Читать книгу The Elliotts: Secret Affairs - Susan Crosby - Страница 11

Since the tragic day when Scarlet and Summer were orphaned, Scarlet had never spent an entire weekend at The Tides without her sister. It was strange now to be in her own bedroom and know that Summer wasn’t just a few feet away in hers, or sharing a room as they got ready for a special occasion. The tomblike quiet was eerie.

Scarlet took a final look in the mirror and gave herself the okay sign, something Summer would’ve done. Once upon a time, Gram would have come in to share in the fun, too, but her arthritis prevented her from climbing the stairs easily anymore. She and Granddad had moved downstairs. Why they hadn’t installed an elevator was a mystery to Scarlet.

Her heels tapped softly as she descended the long marble staircase to the first floor. She looked forward to the evening, even though she was dateless. She would know many of the guests, however, and would surely be asked to dance.

She was glad she hadn’t told John where she was going. He might have decided to show up, and she wasn’t sure she could pretend not to notice him.

Scarlet headed toward the back of the house to the living room, beyond which was her grandparents’ suite. As Scarlet neared, her grandmother came out her bedroom door, carrying herself with the grace of a queen, a far cry from the seamstress she’d been when Patrick had first met her in Ireland and swept her off her feet, bringing her to his home in America. Her face barely showed age or tragedy, even at seventy-five and having suffered the loss of several children through miscarriage or death.

“Aren’t you enchanting, colleen,” she said as Scarlet hugged her. “And dressed to stop lungs from pulling in air, I’m thinking. Your own creation?”

“Brand-new.” Scarlet did a quick pirouette, showing off the snug violet-and-fuchsia sheath with the flounce that would swirl just above her knees when she danced. Three-inch heels brought her to six feet in height. She loved the additional height, which gave her a sense of power. “You’re looking beautiful yourself, Gram.”

Maeve wore a simple lavender beaded gown on her petite frame. Her makeup was applied deftly, a few freckles visible on her gorgeous Irish skin. She’d worn her white-and-auburn hair in an elegant updo for as long as Scarlet could remember, and it was no different now. As usual, too, a gold locket hung around her neck, rumored to hold a picture of her daughter Anna, her secondborn, who had died of cancer when she was seven. Scarlet wondered if the locket also contained a picture of her thirdborn, Stephen, Scarlet and Summer’s father.

“Looking to turn a few heads, are you?” Patrick Elliott boomed from behind them.

In her heels Scarlet met her grandfather eye to eye, yet another reason she liked wearing them.

At seventy-seven Patrick was still a sight to behold. His fit body, thick gray hair and blue eyes continued to draw glances from women thirty years younger. “I’m hoping to, yes,” Scarlet said.

“I was talking to your grandmother, missy.” He tempered the comment with a slight smile at Scarlet, which turned tender when he looked at his wife and kissed her cheek. “You look lovely, cushla macree.”

Pulse of my heart. Scarlet had heard him call her grandmother that forever, had always found it hard to believe that this adoring husband was the same dictator who’d raised her and Summer. And as a businessman, he was ruthless—even, or more accurately especially, with his children, who ran four of his various enterprises.

“Are you taking your own car?” Patrick asked Scarlet. “I’m sure you’ll want to stay longer than your grandmother and I.”

“I’ll ride with you. If I’m not ready to come home when you are, I’ll get someone to drop me off.”

“We’ll send Frederick back for you,” Gram said.

“Thanks, but it won’t be necessary.” Scarlet recognized she was being stubborn out of habit. Her grandparents’ driver would be happy to make a second trip to pick her up. Still, she found it hard to alter the long-established adversarial relationship with her grandfather. “I’ll make my own way.”

“Make sure your escort hasn’t been drinking.” He put his hand under Maeve’s arm as they moved toward the door.

Scarlet brought up the rear, irritated that her grandfather assumed a man would bring her home. “I’ll make him take a Breathalyzer.”

