by Anna DePalo
She looked down, contemplating what he’d said, and he found himself holding his breath.
In the morning light shafting through the room’s windows, she looked delectable, and he felt like the Big Bad Wolf. Last night hadn’t sated his hunger for her. Not by a long shot.
Finally, she looked up at him with those amazing pale-green eyes. “Okay,” she said, then added, “Thank you.”
He let go of the breath he was holding. The seduction of Summer Elliott had begun, only she didn’t know it yet.
“You slept with him?” Scarlet’s mouth gaped open.
“A little louder,” Summer said dryly. “The next table over hasn’t heard you.”
They were sitting in a booth in the employees’ cafeteria on the fourth floor of EPH, where she and Scarlet regularly had lunch together. The cafeteria was a quicker and easier choice than beating the throngs that clogged the Manhattan streets downstairs at lunchtime.
“Didn’t you tell him that you were there as a reporter?” Scarlet persisted.
“Er, we didn’t quite get to that part.”
“You didn’t get to that part?”
Under other circumstances, Summer would have thought this scene was funny. For the second time today, she had managed to flabbergast someone: at the moment Scarlet, whom she knew to be usually unflappable, and earlier Zeke, who certainly appeared that way. Since she was a play-by-the-rules girl, this was a day of firsts for her. Aloud, she said, “Haven’t you ever slept with a guy on a first date?”
“Never.”
“Never?”
Scarlet shook her head.
Apparently, for once, she’d outdone her twin in outrageousness. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, which was another sign, she supposed, that she was verging on hysteria.
“Anyway,” Scarlet persisted, the salad in front of her forgotten, “this isn’t about me and this isn’t just about sleeping with a guy. This is about losing your virginity to some bad-boy rock star that you barely know when you said for years that you’d wait for your wedding night.”
Summer knew that Scarlet had neither completely understood nor shared her vow of celibacy, but her sister had respected it. Now maybe even respect had flown out the window.
Summer winced at the thought, before joking weakly, “Thanks. Could you maybe make it sound more sordid and trashy?”
“And what about John?” Scarlet demanded, then shook her head. “I don’t get it. Why lose your virginity now, when the wedding night is around the corner?”
Summer had been dwelling on the same question since leaving Zeke’s hotel room.
After the confrontation with Zeke at the office that morning, she’d resigned herself to getting no work done and had popped outside and sat in a café, sipping tea, until lunchtime.
She’d had plenty of time to think, and to dwell on the fact that she’d never before experienced the same restless, I’ve-got-to-have-you-now attraction that she had last night with Zeke. The attraction defied explanation and logic—he was unlike her in many ways, and definitely didn’t fit her normal taste in men—but there it was.
She’d also started to think that maybe her relationship with John was sexless because it was passionless. There was just no spark. Oh, she loved him, and he’d said he loved her, but maybe they’d both mistaken convenience and warm affection for sexual love.
She felt comfortable and safe with John and she understood him…but maybe that wasn’t enough.
“What are you thinking?” Scarlet asked.
“I’ve been asking myself about John all morning.”
“Yes?”
Summer shrugged resignedly, pushing her salad aside. She wasn’t going to eat another bite. “I don’t know. Maybe I wanted so badly to stick to my five-year plan and settle down that I ignored doubts I was having about my relationship with John.”
And maybe she was crazy. After all, she was basing conclusions on one night of passion. Passion seemed like such an unreliable emotion compared to the solid and stable relationship that she had with John. Or rather, she amended, the solid and stable relationship that she’d thought she had with John.
“What are you going to tell him?” Scarlet asked.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “He’s still out of town, but I’ll eventually have to tell him what happened.” She smiled wryly. “However, the fact that the newspapers think it was you last night has bought me some time. Otherwise, I’d be afraid that John would have heard the gossip somehow even though he’s out of town. This way, I get to break the news to him gently when he gets back.”
She gave Scarlet an apologetic look. “Sorry for getting you mixed up in this.”
“Don’t worry about it. My reputation can use the spark right now,” Scarlet said with dry humor.
A cell phone rang, and Summer realized it was hers. She dug it out of her purse and shrank as she noticed it was John calling.
“It’s John,” she said to Scarlet before pressing the Talk button and saying brightly, “Hi.”
“Hey, yourself,” John’s deep voice sounded from the phone. “I’ve missed you.”
What could she say to that? “How’s your trip?”
“Great,” he said, his voice reflecting his good mood. “We got the deal wrapped up early, so guess what? I’ll be flying back from Chicago this afternoon. In fact, I’m at the airport now.”
Summer’s stomach plummeted.
“How about catching dinner with me tonight?” John asked. “What about One If by Land, Two If by Sea?”
“Sure,” she said weakly. One If by Land, Two If by Sea was reputed to be one of New York City’s most romantic restaurants. It occupied a landmark eighteenth-century carriage house once owned by Aaron Burr.
“We’re about to board,” John said, breaking into her thoughts. “Can’t wait to see you. Bye.”
“Bye,” she said before ending the call.
“Well?” Scarlet asked.
