ringing her bell immediately. Maybe he should’ve worn a suit, shown her—and himself—that he meant business. Instead he’d pulled on a sweater, khakis and loafers, as casual as he owned. At the last minute he’d slapped on some aftershave, something with a citrus base that reminded him of Scarlet’s perfume, which had lingered on his skin for days, it seemed, showers not ridding his memory of the fragrance. He’d gotten hard every night in bed just thinking about it, about her, about the way she’d admired and touched him, about the way she kissed, and moved, and—
Hell, things were stirring now.
He rang the bell, needing to get the conversation over with so that he could move on with his life. After a few seconds, a shadow darkened the peephole, then came a few long, dragged-out seconds of anticipation. Maybe she wouldn’t even open the door, or acknowledge she was home ….
The doorknob turned; the door opened slowly.
The living room lights were off. Behind her the open door to her bedroom spilled enough light to cast her in silhouette. He saw only her outline, her hair around her shoulders, a floor-length robe. Her perfume reached his nose, drifted through him, arousing him the rest of the way.
“John?”
How he’d ever confused her voice with her sister’s the other time was beyond him. Scarlet’s was silky, sultry … sexy.
“Are you alone, Scarlet?”
“Yes.” She gestured toward the living room. “Come in.”
He looked around, as if seeing it for the first time. He’d been there often with Summer, yet everything seemed different. He saw Scarlet’s modern influence now instead of Summer’s more homey leanings, the eclectic mix of antiques and minimalist furnishings effective and dramatic.
“Have a seat,” she said, indicating the couch in front of the picture window overlooking the street. She pulled her robe around her a little more, tightened the sash, switched on a lamp, then sat at the opposite end of the couch.
Her breasts were unrestrained; her nipples jutted against the fabric. He could hardly keep his eyes off her. He knew she was waiting for him to start the conversation, to let her know why he’d come. He wasn’t sure of his reasons anymore.
“How have you been?” he asked finally, starting slowly, gauging her reaction to him being there without an invitation.
“Fine. And you?”
“Okay.” Inane. Say something important, something honest.
She smoothed the fabric along her thighs. He wanted to do that, too, then lay his head in her lap.
“Where did you go?” she asked.
“L.A. My partners and I are expanding the markets for some new clients, growing the firm. It seemed like a good time to go.”
“So your decision was because of business, not because of—”
She didn’t finish the sentence. Would she have said “Summer” or herself?
She angled toward him a little, which created a gap in the robe, allowing him a glimpse of the upper swell of her lush breast. He really needed to stop fixating on her body.
“Business,” he said. Which was not entirely true. He’d manufactured some business that needed one of the partners’ attention, then had volunteered to go. His ad agency was already hugely successful, but there was always room to expand.
“I see.”
A long silence followed.
“Why are you here, John?”
He finally remembered the reason. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay with … what happened. I don’t want things to be awkward between us, since we’re bound to run into each other now and then.”
“I think picturing you naked will remove any sense of awkwardness for me.”
Her eyes took on some sparkle. He was glad to see it.
“It’s vivid for me, too,” he said.
“It was good, John, but emotionally charged. We need to remember that. Make it real, instead of …”
“Surreal.”
“Exactly. A fantasy, nothing more.”
“And a one-time thing.” He added the tiniest inflection at the end, turning the phrase into a question if she chose to hear it that way.
“Absolutely.” Definite. Certain. No question.
He looked away. He had his answer. “Okay. I’m glad we cleared that up.”
“Me, too.”
He shifted a little. “I didn’t use protection.”
“We both got carried away. But there’s no problem.”
“Good. Great.” He stood. “I’ll go, then.”
He heard her follow him. The air seemed thick. Breathing took effort. He turned when he reached the door, wishing he could read her mind.
“Is there something else you want?” she asked, reaching toward him then pulling back.
“You,” he answered, catching her hand, tugging her toward him. “I want you.”
“John ….” There was hunger in her voice, need in her eyes.
Then they were in each other’s arms, kissing, moaning, hands wandering, bodies pressing. She tipped her head back as he dragged his mouth down her neck, her robe separating, revealing her naked body, warm and dewy, as if she’d just stepped out of the bath.
“You’re all I’ve thought about,” he said just before drawing a nipple into his mouth, cupping the most feminine part of her with his hand. “You. This.”
“Me, too.” Her voice was deep, breathy. “Come with me.”
He went willingly into her bedroom. Lights were on full. Sketches were everywhere—tacked on corkboard on the wall, scattered over the floor, even on the bed, an unmade jumble of linens. She swept the papers away.
They drifted to the floor, as did her pale blue robe, pooling around her feet, making her look like a goddess rising from the sea.
He jerked his sweater over his head, got rid of his shoes and socks. He touched his belt. She brushed his hands away and undid it, all the while looking at his face. Her color was high, her cheekbones sharp, her eyes a deeper green. Her lips were swollen from kissing, and parted slightly. He felt his slacks drop to the floor and kicked them away. Then she hooked his briefs and tugged. As she knelt to remove them, her hair brushed his abdomen, then his thighs, his shins.
He dug his fingers into her scalp, pulled her hair into his fists, squeezed his eyes shut. A month of fantasies became reality. Hell, not just a month, a lifetime, but a month of specific fantasies about one particular woman.
When
