The Elliotts: Secret Affairs: The Forbidden Twin
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“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?
Six
On the Wednesday after the country club incident, John arrived a few minutes early for a three o’clock meeting with Finola Elliott at Charisma magazine. He wasn’t made to wait in the lobby but was escorted immediately to Fin’s office by an auburn-haired young woman named Jessie, who kept up a running commentary as they wove through the maze of cubicles. He learned she’d been raised in Colorado, was an unpaid intern and a roommate of a Charisma proofreader, Lanie Sinclair. And by the way Jessie eyed him curiously, he guessed she knew he’d been engaged to Summer.
He wished he could ask her which cubicle was Scarlet’s. If he could just look into her eyes, he’d know where things stood between them. They hadn’t spoken since the disaster at the club. In three days they were supposed to go on their first Woo U date.
Or were they?
Maybe his lesson had been only in how to ask a woman out, not the actual follow-through. Another question he needed answered.
Who would break the stalemate? Or had they already burned out? He wasn’t ready to end it. He wanted the whole month until Summer returned. Every last minute. And he wanted some of that in bed.
John wasn’t taken into Fin’s office but to the conference room attached to it. Several people were seated at the oval mahogany table—the editor in chief, Fin; her executive editor, Cade McMann; Bridget Elliott, the photo editor … and Scarlet.
He’d never been to a meeting with Scarlet in attendance before. Why would an assistant fashion editor be there?
John shook hands with Fin, Cade and Bridget. He met Scarlet’s gaze directly and nodded. She raised her brows. No clue there as to how she felt.
“I’m not going to beat around the bush, John,” Fin said. “I’m sure you’ve heard about the competition my father instituted.”
“I’m aware of the details.” Having just seen Maeve over the weekend, John realized how much Fin looked like her mother, although she had Patrick’s head—and drive—for business.
“I intend to win.” She leaned toward him, her body rigid. “But I can’t if you keep pulling ad revenue from my profits.”
“I’m responding to what my clients’ needs are, Fin.”
“We came up with an idea we’d like to toss out at you. Go ahead, Scarlet.”
Scarlet picked up a remote control. She gave him a quick look, all business, which might have worked had she been wearing a gray, pin-striped, baggy suit and her hair in a bun. Maybe. As it was, her shiny hair curled softly over her shoulders, and she wore a deep purple dress that clung to every shapely inch of her. His mind wandered ….
She brought up an image on the big-screen monitor on the wall. “Picture this as a feature article. We might call it ‘Trends,’ or something like that,” Scarlet said. “Ten to twelve photos of the hottest trends for each season, as we generally do. But this is an example of how we would incorporate your clients’ products.”
A hip blond model was seated at a bar in what looked to be a neighborhood pub. She wore an outfit meant to draw the magazine reader’s eye, but in her hand was a bottle of Crystal Crème soda. The juxtaposition of a soft drink being served at a bar would make the reader pay even more attention, he decided. Very clever.
“Product placement,” Scarlet said unnecessarily. “Here are a few more.”
Images flashed across the screen, each photo the superb quality that Charisma was known for, and each including a product of one of his clients, generally a food or drink item, easily integrated into the scene.
Cade pushed a folder toward John. “Price guides. You’ll find it cheaper than a full-page ad, of course, but a fair price, we think, for the value.”
Scarlet handed him a manila envelope. “Here’s a CD of each sample so you can pitch your clients with visuals. These are mock-ups, obviously. We’d have to work closely together, matching our focus for the article with your product for the layout. Some products will lend themselves easily, but some won’t. Some of these products have never been advertised in Charisma, like Crystal Crème. We think it opens a lot of new doors.”
“You know that once you start down this path, you won’t be able to go back,” John said, skimming the price sheets. “And you’ll be accused of selling out.”
“We’ve talked it over,” Cade answered. “Analyzed it. Had a few hearty debates, too. It’s no different from a television program or movie showcasing products.”
“It’s not as if it’s something new in the business,” John said. “But it is new for you. Something you’ve resisted because of the ethics involved.”
“It’s a new day,” Scarlet said. “A time for change.”
She’d parroted what she’d overheard him say to Patrick the past weekend.
“We ask one thing, John,” Fin said. “We want an exclusive. You don’t go to the other EPH magazines—or anyone else—asking for the same thing. Let us run with it first.”
John nodded. “Unless they ask. I can’t pass up reasonable business, either, Fin. And I want an exclusive, as well. You don’t offer this opportunity to anyone else for a few months, either.”
“Fair enough,” Fin said. “I’ve asked Scarlet to be your liaison on this project. Does that work for you?”
He didn’t dare look at Scarlet. “Sure.”
“She came up with a list of your clients whose products might be suitable for us.”
“That’s very competent of her.”
A momentary silence hung over the room, then Fin said coolly, “We’re pleased we found a way to keep your business at Charisma.”
“So am I.” And now he and Scarlet would work together as well as play together, if that was what they could call it. But this business relationship would extend beyond the month.
