U. He wanted Scarlet back.
He heard a slight noise and turned. Scarlet stood a few feet from him—and it was definitely Scarlet. There was fire in her eyes, a flush of color in her face. She’d taken down her hair. She looked like every fantasy he’d ever had of her.
He started to pass her a snifter of brandy, but she held up a hand.
“I’m sorry, but this just isn’t working, John.”
Nine
Scarlet saw him retreat, his expression distant and self-protective. She hurried to assure him.
“No. Wait.” She blew out a breath. “I shouldn’t have said it that way. I meant that this … dating thing isn’t working for me.”
She’d tried all evening to just be his date, but she knew too much about him, wanted him too much. Loved him. And what was she doing, turning him into a better date for other women, anyway? How ridiculous was that? He set the glasses on the table and took her hands. “Why didn’t you say so earlier? I thought I’d really screwed something up.”
“Well, actually, you had, but that wasn’t the problem.” His brows drew together. “What’d I do wrong?” “You brought me to your apartment on a first date.”
“Where was I supposed to take you? We can’t be seen in public.”
“You could’ve gotten creative. You could’ve thought of someplace to go, something to do where no one would know us. We’re not that recognizable.”
“You’re right,” he said after a moment. “Bringing you here, especially when we already had memories here …”
“Exactly.” She laid her hand against his chest and looked into his eyes. “But that’s minor. Truly. Let’s be honest. The real issue is that we both know that Woo U was only a ploy to keep us in proximity, an excuse and nothing more so that we could …”
“Sleep together.”
She nodded. “We only have two more weeks until … Until. I don’t want to waste that time going on ‘dates.’”
He scooped her into his arms. She knew where his bedroom was, knew he was headed there. She kicked off her shoes along the way. He said nothing. Maybe he couldn’t. She wasn’t sure she could, either, she wanted him so much.
It had been nine days since they’d slept together. During that time they’d aroused each other to fever pitch twice—last night and at the country club the week before. This wasn’t going to be slow or tender, and she didn’t care. Except that sometime she wanted slow and tender.
He didn’t wait for her to undress, didn’t undress himself. In the bathroom she’d taken off her underwear. When he discovered that, he shoved his pants and briefs out of the way, and drove into her, filling her so suddenly and completely that she cried out.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t—”
“It’s fine. It’s good,” she interrupted in a rush. “I was more than ready. You feel wonderful. Incredible.” She arched toward him as he moved, finding a strong, hard rhythm. Demand became need. Need didn’t want to wait another second. Was that her making that noise? His mouth covered hers, open, wet. He changed the angle of the kiss, groaned into her mouth. She grabbed his hair as the climax hit her, no gentle buildup but a thunderous explosion, matched by him in sound and intensity. Life stood still. Life went on. Life suddenly had direction.
The two other times they’d been together were good. This was phenomenal.
This would never be matched by anyone, anywhere, anytime. She wasn’t given to exaggeration, so she believed her own prophecy.
She wrapped her arms around him as he sprawled over her, taking off some of his weight with his elbows, but mostly lying on her like a warm, heavy quilt.
“That was quick,” he said, his mouth near her ear.
“And good.”
“And good,” he agreed, rolling to his side, keeping her in his arms.
She snuggled close, savored the way he stroked her hair. The pent-up tension dissipated. He felt like home.
“Hungry?” he asked.
“Not yet.”
“Want to sleep?”
“Hmm.” She burrowed closer.
“Let’s get undressed first.”
She left her eyes closed as he unbuttoned her dress and slipped it off her. She didn’t even have the energy to watch him undress. He pulled a quilt over them, wrapped her in his arms, ran his hands up and down her back, then over her rear, along her thighs. When he gently stroked her breasts, she wriggled.
“Relax,” he whispered as her nipples puckered. “I just want to touch you. Go to sleep.”
She laughed drowsily. “Sure.”
He propped himself on an elbow, continuing his exploration. She opened her eyes.
“Spend the night, Scarlet.”
“Okay.”
His hand stilled for a moment, then journeyed on. A while later, his generosity accepted and enjoyed, she fell asleep in his arms.
He could get used to this, John decided, sitting next to Scarlet. They’d dozed for half an hour, showered together, then decided to have ice cream by candlelight in the kitchen. She was dressed in his robe. He’d pulled on boxers and a T-shirt.
“I would’ve guessed you didn’t even own a T-shirt,” she said, spoon in hand. Candlelight flickered across her face. “You look younger.”
“Since when is twenty-nine old?” “Since you dress like you’re fifty.” “I do?” He set down his bowl. “In what way?” “Your suits are boring. And your shirts. And your ties.” He felt too relaxed to take offense. “I think anything compared to your clothing probably seems boring.” “It’s an observation, not a comparison.” “I’ve never felt a need to keep up with the trends.” “You should. You’re supposed to be selling cutting edge, whether it’s products or people. You should look like it.”
He’d never considered that. “What should I do?”
Even though she didn’t rub her hands together, it seemed like she did. “Let me help you choose some new things.”
“Put myself in your hands?” The image that came to mind had nothing to do with clothes, but rather the lack of them.
She set down her bowl carefully then moved over to straddle his lap. He was learning just how complicated she was. He’d always expected her to be a sensual, sexual woman, although he’d based that opinion on her reputation more than anything tangible. But he saw shyness at times, too, which surprised him.
This wasn’t one of those moments. When it came to sex, she was bold and demanding, but not domineering. A partner in every sense.
