still holding her hand.
“Sure.”
“Go ahead. I have things to do.”
She patted his chest, smiling. “I may have to change your grad status to magna cum laude.”
“That would seem to require a more elevated speech.”
“Oh, definitely. One that lasts for hours.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
She laid her hands against his face and kissed him. When she backed away, her eyes weren’t smiling anymore but shimmering with something else he could only guess at….
That she didn’t want to give up this relationship, either.
Scarlet had debated about what nightgown to bring. Although he’d said in his note that lingerie was optional but not preferable, she’d considered bringing none, then decided that she wanted to tease him with something red and lacy, a reminder. She’d chosen a long gown, which covered her, yet didn’t. She’d never felt so voluptuous, her skin warm and damp from the bath, her breasts barely contained by the gown’s deep neckline.
Silk brushed her body like a lover’s caress as she returned to the living room. Candles were lit; the fire crackled. He’d plunged a bottle of champagne into a condensation-beaded silver bucket and draped a white towel around the neck. Two crystal flutes sat beside it, as well as bowls of strawberries and whipped cream. Quiet jazz played in the background. Pillows were piled on a quilt laid out in front of the sofa. A vase of yellow daisies topped the coffee table, which he’d moved aside. She recalled the white daisies in the master bedroom. He’d set a perfect scene.
How was she supposed to give him up after this? Maybe this last-hurrah weekend was a big mistake. Maybe they should’ve just kept everything simple. Focused only on the sex. Gotten that out of their systems.
Too late now.
“Did you do all this?” she asked as he came toward her.
He nodded. “I had the refrigerator stocked, too.” He cupped her shoulders. “You’ve never looked more beautiful. And that’s saying something.”
“You’re looking pretty good yourself.” She admired his black silk pajama bottoms, and the flesh otherwise revealed. And the sexy mouth. And the gorgeous brown eyes.
Even though the house seemed relatively isolated, he’d drawn the curtains, and she was glad.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
She shook her head. She couldn’t ask him if they were making a mistake. She didn’t want anything to ruin their time together. “We agreed we wouldn’t talk about anything serious.”
“Then you need to wipe that serious look off your face.”
He was right. She owed him that, anyway. He’d kept his part of the bargain. So she smiled and stepped close and kissed his chest. She felt him inhale, slow and deep.
Guilt settled on her shoulders. She’d started them on this path by going to him. Whatever pain they endured was her fault.
“This reminds me of the first time,” he said quietly, breaking into her thoughts. “You wore red then, too.”
She liked that he remembered. “And you wore black.” She slipped a hand down his stomach, his abdomen….
He sucked in air, captured her hand. “I don’t want to hurry tonight. Tonight’s about romance.”
“And memories.”
He was quiet a few long seconds. “Let’s sit by the fire.”
They fed each other strawberries dipped in the whipped cream, and sipped champagne, and touched each other with feathery strokes as the fire provided heat and mood. Words swirled in Scarlet’s head, but none she could utter out loud. They were too serious. Too full of what-ifs. Too sad. She had to let the thoughts go, let him fill her world, this world.
He didn’t seem in the mood to talk, either. When they weren’t kissing, they stared at the fire, hands clasped. But desperation finally seeped in. She toyed with the drawstring on his pajama bottoms, loosened the band and slipped her hand inside. He stretched out and closed his eyes.
She tugged on the fabric, dragged it down and off him, flattened her hands on his shins and kept moving, along his thighs, over his abdomen, up his chest then back down. He arched his hips. She held her champagne flute aloft and dripped the cold liquid over him. He lurched up. At the same time she took him in her mouth, warming him, tasting the champagne…and him. He lay back down, making sounds of need as h
er tongue sought and savored.
Every muscle was taut. Nothing about him was relaxed. She loved that she made him that way, and that he let her take her time. He made her stop now and then, drew quick breaths for a few seconds, then gave her freedom again for a while. He was a wonder of taste and texture. Heat rose from him. Control slipped away minute by minute, touch by touch, breath by breath.