“If you have time to stay and talk with her now, we would appreciate it.”
“I do.”
“Good.” Finola rose, as did Cade and Bridget. “We’ll be in touch.”
The room emptied except for Scarlet and John, who sat across the wide table from each other.
“Your concept?” he asked her.
“Does it matter?”
“Just curious. I couldn’t figure out why an assistant fashion editor was in on an ad meeting. If you came up with the idea, it makes sense that you would be here. Seems to me, though, that you’d like to take credit for something so daring for Charisma.”
Scarlet sat back in her chair, her arms crossed. “Fin’s a great boss. She’s turned us into a team where credit and blame are shared.”
“I’ve known her for a few years. This is the most on edge I’ve seen her.”
“The competition.” Scarlet shrugged. “Everyone’s feeling the pressure.”
“You think she should be the one to win? The one to become CEO of EPH, over your uncles?”
“I don’t work for them.” She smiled sweetly. “Here’s the list.” She skated it across the table.
He caught it, stood and walked around the table, not taking his eyes off her. She watched him, as well. He sat beside her, close enough that her perfume drifted across the space between them. Her signature scent aroused him instantly.
“Are we still on for Saturday night?” he asked.
The door opened. Jessie shouldered her way in, carrying a tray with bottled water and glasses of ice. “Cade said I should sit in on your meeting.”
“Great,” Scarlet said with a little too much enthusiasm.
Saved by the intern. John could see the thought flash through Scarlet’s mind.
And because he wasn’t going to take no for an answer, he decided to be creative himself.
John had been right about one thing, Scarlet thought a half hour later as they left the conference room and headed to her cubicle. She did want credit for her idea to keep his business at Charisma. Not for the glory—she was a team player—but she wished her grandfather knew what she’d come up with. She wanted him to see that she was valuable to the magazine, not just an Elliott being given a position because of the family name.
As long as she was being honest with herself, she admitted she wanted John to know, too, because she needed him to acknowledge her abilities. It was unlike her to crave approval. What did that say about her? A sign of a new maturity … or insecurity? She wished Summer was home so they could talk about it, at least the part about Granddad. But their phone conversations, frequent but short, never allowed time for deep discussion, plus Summer was living a dream. Scarlet didn’t want to wake her with reality yet.
Scarlet knew John was right behind her as they reached her cubicle, but his footsteps were almost silent. Sneaky. He was sneaky in a lot of ways. Good ways, interesting ways, like his card with the flowers that had only his phone number printed on it. Like luring her to the conference room at the Spring Fling. Like disguising his incredible body with boring suits. Outwardly he needed some flair to match what he was inside, which was fascinating.
The orchids he’d sent were still fresh, the vase overflowing with the wondrous blooms. She saw his gaze land on them.
She thumbed through a stack of papers on her desk, pulling out the one she wanted to give him.
“Thanks,” he said. He stuffed the sheet into his briefcase. “I’ll be in touch as I meet with each client.”
He left. Just like that. Without finalizing plans for Saturday night, even though he’d asked her before.
An assortment of possibilities about how she could do him bodily harm ran through her head. Had he forgotten or was he playing a game with her? Maybe he was unhappy that they would be working together on the same project for an indefinite period of time.
Any other man might—
She stopped. Sat down. Set her elbows on her desk and rested her chin in her hands. John wasn’t like any other man. And that was the problem.
She was used to leading a relationship, had thought she was letting him lead. But the fact of the matter was, he wasn’t … leadable.
At five o’clock she headed to the elevator bank, grateful she wasn’t an executive, whose work hours often stretched long into the night, even more so since Granddad had fired the starting gun on the competition. She was worried about Aunt Finny, who was way too tense, and determined to win, and was spending far too much time in the office these days.
“Scarlet!” Jessie ran up to her at the elevator, holding tight to a red helium-filled balloon. “This just came. There wasn’t a card, but the delivery guy said it was for you.”
Scarlet spied a piece of paper inside the balloon. She had no doubt who’d sent it.
But what did the note say?
“Thanks,” she said to Jessie, leaving her curiosity unsatisfied as Scarlet stepped into the waiting elevator. “See you tomorrow.”
She strode down Park Avenue, the string wrapped securely around her hand, the balloon hovering just above her head. She smiled as she walked. People smiled back. It was a drizzly spring day, but it was beautiful.
The man learned fast, she thought. He could’ve talked to her while they were in her cubicle, or called her after he’d returned to his office. Instead he sent her a balloon. How imaginative. Maybe it held a little apology for last Saturday night, as well as a reminder of the upcoming Saturday night.
She hailed a cab, lucky to find one unoccupied. Then at the town house she swung open the gate and headed for the door to the underground pool and garage to get to her private entrance. The sound of someone knocking on a window caught her attention. She spied her grandmother waving at her, motioning her to come through the front door.
