The Elliotts: Secret Affairs. Susan Crosby
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