Maeve chuckled, which stopped Patrick from countering with something equally sarcastic. “So alike, you two,” Maeve said.

“Alike? Us?” Scarlet wasn’t as stunned as she pretended.

“Yes, colleen. But enough of this. It’s a night to celebrate the arrival of spring. New beginnings. Let’s have no more battles of wit, no matter how clever the words.”

“Fine by me,” Scarlet said.

Patrick said nothing, which was answer enough. He would do whatever Maeve asked of him.

Scarlet stopped short of heaving a sigh. She and Granddad had butted heads forever, with Gram and Summer interceding when possible. Her grandfather had never liked any of her boyfriends, even during her first tender explorations into the dating world, and so she had begun to bring home guys she was sure he would despise—men without much motivation or ambition, men whose main interest in life was having fun, not working. Nothing turned off Patrick Elliott more than a man without a solid work ethic, especially since he had built his own empire from nothing.

Scarlet was tired of the game, though, and tired of being at odds with her grandfather, especially now. He must be feeling less invincible these days or else he wouldn’t have given his children the challenge that the next CEO of Elliott Publication Holdings would be the person who produced for their magazine the biggest individual financial success by year’s end. His surprise announcement at a New Year’s party that he would be retiring, and the game he’d begun by pitting the Elliott children against each other, had turned all their lives upside down—a typical Patrick Elliott move.

During the twenty-minute limo ride to the country club, the conversation turned to safe topics, setting a new, peaceful tone for the evening. The club ballroom was decorated for the Spring Fling as it always was, with spring-flower arrangements and tiny white lights everywhere, nothing overly original or creative. A sumptuous buffet would be laid out, bars set up in convenient places, with dancing to come later, a twenty-piece band providing music. Scarlet loved its predictability.

“You look like an exotic bloom,” Gram said as they waved and nodded to friends and acquaintances. “Your talent for design is staggering.”

“I learned from the best.” Scarlet put an arm around her grandmother, remembering fondly the hours and hours they’d spent sewing.

“That’s a fine compliment, indeed, but I never had the vision, just the practical skill. I always expected you’d go into that field instead of the magazine, especially with your degree in design.” Her sideways glance probed.

“I’ve got time. And the magazine’s a useful place to learn more,” Scarlet said evasively, wondering if Granddad had overheard. He didn’t indicate outwardly that he had; in fact, he seemed focused on something across the room. She followed his gaze, spying the couple she’d most wanted to avoid.

She leaned closer to her grandmother. “Bill and Greta Harlan are here. Have you seen them since Summer called off the engagement?”

“I called Greta. As you know, we weren’t great friends before John and Summer decided to marry. If you’re wondering whether everyone will be civil, the answer is yes. Especially here. Now then, be off and enjoy yourself.”

“I’ll join you for supper later.”

“You’re not to feel obligated. Have fun, colleen. I don’t think you’re having enough fun these days.”

“I miss Summer.”

“And you’re a mite envious, perhaps?”

“Not at all.” Scarlet waited for lightning to strike her at the lie, but the world stayed normal. She did envy that Summer could be public with her relationship—and with a man she could count on and keep, whereas Scarlet was setting herself up for heartbreak, one she could never talk about or get sympathy for when it ended. But she wasn’t jealous of her sister’s happiness.

Scarlet wandered around the festive room, stopping to talk, admiring baby pictures thrust in her face from old friends settling down. She’d attended a record number of weddings in the past few years.

Gram was right. She wasn’t having enough fun. Maybe it was because Summer wasn’t there, and she was Scarlet’s best friend. Maybe because Scarlet lived in Manhattan most of the time, and the country club now seemed too laid-back and … rigid, even though that seemed contradictory. Rules, rules, rules. She’d grown up with them, ignored them, gotten into trouble when she did. There were fewer rules in the city, more action, more options.

After dinner the dancing began. She watched her grandparents take the floor for the first slow dance, their steps perfectly matched after so many years of dancing together. Scarlet smiled as she watched them—until she spotted John walking onto the dance floor.