Gram rarely came into the city anymore unless she was going on a shopping binge, in which case she made arrangements to shop with Scarlet in tow. They always made a day of it.
Curious why Gram hadn’t alerted Scarlet that she was coming, Scarlet climbed the front stairs and walked into the entry, where a grand piano held center stage. When someone played, the sound reverberated through the entire three-story house.
“What are you doing here?” she asked her grandmother as they hugged.
“We have tickets for the opera. We came early so that Patrick could go into the office.” She smiled at the balloon. “It’s a special occasion, then, is it?”
“What? Oh, someone was passing them out. They’re advertising something.”
Maeve’s brows lifted. “And you carried it all the way home?”
Scarlet shrugged, trying to look innocent. “It suited my mood.”
“Why don’t you pop it and see what’s inside?”
“I, um, don’t really care what’s inside. I’d like to enjoy the balloon for a while.”
Gram’s eyes held a secret smile. “If you don’t want to share the note, just say so, colleen. I respect your privacy.”
Then for no fathomable reason the balloon popped on its own and the note went flying, landing faceup at Maeve’s feet. Scarlet grabbed it before her grandmother could bend down, then held it up to read.
I look forward to Saturday night. Pick you up at eight.
Scarlet somehow managed not to sigh her relief at the G-rated note, unsure whether her grandmother had had time to read it or not.
“So, you have a date tonight, then,” Gram said, her eyes twinkling.
Scarlet looked at the note again. “No. Saturday.”
Maeve pointed to it. “I think you’ve got a different message on the other side.”
With dread Scarlet turned the note over. Tonight. Nine. Be prepared for some lessons of your own.
Gram laughed, softly at first, then with utter amusement at Scarlet’s embarrassment.
“A healthy love life is a good thing. Is it anyone I know, then?”
Scarlet’s face heated to broil. “Gram, please.”
“Someone your granddad would approve of, for a change?”
She wished she could answer yes. Wished it with all her heart. But no one would be happy with her choice of John Harlan. No one.
Her grandmother patted her on the arm. “I won’t tell Patrick, if that’s your worry.”
“I’m just not ready to talk about it.”
“Sure, then, I’ll leave it alone for now. Oh. We’ll be taking the helicopter back to The Tides tonight, so you don’t have to be worrying about us seeing your young man in the morning.”
Like there was any way she would let John come over tonight, knowing that Patrick could change his mind and be there in the morning.
“Have a wonderful time at the opera,” she said to her impish grandmother.
“I don’t suppose you’ll be visiting us this weekend?”
Scarlet laughed. “Good night.” She headed to the indoor staircase, appreciating, as she always did, the calm, tasteful decor of the town house, decorated so similarly to The Tides. Maeve Elliott knew how to bring peace to a place—and a person.
When she reached her floor, she went straight into her room and dialed John’s number.
“You got my balloon?” he asked, his voice full of sexy promise.
“My grandmother got your balloon.”
“What?”
Good. At least she’d shocked him in return. “I was reading your lovely note about Saturday, while she was reading your more direct note on the other side.”
The sharp, succinct curse that came next made her relax, although she didn’t know why.
“What did she say?” he asked.
“That you could spend the night.”
A long pause, then, “I beg your pardon?”
“You didn’t sign your name to the note, so she doesn’t know it’s you specifically, but she made it clear that my young man could spend the night. She and Granddad are taking the copter home tonight.”
A pause ensued. “I’m not willing to risk that,” he said.
“Neither am I.”
“Are you disappointed?”
She waited a couple of beats to answer him, not because she didn’t know the answer but because she wasn’t sure she wanted him to know exactly how disappointed she was.
“I’m going to take that as a yes. Saturday night is still a go, though, right?”
“Of course.”
“Scarlet? About Saturday night … Is that to be a Woo U date, like a real first date?”
“You mean with no fringe benefits?”
“I’m just trying to know what to expect. Having two different—and opposite—relationships doesn’t make things simple.”
“It’s a first date,” she said. “We’ve already straightened out a few errors you’ve made in the past. Let’s see if anything else needs fixing.”
“All right.”
She couldn’t tell if he was disappointed, but she could guess. She didn’t know how well she could stick to her own rules herself. She was still revved up from Saturday night at the country club. Just sitting next to him at the meeting today had made her wish they could find a dark corner somewhere and put an end to the aching need.
“Goodnight, John,” she said as cheerfully as possible.
“‘Night.”
Scarlet changed into casual pants and a top, grabbed a leftover chicken Caesar salad from the refrigerator, then settled on the sofa with her sketch pad. She’d been unusually creative lately, ideas flowing so easily that she had already filled one pad and was halfway through another, in barely a month’s time.
A psychologist would say she was sublimating—diverting her forbidden desire for John into a socially acceptable substitute, like designing an entire clothing line. After more than an hour she set aside her pad and wandered to the living-room window. People walked along the sidewalk, going to or coming home from dinner, probably. Singles moved along in haste. Couples strolled.