by Susan Crosby
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.
“Good night, 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.
When was the last time she’d been on a date? Gone out to dinner with someone other than Summer or a girlfriend? Sometime during the past year she’d given up trying to irritate her grandfather by dating men he wouldn’t approve of. She’d been asked out during that time, but had made excuses not to go.
Looking back, she realized she’d stopped dating when John and Summer had started getting serious, and Scarlet had begun falling in love with John. She’d spent a lot of time at home, sewing. Summer had been worried about her, had often invited her to come along with her and John. Scarlet had made so many excuses she’d run out of creative ideas.
The irony, of course, was that her grandfather would approve of John—if he hadn’t once been engaged to Summer. Patrick wouldn’t tolerate scandal. He’d even forced Aunt Finny at age fifteen to give up her baby born out of wedlock, in order to save public face. Scarlet figured Fin was fighting so hard to win Patrick’s corporate game because she’d harbored so much resentment for him these twenty-plus years since having her baby taken away.
Scarlet didn’t want to become like Fin. She wanted to make peace with Patrick. But there was no way she could make peace by pursuing John for anything beyond this month of stolen nights. People would talk too much, especially this soon after the breakup.
She wished she were brave enough to end the relationship now, but she wasn’t. Only a couple more weeks, then the choice would be taken from her.
The phone rang, slicing into her thoughts, for which she was grateful.
“What do you think about using Une Nuit as a locale for a shoot?” John asked without saying hello. “Models seated at a table, looking at a menu, the name of the restaurant right there for the world to see.”
“I think it could be considered a conflict of interest, since my cousin Bryan owns the place. Is he a client of yours now?”
“Brand-new.”
“I thought Bryan liked to fly low under the radar. And last I heard he had reservations booked until the twelfth of never.”
“I can’t tell you what his plans are
.”
“Can’t or don’t know?”
“Take your pick.”
She smiled. She liked a man who could keep confidences. “So, you’re spending the evening working?”
“It was that or stand in a cold shower all night.”
She burrowed into the sofa cushions, tucking the phone closer. “Were you serious in your note about having something to teach me?”
“That’s for me to know and you to find out.”
How in the world had Summer given up this man? Scarlet wondered for the thousandth time. He was quick-witted, funny, smart and sexy. What more could a woman want?
“Want to reschedule tonight’s plan for Friday?” he asked.
“Can’t. I have a meet and greet at Michael Thor’s new studio,” Scarlet said.
“It can’t last all night.”
“I promised Jessie I’d take her by Une Nuit afterward. I’m really sorry.”
A beat passed. “So, that leaves us back at our Saturday night Woo U date,” he said.
“Good thing you asked early,” she said pertly, glad when he laughed. “John?”
“What?”
“I’ve been thinking.” She waited for him to come back with some clever insult, but there was only silence. Maybe he heard the tension in her voice. “I’m not sure we should be doing more than just the Woo U stuff.”
“Meaning?”
“We were lucky my grandparents didn’t catch us tonight. Maybe that’s a sign we shouldn’t spend all that much time together.”
“You believe in signs? Omens? Fate?” he asked.
“When it’s convenient…or logical.”
“Before we make such a big decision, why don’t we sleep on it? We’ll talk about it on Saturday. After the date ends.”
Because she wanted to avoid the discussion herself, she said, “Works for me. Good night, John.”
“Sweet dreams, Scarlet.”
The way he said the words turned her to mush. She knew he had to be disappointed in her decision, yet he’d said his own good-night with tenderness in his voice, not impatience or irritation. Personally, she would’ve been irritated if he’d come to the same determination that she had.
She liked that she kept learning something new about him.
After a minute she glanced at the clock. She could change her mind right now—grab a cab and surprise him. He was at home and alone. He would satisfy her deprived needs….
Instead she took a warm bath and went to bed, in search of those elusive sweet dreams.
John printed the results of his evening at the computer, stacked the papers and put them in his briefcase. He started to pour himself a Glenfiddich, hesitated then went ahead and splashed some in a glass. The smooth, pricey scotch could’ve easily reminded him of the day Summer broke their engagement, but instead he chose to associate it with his first night with Scarlet.
He carried the glass with him to look out his window. It had started to rain sometime in the past hour. He turned off all the lights and stood, sipping and watching and remembering. The way she’d watched him undress. Her red bra and thong. The incredible sounds she made, flattering and arousing. Then the way she rushed away, leaving her coat behind. He’d sat on his bed, holding it to his nose, breathing in her scent for a long time after she was gone.
He hadn’t expected to ever see her again, at least not like that. He’d been wrong.
And somehow he’d gotten himself into a position where they would spend hours together on Saturday without hope of ending up in bed. Maybe never sleep together again.
He really wondered whether he’d fried a whole lot of brain cells since he’d first slept with her. He knew he was infatuated, because she was rarely out of his mind. Even now he’d gone hard just thinking about her, a condition he hadn’t experienced with this much uncontrolled regularity since he was a teenager.
It couldn’t be more than lust. He refused to have his heart broken by another Elliott woman. Or even have his life turned upside down.
But he wanted her….
