The Elliotts: Secret Affairs. Susan Crosby
at Scarlet, which turned tender when he looked at his wife and kissed her cheek. “You look lovely, cushla macree.”
Pulse of my heart. Scarlet had heard him call her grandmother that forever, had always found it hard to believe that this adoring husband was the same dictator who’d raised her and Summer. And as a businessman, he was ruthless—even, or more accurately especially, with his children, who ran four of his various enterprises.
“Are you taking your own car?” Patrick asked Scarlet. “I’m sure you’ll want to stay longer than your grandmother and I.”
“I’ll ride with you. If I’m not ready to come home when you are, I’ll get someone to drop me off.”
“We’ll send Frederick back for you,” Gram said.
“Thanks, but it won’t be necessary.” Scarlet recognized she was being stubborn out of habit. Her grandparents’ driver would be happy to make a second trip to pick her up. Still, she found it hard to alter the long-established adversarial relationship with her grandfather. “I’ll make my own way.”
“Make sure your escort hasn’t been drinking.” He put his hand under Maeve’s arm as they moved toward the door.
Scarlet brought up the rear, irritated that her grandfather assumed a man would bring her home. “I’ll make him take a Breathalyzer.”
Maeve chuckled, which stopped Patrick from countering with something equally sarcastic. “So alike, you two,” Maeve said.
“Alike? Us?” Scarlet wasn’t as stunned as she pretended.
“Yes, colleen. But enough of this. It’s a night to celebrate the arrival of spring. New beginnings. Let’s have no more battles of wit, no matter how clever the words.”
“Fine by me,” Scarlet said.
Patrick said nothing, which was answer enough. He would do whatever Maeve asked of him.
Scarlet stopped short of heaving a sigh. She and Granddad had butted heads forever, with Gram and Summer interceding when possible. Her grandfather had never liked any of her boyfriends, even during her first tender explorations into the dating world, and so she had begun to bring home guys she was sure he would despise—men without much motivation or ambition, men whose main interest in life was having fun, not working. Nothing turned off Patrick Elliott more than a man without a solid work ethic, especially since he had built his own empire from nothing.
Scarlet was tired of the game, though, and tired of being at odds with her grandfather, especially now. He must be feeling less invincible these days or else he wouldn’t have given his children the challenge that the next CEO of Elliott Publication Holdings would be the person who produced for their magazine the biggest individual financial success by year’s end. His surprise announcement at a New Year’s party that he would be retiring, and the game he’d begun by pitting the Elliott children against each other, had turned all their lives upside down—a typical Patrick Elliott move.
During the twenty-minute limo ride to the country club, the conversation turned to safe topics, setting a new, peaceful tone for the evening. The club ballroom was decorated for the Spring Fling as it always was, with spring-flower arrangements and tiny white lights everywhere, nothing overly original or creative. A sumptuous buffet would be laid out, bars set up in convenient places, with dancing to come later, a twenty-piece band providing music. Scarlet loved its predictability.
“You look like an exotic bloom,” Gram said as they waved and nodded to friends and acquaintances. “Your talent for design is staggering.”
“I learned from the best.” Scarlet put an arm around her grandmother, remembering fondly the hours and hours they’d spent sewing.
“That’s a fine compliment, indeed, but I never had the vision, just the practical skill. I always expected you’d go into that field instead of the magazine, especially with your degree in design.” Her sideways glance probed.
“I’ve got time. And the magazine’s a useful place to learn more,” Scarlet said evasively, wondering if Granddad had overheard. He didn’t indicate outwardly that he had; in fact, he seemed focused on something across the room. She followed his gaze, spying the couple she’d most wanted to avoid.
She leaned closer to her grandmother. “Bill and Greta Harlan are here. Have you seen them since Summer called off the engagement?”
“I called Greta. As you know, we weren’t great friends before John and Summer decided to marry. If you’re wondering whether everyone will be civil, the answer is yes. Especially here. Now then, be off and enjoy yourself.”
“I’ll join you for supper later.”
“You’re not to feel obligated. Have fun, colleen. I don’t think you’re having enough fun these days.”
“I miss Summer.”
“And you’re a mite envious, perhaps?”
“Not at all.” Scarlet waited for lightning to strike her at the lie, but the world stayed normal. She did envy that Summer could be public with her relationship—and with a man she could count on and keep, whereas Scarlet was setting herself up for heartbreak, one she could never talk about or get sympathy for when it ended. But she wasn’t jealous of her sister’s happiness.
Scarlet wandered around the festive room, stopping to talk, admiring baby pictures thrust in her face from old friends settling down. She’d attended a record number of weddings in the past few years.
Gram was right. She wasn’t having enough fun. Maybe it was because Summer wasn’t there, and she was Scarlet’s best friend. Maybe because Scarlet lived in Manhattan most of the time, and the country club now seemed too laid-back and … rigid, even though that seemed contradictory. Rules, rules, rules. She’d grown up with them, ignored them, gotten into trouble when she did. There were fewer rules in the city, more action, more options.
After dinner the dancing began. She watched her grandparents take the floor for the first slow dance, their steps perfectly matched after so many years of dancing together. Scarlet smiled as she watched them—until she spotted John walking onto the dance floor.
The lightning she’d expected before struck her, although for entirely different reasons. Everything inside her came feverishly to life. He was the best-looking man in the room. And she’d made love with him. And he’d wanted her, bad.
Okay, so she was glad he’d shown up. Admitting she had a problem was half the battle, she thought, being honest with herself. Then she saw a petite blonde step into his arms. Who was she? They waltzed together like long-time partners, their steps perfectly attuned, his hand resting at the small of her back, his gaze on her. He said something and the blonde laughed. Scarlet hated her.
The music went upbeat, and her grandparents left the dance floor, but John and his partner didn’t. Scarlet tapped her toe. Was he trying to make her jealous?
“Hey, Scarlet.”
She focused on the man who’d approached invisibly through her green haze. “Mitch, hi. Long time.”
Mitchell Devereaux was as handsome as he was shallow, which was a lot.
“Yeah. Wanna dance?”
She certainly didn’t want to sit on the sidelines, watching. She would ignore John and have fun, as Gram had ordered.
Scarlet didn’t leave the dance floor after that, changing partners with each new song, dancing her heart out and keeping a casual eye on John, who also didn’t sit out a dance until the music slowed again, although he finally changed partners. Over her own dancing partner’s shoulder she watched John stroll away, get a drink from the bar then prop a shoulder against a pillar and scan the dance floor, stopping on her, catching her looking at him.
He lifted his glass slightly, his gaze intense. She could hardly believe she knew what he looked like naked, what his skin felt like, tasted like. How he kissed as if he were being sent to war, and how