Summer looked at her, the weight of doom settling on her shoulders. “He’s flying back early, and we’re having dinner tonight.”
Scarlet raised her water glass in a mock salute. “Showtime.”
Five
J ohn was waiting for her at the bar at One If by Land, Two If by Sea when Summer got there at six. She’d suggested an early dinner because she knew he’d be tired from his trip and, more importantly, she could meet him directly after work and thus circumvent having him pick her up at the townhouse. She wanted to avoid being alone with him tonight, given the news that she had to impart.
He slid off a bar stool. “Hey, sweetie.”
She tried not to wince at the endearment. It reminded her that she was lower than a worm, that John had always treated her like a princess and that he didn’t deserve what she was about to tell him.
When he leaned in for a quick peck on the lips, she looked away at the last moment so that his lips met her cheek.
She could see the slight puzzlement on his face as he pulled away.
“Is our table ready?” she asked cheerfully.
“I think so,” he said.
He nodded to the bartender and settled his tab, then, with his hand at the small of her back, he guided her forward. A hostess showed them to their table, and John waited until Summer herself was seated before taking his own seat.
Settled in, he reached over and took her hand, rubbing the back of it in a circular motion with his thumb. “I missed you.”
Summer smiled feebly.
What was wrong with her? Looking into John’s caring dark brown eyes and catching sight of his disarming dimples, she questioned her decision and wondered whether she was about to compound one error with another. John was a man that any woman would be proud to be seen with. He was good-looking, hard-working, ambitious and reliable. In short, a catch in any sense of the word.
“I’m glad you’re back,” she responded, sliding her hand away. “Are you going to order some wine?”
He frowned. “Yes. I just hadn’t
gotten around to it yet.” Nevertheless, he picked up the wine list and started reading it.
Summer took the opportunity to study him. The light from the overhead chandeliers caused his light brown hair to glint and gleam. He should have been perfect for her, but something had been missing.
Doubts. She’d been having them all along where John was concerned. Niggling doubts that hadn’t gone away. But why, why, did she have to sleep with another man before she was willing to face them?
After the wine arrived, they ordered, then discussed John’s trip. Because John traveled often for his high-octane career in advertising, he was often full of interesting stories about shooting TV commercials and developing promotional campaigns for new products.
“So, we sewed up the deal,” he said, cutting into his beef Wellington. “Three print ads for watches by one of Hollywood’s hottest actresses.”
“I’m surprised she agreed to do it,” Summer commented.
“So am I. A lot of film stars are reluctant to do ads in the United States because they’re afraid it’ll detract from their image. They’ll do ads abroad, but only with the stipulation that those ads won’t run in the U.S.”
“So why do you think she agreed to do it?”
“Money,” John replied. “This advertising campaign is going to cost our client a bundle, but the CEO thinks it’s worth it because their target audience is the eighteen-to-twenty-four age group.”
Summer had grown used to John throwing out advertising jargon as if it was second nature. He talked in terms of target audiences, market share and campaigns. She knew that being immersed in his career was part of what made John so successful at what he did.
As a waiter moved away with their plates, John said, “By the way, I saw that Scarlet was linked to Zeke Woodlow in today’s gossip columns. Maybe she can convince him to do some ads.”
Wine sloshed from the glass that Summer was raising to her lips. She watched as the spilled liquid caused a couple of angry red spots to spread on the formerly pristine tablecloth.
“Careful,” John said.
She set down her glass with a thump and cleared her throat. She’d been waiting for the right moment to broach the subject of Zeke and now she was out of excuses. Dinner was over, and there was no time like the present.
“John, we have to talk,” she blurted, waving off a waiter who had approached with dessert menus.
John looked at her inquiringly for an instant, then asked the waiter for the check. As the waiter moved off, he said, “So talk. You’ve seemed jumpy and distracted all night. I was wondering what was bothering you.”
“This is hard,” she began. Explain first and confess later, or confess first and explain later? She waffled.
“Yes?” he prompted.
“Something unexpected happened while you were away, and I—I came to some realizations.”
He said nothing, just looked at her expectantly.
Tears threatened. She felt as if she were about to kick a puppy. Looking down, she said in a rush, “John, I can’t marry you.”
“What?” he said on a forced and skeptical laugh.
“It’s not a joke.”
“Why? I thought—”
She didn’t let him finish. “I had sex with someone last night. Zeke Woodlow.”
There it was. The harsh, glaring truth.
John looked as if she’d slapped him or thrown a bucket of ice water over his head.
“What did you say?”
“I slept with Zeke Woodlow last night. The gossip columns got it wrong. It wasn’t Scarlet with Zeke. It was me.” She took a deep breath, her eyes pleading with him for some understanding even though she neither deserved nor expected any. “I didn’t plan it. I went to a Musicians for a Cure concert to try to land an interview with Zeke for The Buzz.” She trailed off helplessly, “I don’t know what happened….”
John snorted derisively. “Come on, Summer, you know what happened.” His brows snapped together. “So you’re now on a first-name basis with Zeke, are you?”