He stopped her. Moved out of range. Dragged himself up and leaned against the couch. She wished she could sculpt. She would recreate that beautiful, chiseled body still full of need. His muscles were bunched, tendons visible.
She moved closer, laid a hand on his thigh. “Let me finish.”
He smiled slightly and shook his head. “I like this feeling. I want it to last. C’mere.”
He dove his hands into her hair, pulled her close and kissed her, but it was such a little word for what that kiss was, all open mouth and inquisitive tongue and nipping teeth and hot breath.
“Stand up,” he said, low and fierce.
She rose.
“Strip for me.”
She let the music guide her. Without hesitation or shyness she moved, turning in a circle, her hips swaying, then finally letting one strap fall down her arm, then the other. Gravity pulled the gown to the floor. She stepped out of it then over his outstretched legs. He grabbed her ankles, applied pressure until she moved her legs farther apart, found her with his mouth and fingers, taking long strokes with his tongue, his fingertips igniting fires, tickling, teasing, letting her need rise, pulling away to let it ebb, then returning again and again.
When her legs started shaking, he pulled her down. She took him inside her, clenched around him. She closed her eyes and arched her back as he drew one aching nipple in his mouth, then the other, cradling her breasts in his strong hands. He was fast losing control, though, she could tell. And so was she. She ended up on her back, somehow, in a maneuver she barely knew happened, and welcomed his thrusts, responded with her own, called out her pleasure, heard his rise above hers. The duet their bodies performed reached crescendo, stayed there, stayed there, stayed there, then slowly, slowly faded.
The beauty of it all made her throat burn and her eyes well up. She wrapped her arms around him, imprisoning him, and refused to let go. They had been well matched physically, sexually, from the beginning. But not like this. Nothing close to this. This was what came when everything was right.
I love you. She said the words to him over and over in her head.
“Fire’s dying,” he said after a while.
Not mine for you. “We could just go to bed,” she said.
“You go ahead. I’ll put out the candles and take care of the food.”
“We can do it together.”
Naked, they moved around the room, eyeing each other, flirting silently. She tried to picture him in fifty years, his hair silver, his smile still wicked. A father. A grandfather. The image came easily. Too easily.
They turned out the lights, walked hand in hand to the bedroom and climbed under a downy quilt. His hands roamed her body, warming her, exciting her when she should’ve been satisfied.
“Thank you for this weekend,” she said, her lips brushing his neck.
“You took the words out of my mouth.”
Later she felt him drift into sleep, his body heavy against hers. Only then did she allow herself the luxury of a few tears.
Even so, she had no regrets—except for how it all had to turn out.
“We have to talk about it,” Scarlet said as they drove across the bridge into New York City on Sunday night.
She was right. John wasn’t usually one to duck a situation, but he’d been diverting the conversation whenever she even hinted that they should discuss the future—or lack thereof—during the drive home.
They would make love one more time. That was all he knew for sure.
Last night they’d gone to bed and only slept, something a normal couple might do but they never had, because they hadn’t had time for such a normalcy. He figured tonight would more than make up for it, sexually. Emotionally, last night couldn’t be matched. It had felt good to just sleep together, to wake up in each other’s arms and linger in bed.
“So, talk,” he said now.
“Summer comes home tomorrow. We agreed to end the relationship when she returned.”
“I’m trying to remember the reasons why.”
“You know why.”
“I know in the beginning we said it was about sex. We figured a month of sleeping together would take care of that.” He gave her a quick glance. “It hasn’t. Or at least not for me.”
“Meaning?”
“I don’t want to stop seeing you. Why can’t we still meet at my place whenever we can manage it?”
“For sex?” Her voice was strained.
“Not just that.” He reached over to wrap a hand around hers.
“It’s hopeless, John. We can’t ever go public, so why drag out the inevitable any longer?”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s too risky. Every time we’re together is a chance for exposure. And I’m tired of all the hiding. The sex has been great, but as long as we continue with it, I won’t date anyone else. That’s who I am. And I’m tired of going places alone. I want a partner. More than ever now, I want a partner.”