The lightning she’d expected before struck her, although for entirely different reasons. Everything inside her came feverishly to life. He was the best-looking man in the room. And she’d made love with him. And he’d wanted her, bad.

Okay, so she was glad he’d shown up. Admitting she had a problem was half the battle, she thought, being honest with herself. Then she saw a petite blonde step into his arms. Who was she? They waltzed together like long-time partners, their steps perfectly attuned, his hand resting at the small of her back, his gaze on her. He said something and the blonde laughed. Scarlet hated her.

The music went upbeat, and her grandparents left the dance floor, but John and his partner didn’t. Scarlet tapped her toe. Was he trying to make her jealous?

“Hey, Scarlet.”

She focused on the man who’d approached invisibly through her green haze. “Mitch, hi. Long time.”

Mitchell Devereaux was as handsome as he was shallow, which was a lot.

“Yeah. Wanna dance?”

She certainly didn’t want to sit on the sidelines, watching. She would ignore John and have fun, as Gram had ordered.

Scarlet didn’t leave the dance floor after that, changing partners with each new song, dancing her heart out and keeping a casual eye on John, who also didn’t sit out a dance until the music slowed again, although he finally changed partners. Over her own dancing partner’s shoulder she watched John stroll away, get a drink from the bar then prop a shoulder against a pillar and scan the dance floor, stopping on her, catching her looking at him.

He lifted his glass slightly, his gaze intense. She could hardly believe she knew what he looked like naked, what his skin felt like, tasted like. How he kissed as if he were being sent to war, and how he made love as if she were the only woman on earth.

The song ended. She made an excuse to leave the dance floor and headed toward him, pulled by a force stronger than her own willpower. Discreetly she pointed to a side door. He pushed away from the pillar and headed there. She followed at a distance, but as she passed through the door she saw her grandfather, apparently already on the patio, approach him.

Almost caught, Scarlet darted behind a pillar topped by a plant large enough to hide her.

“I never expected it from you, John,” Patrick said.

“Expected what?”

“Retaliation.”

“It’s business, Patrick. Nothing more.”

Scarlet wished she could see them, analyze their body language. All she could do was listen. Granddad’s voice cut through the darkness, sharp and lethal. John seemed unaffected.

“Gills and Marsh have bought ad space in Charisma since the magazine debuted,” Patrick said. “Crystal Crème soda has been with The Buzz for five years.”

“A lot of my clients have decided to experiment with other forms of advertising, to see what gets them the most bang for their buck. Product placement in movies and on television guarantees a bigger, wider audience, not only in initial viewing but in DVDs and reruns.”

“With the target demographics?”

“We’re choosing each situation carefully.”

The sound of crickets filled a long silence.

“You must be angry with my granddaughter,” Patrick finally said.

“I’m over it.”

“I don’t think you are.”

Scarlet leaned closer, as her grandfather’s voice had gone low and cool.

“What makes you say that?” John asked.

“The way you were watching Scarlet a few minutes ago …. That wasn’t the expression of someone who was ‘over it.’”

“You’re wrong. But even if I hadn’t stopped caring about Summer, I wouldn’t take it out on my clients—or Scarlet. Or you.”

Another silence ensued. John didn’t take the bait. Scarlet was grateful her grandfather hadn’t realized John’s expression was one of lust, not anger.

“Don’t know what got into that girl,” Patrick said at last. “She always had such a good head on her shoulders. Now she’s run off with that … that singer. Left her job.”

Exasperation coated the words. John still said nothing.

“I’m going to keep a close eye on all your accounts, John. Might have to do a little wooing of my own.”

Scarlet smiled at the word and figured John had, too.

“They pay me for sound advice,” John said.

“We’ll see how sound it is.”

“It’s a new day in advertising, Patrick. Time for changes.”

“Maybe.” He took a couple of steps then stopped.

