And now Scarlet needed to kill those feelings once and for all. She and John couldn’t have a relationship. Propriety would be reason enough, never mind that he wouldn’t want to have anything to do with her beyond this night, since it would keep him in proximity with Summer, as well. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Over and done. Relegated to the memory book.
She brushed her hands down her dress then opened the bathroom door. He was still lying in bed, his hands tucked under his head, the sheet pulled up to his waist.
She hunted down her shoes, put them on, wobbling some because she was shaking.
He threw back the covers, climbed out of bed and set his hands on her shoulders. “Take it easy, okay? Nothing—”
“You could at least cover up,” she said, wincing at her snippy tone.
After a moment he grinned, revealing heart-tugging dimples. She stopped a sigh from escaping. He was one fine-looking man, with those intense dark brown eyes and sandy brown hair. Who would’ve guessed that hidden under his boring business suits was such a remarkable body, strong, muscular and toned. Tempting.
“You’re leaving, I guess,” he said.
“Of course I’m leaving. Do you think I’m an idiot?” She closed her eyes. “Scratch that question.” Her behavior already gave her idiocy away.
He looked at her curiously, then grabbed his briefs and donned them. “Why did this happen, Scarlet?”
She searched for a reason he would believe. The only thing that came to mind was what Summer had confided earlier that day when she’d told Scarlet that she was ending her engagement with John—that even though she’d loved him, there had been a complete lack of chemistry between them. For months she’d thought she was just sublimating her passion, so that she could avoid sleeping with him until their wedding night. One hour with rock star Zeke Woodlow had changed all that.
But Scarlet couldn’t believe that Summer had been talking about the same man who’d just made love to her. Lack of chemistry? Not a chance. The man Scarlet had just made love to took passion to a whole new level.
“Cat got your tongue?” John asked.
All she could do was give him a weak smile.
“Why did this happen?” he repeated.
“Because we got carried away?”
“I know why I would, but why would you?”
She couldn’t tell him she loved him, so what could she say? After a few seconds, she felt him touch her cheek. The tenderness of the gesture almost made her throw herself into his arms.
“I figure you know I never slept with your sister.”
She nodded. “She was wrong, though. You are a passionate man.”
His mouth quirked. “Maybe it’s just you. Maybe you brought that out in me.” He brushed her hair behind an ear, then rubbed her earlobe. “How about helping me hone my skills? I never want to disappoint another woman.”
“This is no time to joke. You don’t need lessons, and we have no future together. What happened shouldn’t have happened, and I’m sorry.”
He narrowed his gaze. “Sorry? For what?”
“I know you must be hurt and angry, and you probably even want revenge, but please, please, don’t tell anyone what happened,” she said, then walked away before he could say or do anything to stop her. She was confused, not sure why she had done what she’d done, or what she could do about it now. She needed to get away and think. She grabbed her purse off the living-room floor and raced out the door, then hurried down a flight of stairs just to get away fast. She picked up the elevator on the next floor.
The doorman called good-night as she left the building. She stepped into the cold, damp evening and realized she’d forgotten her coat. She couldn’t go back for it.
She couldn’t go home, either, to her grandparents’ town house where she and Summer shared the top floor. Summer probably wasn’t even home, might even be with Zeke, but Scarlet didn’t want to take the chance. She would get a hotel room for the night, order a bottle of wine, take a hot bath and figure out where she’d gone wrong.
Except that it hadn’t felt wrong—not when she was in John’s arms. It had felt so … right. He wasn’t her sister’s fiancé anymore. She hadn’t violated any codes of ethics, sibling or otherwise. She and Summer had made a pact when they were eight years old that they would never pretend to be the other, and while she’d gone to John’s apartment as herself, she knew fairly soon that he’d thought she was her sister and she hadn’t corrected his mistake until it was almost past the point of no return. If he hadn’t realized it on his own, she would’ve told him, though—wouldn’t she?
Yes, of course. Probably.
So … a bath, some wine and some reflection. She would put John Harlan out of her mind once and for all.
And by morning she would be fine.
Just fine.
Two
Early April
Scarlet glared at her watch. A quarter past noon. She checked her cell phone, making sure it was turned on. It was. No missed calls. No voice-mail messages. Irritation whipped through her. It was unlike Summer to keep her waiting, especially for fifteen minutes. But then, Summer had lost her predictability. She’d even gotten herself engaged to Zeke Woodlow less than a month after ending her engagement to—
Scarlet went no further with the thought. At least there was a sparkle in Summer’s eyes and a lightness in her step that hadn’t been there before. A totally different kind of aura surrounded her, and for that Scarlet thanked Zeke.
He’d just better not ever hurt her ….
Pasting on a smile, Scarlet returned a wave to a fellow employee then stabbed a piece of avocado in her Cobb salad. Seated in the company cafeteria, she was grateful she’d been able to grab a booth. She hated eating alone in public—Summer knew that. And it was especially bad here where noise bounced off the walls and the steel tabletops, the modern decor not helping to absorb sound, not letting a person think clearly. Plus, the entire twenty-five-story Park Avenue building was owned by EPH—Elliott Publication Holdings, her family’s business. Or rather, businesses, their many magazines, so that a lot of people could pick her out of a crowd. Plus she was an Elliott, one who’d already caused enough talk.
She should’ve told Summer to meet her at the deli down the block.
“Who are you waiting for?”
Scarlet looked up to find Finola Elliott, editor in chief of Charisma magazine and Scarlet’s boss for the past two years—and for twenty-five years, her aunt Finny.
“Summer. She’s late.”
“That’s unlike her.”
“I know.”
Fin lowered her voice. “Are you okay?”
Surprised, Scarlet focused on her aunt instead of the cafeteria entrance. “Sure. Why?”
“You’ve seemed tense lately.”
“I’m fine,” she said, resisting the temptation to make a similar comment to Fin, who was under a great deal of stress since her father, Scarlet’s grandfather, had issued a challenge regarding who was to fill his shoes when he retired at the end of the year—a challenge which had only added to the long-standing tension existing between Fin and her parents. The fact that Fin was eating in the company cafeteria instead of the executive dining room indicated her discomfort, as well.
“I’d ask you to join us, Fin, but Summer called this meeting.