Like your aunt, you’ll devote yourself to your work.”
Considering that Fin was driving herself to an early grave, Scarlet didn’t consider her aunt’s devotion something to strive for.
Then there was the other issue, how Scarlet wanted to be a designer, not an editor. How long would she have to pay family dues before she could do what she wanted? How much did she owe her grandfather for raising her after her parents had died?
“You’re not usually so reluctant to argue with me, missy.”
“Maybe I’m growing up.”
“That’s a welcome possibility.”
She kept her expression serious. “It couldn’t be because you’re getting feeble, and I’m being careful not to cause you to have a heart attack or something.”
His fists landed on his thighs. “Feeble?” he roared.
She drew a deep breath, exhaled slowly. Now this was the Granddad she knew and understood. She decided to take advantage of his bluster to kiss his cheek and leave while she had the upper hand. “Let’s do this again sometime, Gramps.”
She heard him chuckle as she walked through the door. It made her smile—until she got into the elevator and remembered his comment about betraying Summer. Summer wouldn’t see it as a betrayal, but she would surely be uncomfortable. Adults made choices in life. Scarlet could choose to make things easy on her sister or difficult.
Without question, Scarlet would always make things easy for Summer—even to the point of denying herself love and passion, something Summer had found, and wanted Scarlet to find.
But probably not with John Harlan.
John knocked on Scarlet’s door at precisely eight o’clock. He was nervous—seventeen-years-old, first-prom-date nervous. Which was stupid, since he’d already slept with her. How could he be tense about seeing her, making conversation now?
Because he had to act like he hadn’t slept with her. Hadn’t seen her incredible body in its natural state. Hadn’t seen her face as an orgasm overtook her. Hadn’t felt her hands and mouth all over him, hot and curious ….
Okay. That line of thought had to be stopped right now, or else when she opened her front door she would see a bulge in his pants and he’d get his hand slapped with a ruler or something. The thought made him smile. Sister Scarlet. There was an image.
He saw the doorknob turn and tried to get himself into character. First date … First date.
“Hello, John,” she said, looking soft and sweet in her buttoned-to-the-neck, electric-blue dress, her hair piled on top of her head but still looking touchable.
“Hi.” He handed her a single white rose wrapped in green florist’s paper and tied with a satin ribbon. He watched her bury her nose in it and smile. She looked nervous, too, he decided. It relaxed him.
“Thank you,” she said. “It’s lovely.”
“Are you ready to go?” he asked.
“Let me put this in water and get my wrap. Come in.”
He almost told her not to bother putting the rose in water, then decided not to spoil the surprise he had for her later.
She was Scarlet but not Scarlet, he thought, as she disappeared into her tiny kitchen. Her dress wasn’t as daring as she generally wore, except that long line of buttons begged to be undone. Her jewelry was understated, and not as musical as usual. A couple of bangle bracelets that made a little noise, diamond studs instead of intertwining hoops in her ears, but that was all.
“I’m ready,” she said, slipping a silvery wrap around her shoulders.
Should he tell her she looked beautiful? Was that kind of compliment encouraged at this point? Man, he felt like a kid.
“You changed your perfume,” he said instead. It wasn’t her usual citrusy scent, but tempting nonetheless. He couldn’t put a name to the fragrance. Not flowery. Not powdery. He’d smelled them all in his years of dating. Scarlet’s was just arousing.
She smiled. He guessed it was a good thing, noticing a detail like that.
He rested his fingertips lightly against her lower back as they left her apartment. It was going to drive him crazy not being able to touch her more than that all night. But he planned to kiss her good-night at her door later, a decent kiss, not a polite, end-of-evening peck. He didn’t care if it messed up the Woo U curriculum at that point.
While in the car, they didn’t speak beyond routine chitchat about the traffic and weather. The awkwardness of knowing what they did about each other, and pretending not to, tied his tongue. Hers, too, he guessed.
He pulled into his underground parking garage, a luxury he paid a huge premium for.
“This is your apartment building,” she said, sitting up straighter.
“Yes. I hope you like paella.”
After a long, uncomfortable pause she gave him a tentative smile. “It’s one of my favorites.”
They rode the elevator in a silence that wasn’t completely awkward, but unusual for them. He opened his apartment door and took in the scene, trying to see it through her eyes—the table set for a romantic dinner for two. The fireplace ready to light. Candles waiting to be lit. The scent of paella lingering, being kept warm in the kitchen.
“What a wonderful view,” she said as if seeing it for the first time. She moved to the window.
It gave him time to turn on the stereo, set to play a classical guitar CD to match the dinner theme. He lit the candles, then the fire. He went into the kitchen to pour them some wine. By the time he returned she’d moved to the fireplace.
“Thank you,” she said, accepting a glass.
He touched the rim of his glass to hers. “To the lady in blue. Welcome to my home.”
She didn’t make eye contact as she sipped. What was going on? Something was obviously wrong, but what?
“Have a seat.” He indicated the couch facing the fire. “How was your day?” he asked when they were settled.
“Busy. I walked to the office so I could use the gym. Talked to Fin and my grandfather there for a little while. Went shopping. How about you?”
He’d spent the entire day getting ready for this date, worrying about things he’d never worried about before. “I spent the day awaiting the night.”
Everything about her relaxed—her expression, her shoulders, her spine. Had she just been nervous? She couldn’t possibly be more nervous than he.
Still the evening dragged. Where was the vibrant Scarlet he knew? Oh, she smiled, even laughed, and touched his hand across the dinner table with her fingertips, but their conversation was less than dazzling. He plied her with work anecdotes and celebrity stories, but she kept her distance. He told her that the vase of eleven roses on the table was for her, to add to the one he’d given her earlier. She thanked him sweetly.
He