Realizing her mistake, Summer shook her head. “I don’t blame you for being angry and hurt.”
“Really?” he said sarcastically, then raked his fingers through his hair. “I go away for a few days and you sleep with someone else. Do you know how that makes me feel? You told me you wanted to wait for marriage.”
“I know,” she said guiltily, “and I’ve spent the past twenty-four hours wondering how and why last night happened. I wasn’t drunk or too stressed out, but I realized I’d been pushing aside doubts about us.”
“What doubts? We’re perfect for each other. We want the same things out of life.”
“Yes,” she agreed, knowing she had to tread carefully, “but we lack spark. Maybe…maybe that’s why it was so easy for us to put off sex for so long.”
He said nothing.
“Maybe we love one another without being passionate about each other.” She added softly, “You deserve to have some passion in your life, John. We both do.”
John downed the rest of his wine in one swallow. “I could’ve been as passionate as any rock star, Summer, if you’d just given me the opportunity. Instead, I agreed to your terms about waiting until the wedding night.”
She looked down, unable to hold his gaze. Catching sight of the engagement ring still sparkling on her finger, she tugged it off. Taking hold of his hand, she placed her ring in his palm and gently wrapped his fingers around it.
He stared down at their hands.
When the waiter came back to their table with the check, she reached for it, but John was faster.
Pulling his hand from hers, he said bitterly, “Allow me to pay for the last hurrah.”
“You broke up with John,” Scarlet repeated in disbelief.
Summer nodded. They were sitting in a bar near EPH, Summer having phoned Scarlet to meet her after her dinner with John.
“Why? Are you crazy?” Scarlet asked. “Why throw away a perfectly good relationship? So you slept with Zeke! So you made a mistake! That doesn’t mean you should just throw away the man you love—the man you’re going to marry. Everyone makes mistakes.”
Summer shook her head. “You don’t understand.”
“Isn’t John worth fighting for? If he can forgive you because he loves you, you two can put this behind you and move on with the life that you always intended to have together.”
“It’s not that simple. I’m not calling off the engagement because I slept with Zeke. I’m calling it off because sleeping with Zeke made me confront the doubts I’d been having about marrying John.”
“Such as?”
“Maybe John and I love each other, but not in the sexual way that two people getting married should. Maybe it was easy for our relationship to remain sexless because it was passionless.”
“Aren’t you getting it backward?” her sister argued. “Maybe it was passionless because it was sexless.”
“That’s what I thought, but after last night I started to realize it was the other way.” She paused. “John is a wonderful guy, but we just don’t share that much passion.”
Scarlet looked surprised, started to say something, and then stopped. Covering Summer’s hand with her own, she said, “Are you sure you’re not letting yourself be swayed by a night of great sex? Having sex for the first time can be heady stuff. It can screw up your thinking. You know, Charisma just ran a survey, and you wouldn’t believe how many women, even today, feel they have to stick with the first man they sleep with.”
“No,” she said stubbornly, “it’s not that, and I’m not confused. I have no intention of getting involved with Zeke just because I slept with him.” Just because I lost my virginity to him, she added silently. She had no intention of compounding last night’s mistake. “But if I’m sure of anything right now, it’s that continuing to stay engaged to John would be wrong. I need time to sort things out.”
“Are you sure this isn’t just a case of cold feet?” Scarlet persisted.
<
br /> “What?” she countered. “Cold feet from the day I got engaged? Months before the actual wedding?”
Scarlet sighed. “I guess you won’t be the first woman to call off an engagement because she’s realized it’s a mistake.”
Ironically, she found herself wanting to comfort Scarlet. She gave her sister a reassuring hug. “Cheer up! I finally let myself admit that John was so much like what I thought I wanted in a husband that I’d been ignoring the fact that I wasn’t in love with him. At least the realization didn’t strike at the altar.”
“I guess I should be glad it didn’t take that long,” Scarlet murmured.
“What?” Summer asked.
“I said, I guess he should be glad it didn’t take that long.”
Summer nodded uncertainly. For a second, she’d thought Scarlet had responded with something completely different. Aloud, she said, “It’s for the best, Scar. I’m sure of it. You’ll see.”
Zeke prowled around his hotel suite, half listening to his manager. It was almost nine o’clock on Friday night and within half an hour he’d be heading out to one of New York’s hottest clubs, the celebrity hangout Lotus.
Like many celebrities, he was welcome with open arms at Manhattan’s hot spots. Club owners were only too eager to toss free drinks and food at a star in exchange for free publicity, namely, having their club’s name linked in the press with that of an A-list celeb.
Unfortunately, Marty had decided to stop by minutes ago from his own hotel room elsewhere in the building—ostensibly to discuss last night’s benefit concert, but Zeke wasn’t fooled.
Marty was a forty-something, balding music-industry veteran who’d been lucky enough and savvy enough to manage more than one great act during his career. But while his experience often made him invaluable, it also meant he could sniff potential trouble a mile away.
“So, you and Scarlet Elliott,” Marty said, shaking his head. “I didn’t even know you’d met.”
