“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 night. 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
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.