other way is there?”
He didn’t answer. The hand that had been roaming over her body stilled. “Do you really want to spend our time analyzing this?” he asked, pulling away, locking gazes.
No. It was a time to enjoy him, to make memories. He would change her life—she knew that without a doubt—but her obsession could finally end and she could move on, once and for all. Her relationship with her sister would never have to be tested, nor would Scarlet give the publicity hounds something to sniff out. If Summer could change, so could she.
“No,” she said, looping her arms around his shoulders and pulling him down to kiss him. “No analysis necessary. Although I do plan to study your moves.”
“As a mentor?”
She smiled slowly. “As a woman.”
“Nothing like putting on the pressure.”
His words may have indicated a lack of self-confidence but his actions didn’t. He knew exactly what to touch, and how, and when. She couldn’t remember being aroused so skillfully. But was that all there was—skill? Was his heart engaged even the slightest?
He cupped her face. She opened her eyes, sensing a question coming.
“You don’t seem to be in the moment,” he said.
“I am completely in the moment,” she replied honestly, although his interpretation was probably different from her own. All her desires, all her fears raced through her mind. She wanted to ignore them. They refused to go away.
His silence lasted several long seconds. He started to pull away. She wrapped him close, drew him down … and gave him no more reason to wonder.
Four
John picked up his office telephone the next day, started to punch in a number, then stopped. His first homework assignment was to ask Scarlet for a date in the way he usually asked a woman out. He had to think about it. When he was seeing Summer they’d talked every day and decided together what they would do. He’d never wooed her, since they’d just sort of fallen into the relationship gradually. It had been a long time since he’d asked out a woman.
He ran a hand down his face, then dialed Scarlet’s work number, feeling like a novice at this dating game instead of a twenty-nine-year-old veteran.
“Scarlet Elliott,” she answered, all businesslike.
Which turned him on. He pictured her as she was last night, leaning against her headboard, her hair tangled, face flushed, the sheet tucked over her chest but drifting bit by bit while they talked, until he’d tugged it away and gathered her close.
“Hel-lo?” she singsonged.
He ignored his body’s stirrings. “Good morning.”
A pause, then, “Who’s calling?”
“The man who heated up your sheets last night.”
“Stop that,” she said in almost a whisper. “You’re supposed to have just met me and are asking for a date.”
Role-playing? He considered that for a moment. It might be fun—for a day or so. “Not my fault. My mentor didn’t give me a syllabus for my first Woo U class.”
He heard her laugh briefly.
“Start over.” She hung up before he had a chance to say a word.
John sat back in surprise then began to laugh. He redialed.
“Scarlet Elliott.”
“Good morning, Ms. Elliott. This is John Harlan of Suskind, Engle and Harlan. We met at the Charisma open house over the holidays.”
She sighed. “If you have to add the name of your firm, you didn’t make much of an impression in the first place. Start over.” She hung up.
He was tempted not to call her back, but after a minute, he did.
“Scarlet Elliott.”
“Good morning, Ms. Elliott. This is John Harlan. We met at the Charisma open house over the holidays.”
“I remember. You defended the existence of Santa Claus quite well.”
He smiled. “Someone told me your name was Virginia.”
“Friend or foe?” she asked.
“Someone who wanted me to embarrass myself, apparently, by calling you by the wrong name.”
“You didn’t. Embarrass yourself.”
Was there double meaning in her remark? “That’s good to hear.” He was aware she wasn’t calling him by name, probably so that no one could overhear her. “I’d like to get to know you better. I was wondering if you would have dinner with me.”
“When?”
“Saturday night.” This was too easy. How long could he draw out the lessons? He’d have to play dumb just to drag it out.
A long pause ensued. “This is Friday,” she said coolly.
“Would you rather go out tonight?”
Dead silence.
He brushed a speck of dust from his slacks. Something told him he’d just messed up his first assignment, big-time. “Scarlet?”
“You don’t think it’s a little insulting to ask me out the day before? You don’t think I would have other plans already?”
“We only started this class today,” he countered. “If we’d started on Monday, I would’ve asked you then.” Although he’d would’ve asked her for Tuesday, but he wasn’t about to tell her that. “Do you have plans for Saturday night?”
“Yes, I do.”
He wasn’t sure what to say. Should he ask her for the following Saturday?
“Start over,” she said, then hung up.
He decided to make her wait. When he finally redialed fifteen minutes later, he got her voice mail.
“Ms. Elliott,” he said, starting from the beginning. “This is John Harlan. We met at the Charisma open house over the holidays. I was wondering if you’d like to have dinner with me a week from Saturday. Here’s my private line.” He recited his phone number. “I look forward to hearing from you.”
He’d barely hung up when his private line rang.
“It’s a good thing I came into your life,” Scarlet said. “Has that method worked in the past?” She said method as if it were something that stank.
“What method?”
“Leave a message for a woman asking her on a first date?”
She
