Читать книгу The Elliotts: Secret Affairs - Susan Crosby - Страница 15

Scarlet 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.

“This is just about sex, John,” she said finally. “We can’t have more than that.”

“I know.”

After they made love, she fell asleep. He studied his ceiling for hours, as if the answers to his problems might be written there.

All he saw was that it looked very much as if an Elliott woman would break his heart, after all.

In the morning, her head on a pillow next to John’s, Scarlet watched him sleep, his hair mussed, his beard shadowy. She’d slept until nine, not waking once. She couldn’t remember a night when she’d slept so well.

Her eyes stung. Anything in life she’d wanted badly enough, she’d gotten, had worked hard enough to get. But no matter what she did in this relationship, she couldn’t win.

Betray. Her grandfather’s word echoed in her mind.

She eased out of bed, donned John’s robe and headed to the kitchen. She hunted for coffee and filters, then fixed a whole pot, not knowing how much he drank in the morning, or if he drank it at all.

At the front door she looked out the peephole to make sure the coast was clear, then grabbed the Sunday Times from the hallway. She finished up the dishes from the night before and checked out his refrigerator for possible breakfast food, finding eggs, cheese and English muffins.

At about ten o’clock she heard water run in the bathroom. Curled up on the sofa, she was enjoying her second cup of coffee and the Times travel section. A few minutes later he emerged, unshaven but with his hair combed. He’d put on the T-shirt and boxers from the night before. She’d been afraid he would come out in khakis and a preppy sweater or something, dressed for the day.

He stopped in the doorway. A slow smile came over him. “Good morning. How’d you sleep?”

“On my side, mostly.”

His smile widened.

“I slept really well,” she said, moving her legs so that he could sit beside her, facing her. “And you?”

She offered her mug. He took it, then leaned over and kissed her, deeper than a peck but not an invitation to more. He sipped from the mug, resting his hand on her thigh, rubbing it through the fabric.

“I slept great, thanks. So, what do you usually do on Sundays?”

“If I’m at The Tides I go to church with Gram and Granddad. If I’m in town, I’m pretty lazy. Read the paper. Go for a walk. Have a late breakfast somewhere. Do some sketching and sewing. How about you?” There was so much she had yet to discover about him. She knew his body. She knew his scent, his touch, his laugh. But nothing about his routines, his likes and dislikes. His passions.

“I don’t think any two Sundays are the same for me. I play racquetball sometimes, or golf, depending on the season. Visit my parents sometimes. Work at home or even in the office occasionally. Go for a drive. Would you like to go for a drive?”

She wished she could say yes. “Probably not a good idea, John.”

His hesitation was barely noticeable. “Right. Well, breakfast, then. I’m pretty sure I have the makings for omelets.”

“Do you cook?”

“A little. You?”

“Salads and eggs. And I reheat brilliantly.”

“Took a master course in that, did you?”

She recognized the conversation for what it was—avoidance. They were painted into a corner. Don’t get too close, learn too much, enjoy too thoroughly. Sex and inane conversation were apparently all they could have. They had to otherwise resist.

“Maybe I should shower,” she said. “Then we can fix breakfast together. Then I’ll go home.”

We can’t spend the whole day with each other. The words hung over them as if in neon lights.

“How about we shower together?” he asked, standing, holding out a hand.

Later, she argued against him driving her home. She could take a cab. He didn’t think she should be seen wearing what was obviously an evening dress at noon. On the drive to her house he held her hand. She didn’t pull away.

“Can we get together during the week?” he asked as they neared her house.

“Definitely. Let’s talk later and compare calendars. It’d have to be at your place,” she added. “Granddad seems to like being unpredictable these days. I never know when he’s coming to town.”

“Okay.”

They had shared a long goodbye kiss before leaving his apartment, yet she hungered for another.

“Did you expect it would be this complicated?” he asked when they pulled up around the corner from her house.

She nodded. “I’m pretty realistic about most things in life.”

“Are you having regrets, Scarlet?”

“None.” Yet.

“Can I ask a favor of you?”

Her heart fluttered a little.

“If I can arrange a private consultation with my tailor, would you come along and help me choose some new things for my wardrobe?”

“Will you promise not to argue about my choices?”

“No.”

She laughed. “Well, okay. That’s fair.”

“I’ll call you later.”

The long day loomed before her. She almost wished she’d taken the chance and gone on a drive with him. “Have a good day,” she said, then looked around, not seeing anyone she knew. She opened the door.