She shifted toward him, her expression fierce. “Last week when I went with my grandparents to the symphony, Fin was there. They didn’t speak to each other, except for Fin to tell Granddad off. It was horrible. My grandmother was so hurt. I’ve been an observer of their estrangement for years, but never like that. That total public snub. I won’t do anything that hurts anyone in my family. I couldn’t live with myself if I did.”
“How would our relationship hurt your family?”
“It could hurt Summer deeply. Don’t you think people might think I had something to do with your breakup if we’re seen together this soon after? I’m the one with the reputation, after all. It could seem like I’m rubbing Summer’s nose in her mistake—a reminder of how she hurt you. It would be embarrassing for her. I would never, ever hurt her like that, or betray her like that.”
“Then maybe you shouldn’t have slept with me in the first place.”
A few long seconds passed. “I know you’re upset, so I’m going to forgive the fact you just put the blame all on me. I was the instigator, I admit, but we both agreed to the terms,” she said tightly. “I’m upset, too. But we’ve been lucky not to be caught. We need to end it before our luck turns bad.”
She was right. He’d argued the point because he wanted her to come up with a way for things to be different. An impossible wish.
During the drive they’d agreed she should spend the night with him. It meant her getting up very early in the morning to go home and change clothes for work, but it seemed the best course of action, the path of least possibility of discovery.
He pulled into his parking garage. They got their suitcases from the trunk and headed to the elevator. They hardly took their eyes off each other. He saw in her everything he felt—expectation, need, gratitude and…desperation. In the elevator she went into his arms, pressed her face into his neck then leaned back to look right at him.
He kissed her without restraint, without hope. The doors whooshed open. He would’ve picked her up and carried her, except their luggage would’ve gone down in the elevator without them.
He opened his eyes, took a step back…and spotted Summer standing in the open doorway.
Thirteen
S carlet’s world took on a dizzying slant. Her sister stared in horror, in shock, in disbelief. The doors started to close. John slammed his arm against them, keeping them open, then grabbed both suitcases and set them in the hall as Scarlet forced herself out of the elevator.
“Summer,” Scarlet pleaded, her hands outstretched. “I can explain.”
Summer’s face was ghostly pale. She looked back and forth between John and Scarlet. “Did you just spend the
night together?” Her voice registered an octave higher than usual.
“Yes, but—”
“Let’s go inside,” John said, interrupting.
Summer shook her head, took several steps back. “This is the secret you’ve been keeping from me? Him?” She looked around wildly. “Was he the reason you didn’t come home that night? The same day I gave him back his ring?”
“Please let me explain.”
Summer held up her hands, warding off the words, then punched the down button. The elevator doors opened immediately and she stepped inside. “And to think I came home a day early because I missed you so much,” she said to Scarlet. “And I came here tonight to apologize to you,” she said to John, “for treating you so badly.”
The doors closed and Scarlet’s heart shattered.
“Come inside,” John said.
“No.”
“She won’t be going home. You know that. You won’t find her tonight.”
“I can’t be with you,” she said. “I have to go.”
“All right.” He spoke gently but firmly. “I’ll put my suitcase in my apartment, then I’ll drive you.”
“I’ll get a cab.” She pressed the down button again and again. “C’mon, c’mon.”
“I’ll drive you.”
“I can’t talk to you right now.”
“You’re mad at me for this?”
“No. Yes.” She closed her eyes, put a fist against her chest, over her heart. “Both of us. We were stupid to take such a chance just to satisfy physical needs. Stupid, stupid, stupid.”
He grabbed her shoulders. “It wasn’t just physical for me. Except in the beginning.”
What could she say? She didn’t want him to know she loved him. She’d kept it secret all this time. She could keep it secret until it died a natural death. She owed Summer that much. “It was for me.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“That’s your problem.” She needed to find Summer. To explain. To beg forgiveness. When the elevator opened, she grabbed her suitcase. He followed with his.
“Go away.”
“I’m taking you home.”
She stopped talking to him. Didn’t speak all the way home. Got out of his car and shut the door without saying a word. Words couldn’t solve this disaster.