Scarlet had to duck a little.

“I should’ve called you and apologized,” Patrick said. “Thought about it. Just didn’t do it.”

“No need to, but thanks. It was between Summer and me.”

“So it was. Good night.”

“Good night, sir.”

Scarlet eased farther around the pillar so her grandfather wouldn’t see her as he passed by.

“You can come out,” John said after a few seconds. “He’s inside.”

She moseyed over. “That was close.”

“I’m surprised you risked being seen with me in the first place, Scarlet.”

“That wouldn’t be a scandal, just a reason for people to talk a little. Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Not particularly.”

“You could’ve asked me to dance, you know.”

He straightened. “You had a partner for every dance. I shouldn’t cut in, should I?”

“Maybe.”

His gaze intensified. “Consider this tonight’s Woo U lesson. Yes or no?”

“Each situation has to be judged individually.”

“I judged. I chose not to.”

“Okay.” Because he was right and there was nothing more to say, she changed the subject, twining her fingers so that she wouldn’t touch him, though she really wanted to. “Was it strictly business, John? What my grandfather asked you about?”

“Yes.”

“You would’ve done the same thing, switched the business, if you and Summer were still engaged?”

He hesitated no longer than a breath, and his gaze never wavered. “Yes.”

She wondered if he’d paused because he had to justify his answer to himself first.

“Wanna blow this joint?” he asked, surprising her.

“More than I can tell you. But impossible, as you know, at least together. I’d better go.” She started to turn.

“Scarlet?”

His husky voice would’ve stopped her, no matter what he said next. “What?”

“I was jealous of every guy you danced with tonight, every guy who touched you and got to be so close to you.”

Desire flooded her body … rushing … pounding … pulsating. His gaze drifted down her. Her nipples drew taut. She wasn’t used to having a man want her so passionately, so … violently. It fascinated her, both that he wanted her that much and that she liked his Neanderthal reaction. She’d never tolerated jealousy before, but the flare of heat low in her body told her his jealousy meant something.

“You don’t think I felt the same?” she asked. “I have to go.” She wouldn’t risk staying any longer with him, having someone see their attraction instead of just acquaintances having a conversation, or whatever defined the parameters of their relationship now in the public eye.

He said nothing. He was good at that.

She didn’t see him return to the dance, and was torn between gratitude and disappointment as Mitch again invited her to dance. She saw her grandparents come onto the floor, as well, as Glenn Miller’s “Moonlight Serenade” played, Gram’s favorite.

A few seconds later, John tapped Mitch’s shoulder. Mitch looked at Scarlet. “You don’t have to.”

“It’s fine.” Her heart thundered as John’s arms came around her. Several inches of space separated their bodies.

“What are you doing?” she whispered, pasting on a smile.

“Passing another Woo U course.”

“I can’t believe you did that.”

“Then you don’t know me.”

She didn’t. She loved him, but she didn’t know him. Not really. But everything she learned about him only deepened her feelings.

“Scarlet, there’s no reason we can’t be civilized in the world’s eyes. So, there’ll be a little talk. It’d mostly be about me and that I must still be pining for Summer.”

“Are you?”

“No.”

It was one of the most awkward moments of her life. She glanced at her grandparents. Gram lifted her brows. Granddad kept a carefully blank expression.

And yet through all the awkwardness, all the awareness of eyes focused on them, all the annoyance at being the center of attention when she’d tried so hard to stop doing that, she loved that he’d done it. Loved that he was that self-confident and daring. She never would’ve guessed it of him.

At the end of the dance the club manager approached Scarlet. “You have a phone call, Miss Elliott.”

“From whom?”

“I wouldn’t know. If you’ll follow me, please.”

She excused herself from John, grateful that the potentially awkward moment of moving off the dance floor and away from each other had been solved by a mysterious phone call.

She and the manager went down a long hallway to a door marked Conference Room. He opened the door then walked away. Scarlet peered in. A phone sat on the conference table but no light blinked. Uneasy, she took a step back.