He just watched her, apparently as tongue-tied as she by the necessarily banal conversation, then he drove off. She walked around the corner. Someone was sitting on her doorstep. She could see fabric through the railings but that was all. Then the person stood, not looking in her direction, as if giving up.

“Aunt Finny.” Relieved it wasn’t … well, almost anyone else, she waited as Fin met her on the sidewalk.

“I wish I looked that good without makeup,” Fin said.

“Oh, right, like you’re some old crone. You’re only thirteen years older than me.”

“That’s a lot of years in prime-woman age. I hope you had a good night?”

Scarlet grinned. “I’m relaxed.”

“Ah. Lucky you.”

“Come inside,” Scarlet said, heading to her private entrance. “What are you doing here?”

“Taking your advice. I went for a walk in the park. I’ve been calling you off and on to see if you wanted to have brunch with me.”

“Why didn’t you call my cell?”

“I did. It’s turned off.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Probably not turned off but a dead battery, Scarlet decided. “Well, I had a late breakfast, but I’ll be happy to keep you company. Did you see Granddad yesterday? He called me up to his office.”

“I got the same order, but I had a message sent to him that I’d already left.”

“I should’ve thought of that,” Scarlet said, unlocking her apartment door. “I’m trying to figure out who’s talking to him about me.”

“What do you mean?”

“He said he’d been hearing good things about me. Called me creative and competent. How does he know that?”

Fin frowned. “I haven’t talked to him about you.”

“You think we have a mole? Someone who reports to him about the goings-on at Charisma?”

“Maybe.”

Scarlet started to press the message button on her answering machine, then decided against it. Later, maybe. In private. She’d learned her lesson there. “Who could it be? And why is it necessary? Granddad has access to all financial information. Since he’s only worried about fiscal profit to declare the winner of this contest, why would he need someone reporting behind the scenes?”

“A very good question.” Fin paced the living room.

“I’m going to change. Make yourself at home.” Scarlet hurried. She changed into jeans, a T-shirt and a leather jacket, then pulled her hair into a ponytail, added a little mascara and lipstick and was done. She could smell John’s soap on her skin, and her body ached comfortably. One area where the man had above average creativity—and flexibility—was in bed. The aftereffects lingered.

“Do you want to go to Une Nuit?” Scarlet asked Fin as they left the house.

“I don’t want to go to any family-run operation.”

Scarlet smiled. “Hot dog and soda in the park?”

“Sure. Why not?”

A few hours later Scarlet dragged herself home. They’d listed every employee, trying to come up with the name of the snitch. She wished she hadn’t said anything to Fin, who didn’t need something else to obsess about.

Scarlet made a promise to herself that she would never let her job consume her life as Fin had—easy for Scarlet to say, she supposed, at this point. Maybe when things ended with John, she would dive into her work, too, and not come up for air for a long time.

She hit the message button as she passed by the answering machine, listened from her bedroom to a message from Summer saying she would call Scarlet’s cell, four hang-ups, then one from her grandfather.

“Your grandmother and I are coming to the city for the week. She thought I needed to warn you, for some reason.”

Scarlet could almost see him rolling his eyes.

“So, here’s your warning, missy. We’ll be arriving around four. Plan on dinner with us.”

Another command performance. Scarlet looked at her watch. Almost four. She needed to call John, let him know ….

Why? How would it matter to him?

You just want to talk to him.

Right. And wrong. She had a legitimate reason. They needed to coordinate schedules and see when she could help him with his wardrobe. And she’d expected to spend the night with him at least once. Now they needed a new plan. She couldn’t stay away overnight with her grandparents there.

With that rationale in her head she picked up her phone. His number was still on the speed dial.

She hesitated. Why hadn’t Summer removed his number? Would a psychiatrist say she was keeping her options open in case things didn’t work out with Zeke? Even though she and Zeke were engaged, she’d been engaged before, to John, and that hadn’t worked. Maybe Summer was having a life crisis—

Scarlet shook her head. Summer was different with Zeke. Openly happy. Relaxed. Excited. All the things she hadn’t been with John, or even before John. Nothing was going to change there, even if Summer changed her mind. And John wouldn’t want her back, anyway. Would he? No. Of course not.

She dialed his number, got his machine, but didn’t leave a message. She didn’t know his cell number.

The intercom buzzed from downstairs. Her grandparents had arrived.

Time to put on a happy face.