snug-fitting black jeans, black T-shirt and a black leather bomber jacket, was actually John Mitchell. It was a realisation that didn’t come instantly, not even when he stepped forward and tapped on her passenger window. She’d thought he was some stranger wanting directions.
But as soon she wound down the window and he took off his wrap-around sunglasses, the penny dropped.
‘My God, John!’ she gasped as she stared into his familiar blue eyes.
‘Yup,’ he agreed. ‘It’s me.’
Scarlet could not believe how different he looked without long hair. Not better looking—he’d always been good-looking—but way more masculine. Without the softening effect of his hair, his facial features came into sharper focus: his high cheekbones. His long strong nose. His square jawline. Of course the clothes he was wearing added to the macho image. Scarlet wasn’t used to seeing John dressed in anything other than board shorts and T-shirts, his visits home long having been confined to summer. And, whilst she already knew he had a good body, there was something about a man dressed all in black that was very, very sexy.
Once she realised her staring was tipping into ogling, an embarrassed Scarlet swiftly pulled herself together.
‘I didn’t recognise you there for a moment,’ she said brusquely. ‘What happened to all your hair?’
He shrugged, then ran a slow hand over his near-smooth head, the action sending an erotically charged frisson running down Scarlet’s spine.
‘It was easier to look after,’ he said. ‘Where do you want me to put my bag? On the back seat, or right in the back?’
‘Whatever,’ she said, her offhand attitude a defensive reaction to her underlying shock at the situation. She wasn’t used to finding John sexually attractive. It was highly irritating. There she’d been on the way in, thinking how awkward driving him home would be, only to find that it was going to be extra-awkward now. She hoped he hadn’t noticed anything untoward. She would have to make sure she didn’t act any differently with him from usual. No way was she going to compliment him on either his haircut, or his clothes, reminding herself forcibly that, underneath his sexy new facade, he was still the same selfish, rude, antisocial bastard who’d given her hell over the years.
‘Mum shouldn’t have asked you to do this,’ he said as he climbed into the passenger seat and shut the door after him. ‘I could easily have caught a taxi.’ And he nodded towards the taxi rank ahead where several taxis stood, waiting for fares.
‘No pointing in worrying about it now,’ Scarlet said as she drove past them.
‘I guess not,’ he agreed. ‘This is more pleasant than a taxi, anyway. Thank you, Scarlet.’
She could not have been more taken aback. Not only did John look different, he was acting different too. She almost asked what had happened to him in the eighteen months since he’d last graced home, but decided not to go down such a personal road. He might start asking her what had been happening to her. No way was she going to tell John Mitchell anything! Best keep any chit-chat in the car strictly superficial.
‘Your parents have been lucky with the weather,’ she said as she drove down the almost deserted main street of Gosford. ‘This is the first decent day we’ve had so far this winter.’
He said nothing in return, for which she was grateful. But his silence didn’t last for long.
‘Mum tells me you haven’t met anyone else,’ he said when they stopped at a set of lights at East Gosford.
‘No,’ came her rather terse reply.
‘I’m sorry, Scarlet. I know how much you’ve always wanted to get married and have a family.’
Her head whipped around, her face flushing with a sudden spurt of anger. ‘Well, if you know that, then you shouldn’t have said anything to me about Jason. If you hadn’t, I would have been none the wiser, and I would have been married by now. Instead, I …’
Scarlet broke off when she felt tears sting her eyes, her knuckles showing white as she gripped the steering wheel tight and battled for composure.
John was appalled at the level of Scarlet’s distress. Appalled and sympathetic, but not guilty.
‘I am truly sorry, Scarlet,’ he repeated. ‘But I had no choice in the matter. I couldn’t let you marry a man who was just using you.’
‘There are worse things to happen to a woman than having a gay husband,’ she threw at him.
‘He didn’t love you, Scarlet.’
‘How on earth could you know a thing like that?’
‘Because he told me.’
‘You!’
‘Yes. I felt sorry for him—he was too scared to publicly accept who he was. Even I wasn’t as lonely or lost as that.’
Scarlet was moved by the grim bleakness in John’s voice and the stark reality of what he’d just revealed.
‘The lights are green, Scarlet.’
‘What? Oh yes, so they are.’
She drove on, her thoughts muddled by the sudden sympathy she felt for the man sitting next to her. Who would have believed it? First, she’d started finding John incredibly sexy. Now she was feeling sorry for him as well. Life could be very perverse, she decided.
‘So why haven’t you found anyone else?’ John persisted.
Scarlet sighed a sigh of sheer frustration. The one thing she could have depended on with John in the past was his brooding silences. Now, suddenly, he was turning into a conversationalist! And there she’d been, thinking she wouldn’t have to answer any awkward questions today.
‘I’ve stopped looking, okay?’ she replied somewhat aggressively. ‘I could ask you the same question, you know,’ she swept on, always having been skilled at the art of verbal counter-attack. She hadn’t been captain of the debating team at school for nothing! ‘Why is it that you’ve never found anyone? No one you dared to bring home, that is.’
He laughed. John Mitchell actually laughed. Things were getting seriously weird here.
‘Come now, Scarlet, you know my mother. If I brought a girl home, she would immediately start wanting to know when the wedding was.’
‘I could tell her that. It would be never!’
‘You know me too well, Scarlet.’
‘I know you well enough to know you’re not interested in marriage. If you were, you’d be married by now. You’d have no trouble finding a wife.’
‘Thank you for the compliment,’ he said. ‘But you’re right. Marriage is not for me.’
‘That’s still no reason not to bring a girl home occasionally.’
‘I can’t agree with you on that score. There’s enough tension whenever I come home as it is.’
This was