To hell with it. He set his empty glass on the bar, grabbed his coat and keys and went out the door. He could sneak out of her house long before anyone was up to see him, convince her not to give up the sexual relationship.
But when the elevator doors opened he stared at the empty car until the doors closed. He returned to his apartment. His huge, quiet apartment. And went to bed alone.
Seven
Une Nuit buzzed no matter what night of the week, but this was Friday, and the crowd was different on Friday. Younger, even hipper, if that was possible. A visual sea of beautiful people dressed in New York’s color of choice—black—enjoying the daring French/Asian fusion cuisine that was always being written up in the media, thus keeping the very trendy restaurant the place to be.
With Jessie in tow, Scarlet wove through the bar crowd at the front of the restaurant, looking for her cousin Bryan. While he might join them at dinner briefly, he generally wandered around the rest of the time, a hands-on owner.
She’d almost reached the maître d’s podium when she came across Stash Martin, a wickedly handsome Frenchman in his early thirties. As manager of Une Nuit, he was as much a fixture as Bryan.
“Scarlet, welcome,” he said. They exchanged kisses on both cheeks.
“Crazy,” she said, grinning, looking around.
“But quite typical. If you are looking for Bryan, he is not here. He is out of town. Again.”
“Where does he go?” she asked rhetorically then introduced Stash to Jessie, who was wide-eyed at the scene. Bryan had always been an adventurer, even as he seemed to love his restaurant. He came and went a lot, but his business thrived because he had a staff he could count on.
“You would like a table, eh?” Stash asked.
“Any family members here?”
“Not a one. The Elliott table is free.”
“What do you think?” Scarlet asked Jessie. “Table or the bar? How hungry are you?”
“Not very. The bar is fine.”
“Wait here a moment,” Stash said, then he approached the maître d’.
Scarlet had talked Jessie into borrowing an outfit from the closet of designer clothing at the magazine, but she hadn’t been able to talk Jessie into letting her hair loose from the braid she always wore. The black leather pants and turtleneck did give her a different look, a fashionable one. Even Scarlet, usually a standout because of the colorful outfits she often wore, was wearing black—a miniskirt, boots and belted leather jacket. Her hair was pulled up into an untidy knot. She considered the look as just another aspect of her personality.
Stash returned then pointed to a couple sitting at the very center of the long, black lacquered bar. “Stand behind them. They’ll be called in to dinner as soon as you make your way over there.”
Scarlet flashed him a smile. “You’re the best.”
He lifted Scarlet’s hand to kiss, and she fluttered her lashes playfully.
“When are you going to sleep with me and get me out of your system, ma chérie?” he asked, as he always did.
“Soon,” she answered, as she always did.
A few minutes later she and Jessie were seated at the bar, waiting for their drinks.
“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Jessie said in awe. “It’s like a movie. Red and black and sexy. And I love the copper-topped tables.”
“Maybe we’ll order something to eat later, so that you can taste how incredible their food is.” She smiled at the bartender when he placed an apple martini in front of her, then lifted her glass to Jessie. “To adventures in the big city.”
“I wish I could afford more of them. Someday. When I have a paying job. Every penny of my savings is budgeted. Thanks so much for this treat.”
“Keep performing well at Charisma, and you could be offered a paying job at the end of your internship.” She sipped her drink then looked around, making eye contact with a man at the end of the bar, who toasted her. She smiled but
looked away, then realized she shouldn’t put up roadblocks, since Jessie might be interested. She decided to give him another chance, but Jessie’s words stopped her.
“There’s that man from the ad agency, John Harlan.”
Surprise pelted Scarlet from all sides. “Where?”
“At a table behind you, in the corner.”
She wasn’t sure she wanted to turn around. If he was with a woman, she didn’t want to know.
“He’s looking right at you. I think he knows I’m telling you he’s there,” Jessie said in an emphatic whisper.
“Hmm.” She took a long sip of her drink. He was courteous and would probably approach them at some point, especially since he and Jessie had taken note of each other. Scarlet would wait for him to initiate contact. Until then she could ignore the possibilities of whom he was with.
Maybe that blonde from the country club dance. She never had asked who that was.
“Is it true he was engaged to your sister?” Jessie asked.
Scarlet sighed. “They were engaged on Valentine’s Day, but Summer called it off a couple of weeks later, just about the time you were hired.”
“It must be weird for him, seeing you. Working with you, her identical twin.”
Tell me about it. She’d wondered at the beginning if she was only a substitute for her sister, a way to get Summer out of his mind, but she didn’t think that was true now. They had their own relationship. And while it was fun at times, she was always aware of the impending and necessary conclusion. They couldn’t even just date and see where things might go. Even if Summer—and their grandfather—could somehow accept it, because of Scarlet’s reputation, many people might assume that Scarlet had interfered somehow, even before Zeke Woodlow had appeared on the scene. It wasn’t worth the grief.
Or was it?
The man from the end of the bar approached, saving Scarlet from coming up with an answer. Late twenties, Scarlet decided. A little taller than she, blond and blue-eyed. He didn’t look overly sophisticated or jaded, which meant he might work as a flirtation for the still-naive Jessie. Diverting her attention from watching John was a good idea.