“Careful,” came a whisper in her ear. John. He moved her inside the room, shut the door and locked it, the sound echoing like a prelude to gothic seduction.

He slid a hand along the wall beside her, then the lights went out, plunging them into darkness. Music drifted faintly through the closed door.

“You dance like you make love,” he said, dragging a finger along her jaw, across her mouth.

“How’s that?” Breathless, she parted her lips.

“Primal. Like a creature of the earth. With passion and abandon.” He slipped his arms around her waist. “Dance with me. A real dance.”

“Dance” was a relative term. They barely moved. It was just an excuse to align their bodies, and since in her heels she was as tall as he, their bodies aligned perfectly.

“You’re quiet,” Scarlet murmured after a while.

“Some of us are capable of it.”

She nipped his earlobe, and he laughed softly. She’d needed this moment alone with him. Needed to touch him. The music stopped, but they kept moving, pressed together, their clothing the only barrier, and even that wasn’t much. He curved his hands over her rear and lifted her slightly, changing the point of contact. Perfume and aftershave mingled with the urgent scent of desire. His need was evident in the tautness of his body and the hard ridge pressed to her abdomen. His breath felt hot and unsteady against her temple.

Scarlet tried to resist. She couldn’t abandon herself to him, all too aware of where they were and the possibility of discovery. She wouldn’t do that to her grandparents or Summer. Or herself.

But she had a hard time not letting go, giving in, enjoying ….

His hand slipped over her breast just as his mouth took hers in a long, hot kiss, a merging of breath and need and unchecked lust. They were always in such a hurry with each other.

He moved her back until her thighs hit the table. She realized what he intended and pushed at his chest.

“We can’t do this here.”

He trailed her low V neckline with his tongue, leaving a damp, shivery trail. “I’m familiar with the long list of rules this club has,” he said. “Nowhere does it say there can’t be sex in the conference room. In fact, I would hazard a guess that this room has seen plenty of action.”

“Stop.” She slipped away from him and found her way to the door, then fumbled for the light switch, turning it on. “I mean it. We can’t do this here.” She blamed herself for letting things get out of hand. The speed at which they’d landed in bed before this—twice—would have led any man to think he could have what he wanted, whenever he wanted it.

He shoved his hands through his hair. “You’re hard to figure out,” he said, then blew out a breath.

“I know. I’m sorry.” But I love you, and that’s why I took those chances the other times. I needed a memory of you.

“You don’t really live up to your reputation, do you?” he said, half sitting on the table, his arms crossed.

“Do you want me to?”

After a few long seconds he shook his head.

She thought about her grandfather, how much she’d disappointed him. As a teenager she’d desperately wanted his attention, and he’d been totally focused on his business, but his disapproval of her dates meant he would at least communicate with her, if only to berate her. She was such a cliché, she thought.

“I always found the ‘wild-child’ tales interesting,” John continued, “because there was no hard evidence you were easy, just speculation, based on who you dated—and maybe how you dress in look-at-me outfits and move like a whirlwind, as if you always know where you’re going and who you are, which is very sexy. I’d say you pretty much made everyone wonder.”

“I’m not the one who arranged this tryst.”

“I didn’t mean to offend you, Scarlet. I thought you would want it as much as I did.”

“Believe it or not, sometimes I think about other people before my own needs.”

His gaze locked with hers. He studied her for a long, quiet moment, then he nodded slowly and stood. He ran a hand down her arm as he passed by.

“Good night,” he said. “Thank you for the dance.”

After the door closed quietly behind him she stood motionless, waiting for her world to return to normal.

She’d misread him, pure and simple. And maybe he’d misread her. It was her manufactured reputation that had driven him to take such a chance as to want to have sex with her on a conference room table with hundreds of people—her grandparents included—nearby.

Maybe he got a rush out of such clandestine moments.

She didn’t. She’d only gotten a rush out of him.

So where did that leave them now?