had she done?
She’d only come to tell him she thought Summer had made a huge mistake in ending their engagement. Then somehow they were kissing. Scarlet had told him the truth. She’d never expected to kiss him—ever—much less make love with him. She may have cultivated a reputation for outrageousness in the past, but this was over the top, even for her.
The problem was, Scarlet had been in love with John forever, feelings she’d had to keep to herself when she realized he and Summer had discovered an affinity for each other—then they’d realized they were in love just about the time when Scarlet was going to tell Summer how she felt about John herself.
Scarlet had envied the way John had treated Summer, the way he looked into her eyes when she talked, the way he touched her whenever he was near, a sweep of a hand down her back or the surprisingly sexy brush of her curls with his fingers. But it was his consideration of Summer that had made Scarlet the most envious—how much time he spent with her. How they never seemed to run out of things to say, their discussions deep and long. How he always called to say good-night and good-morning.
Scarlet had never had a man treat her like that.
Well, consider the source.
She closed her eyes for a moment, not wanting to dwell on her own shortcomings.
She’d ignored those tender feelings she’d had for John for a long time, had avoided ever having a private discussion with him, fearing he might see how she felt. She’d thought she had those feelings well under control, had made herself stop thinking about him in a romantic light when her sister had gotten serious with him, but seeing him tonight, seeing his pain, had made her realize she hadn’t stopped caring, that she’d only shoved everything aside because of Summer.
And now Scarlet needed to kill those feelings once and for all. She and John couldn’t have a relationship. Propriety would be reason enough, never mind that he wouldn’t want to have anything to do with her beyond this night, since it would keep him in proximity with Summer, as well. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Over and done. Relegated to the memory book.
She brushed her hands down her dress then opened the bathroom door. He was still lying in bed, his hands tucked under his head, the sheet pulled up to his waist.
She hunted down her shoes, put them on, wobbling some because she was shaking.
He threw back the covers, climbed out of bed and set his hands on her shoulders. “Take it easy, okay? Nothing—”
“You could at least cover up,” she said, wincing at her snippy tone.
After a moment he grinned, revealing heart-tugging dimples. She stopped a sigh from escaping. He was one fine-looking man, with those intense dark brown eyes and sandy brown hair. Who would’ve guessed that hidden under his boring business suits was such a remarkable body, strong, muscular and toned. Tempting.
“You’re leaving, I guess,” he said.
“Of course I’m leaving. Do you think I’m an idiot?” She closed her eyes. “Scratch that question.” Her behavior already gave her idiocy away.
He looked at her curiously, then grabbed his briefs and donned them. “Why did this happen, Scarlet?”
She searched for a reason he would believe. The only thing that came to mind was what Summer had confided earlier that day when she’d told Scarlet that she was ending her engagement with John—that even though she’d loved him, there had been a complete lack of chemistry between them. For months she’d thought she was just sublimating her passion, so that she could avoid sleeping with him until their wedding night. One hour with rock star Zeke Woodlow had changed all that.
But Scarlet couldn’t believe that Summer had been talking about the same man who’d just made love to her. Lack of chemistry? Not a chance. The man Scarlet had just made love to took passion to a whole new level.
“Cat got your tongue?” John asked.
All she could do was give him a weak smile.
“Why did this happen?” he repeated.
“Because we got carried away?”
“I know why I would, but why would you?”
She couldn’t tell him she loved him, so what could she say? After a few seconds, she felt him touch her cheek. The tenderness of the gesture almost made her throw herself into his arms.
“I figure you know I never slept with your sister.”
She nodded. “She was wrong, though. You are a passionate man.”
His mouth quirked. “Maybe it’s just you. Maybe you brought that out in me.” He brushed her hair behind an ear, then rubbed her earlobe. “How about helping me hone my skills? I never want to disappoint another woman.”
“This is no time to joke. You don’t need lessons, and we have no future together. What happened shouldn’t have happened, and I’m sorry.”
He narrowed his gaze. “Sorry? For what?”
“I know you must be hurt and angry, and you probably even want revenge, but please, please, don’t tell anyone what happened,” she said, then walked away before he could say or do anything to stop her. She was confused, not sure why she had done what she’d done, or what she could do about it now. She needed to get away and think. She grabbed her purse off the living-room floor and raced out the door, then hurried down a flight of stairs just to get away fast. She picked up the elevator on the next floor.
The doorman called good-night as she left the building. She stepped into the cold, damp evening and realized she’d forgotten her coat. She couldn’t go back for it.
She couldn’t go home, either, to her grandparents’ town house where she and Summer shared the top floor. Summer probably wasn’t even home, might even be with Zeke, but Scarlet didn’t want to take the chance. She would get a hotel room for the night, order a bottle of wine, take a hot bath and figure out where she’d gone wrong.
Except that it hadn’t felt wrong—not when she was in John’s arms. It had felt so … right. He wasn’t her sister’s fiancé anymore. She hadn’t violated any codes of ethics, sibling or otherwise. She and Summer had made a pact when they were eight years old that they would never pretend to be the other, and while she’d gone to John’s apartment as herself, she knew fairly soon that he’d thought she was her sister and she hadn’t corrected his mistake until it was almost past the point of no return. If he hadn’t realized it on his own, she would’ve told him, though—wouldn’t she?
Yes, of course. Probably.
So … a bath, some wine and some reflection. She would put John Harlan out of her mind once and for all.
And by morning she would be fine.
Just fine.
Two
Early April
Scarlet glared at her watch. A quarter past noon. She checked her cell phone, making sure it was turned on. It was. No missed calls. No voice-mail messages. Irritation whipped through her. It was unlike Summer to keep her waiting,
