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She laughed. Who would’ve thought the man could be so playful? “You’re not what I expected.”
“In what way?”
“In every way. You always seem so serious.”
“You’d never seen me naked.”
She smiled. “I guess it does make a difference.”
He nuzzled her neck. “You’re not what you seemed, either.”
Her body tingled from the feel of his warm breath against her skin. “How?”
“Less bold.”
“I thought I’d been plenty bold.”
“Sexually, you have been.”
“What 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 sounded either shocked or disgusted.
“I asked for more than a week from now.”
“You asked her answering machine.”
He massaged the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. “Which is apparently the wrong thing to do. I’ll start over,” he said, hanging up before she could. Normally he would’ve been frustrated by that kind of game by now, but he found it stimulating. She challenged him. The trick would be to challenge her in return.
He lifted the receiver, then hesitated. She would be expecting him to call back.
“Not this time, Ms. Elliott,” he said as he flipped through his Rolodex. He wanted an A on his first homework assignment.
She’d gotten him thinking outside his normal box. He wanted her to see what he’d already learned.
* * *
“Somebody likes you,” a woman said as she rounded Scarlet’s cubicle.
She smelled the flowers before she even looked up from her computer and spotted the bouquet, not something neat and tidy like a dozen roses, but an exotic bundle of baby orchids in a variety of deep colors. Her heart did a little dance at the sight. She hadn’t been sent flowers in a long, long time. Even so, she resisted the temptation to bury her face in the blossoms as the vase was set down in front of her by Jessie Clayton, the vivacious twenty-three-year-old intern assigned to work with her.
“Shall I read the card?” Jessie asked, green eyes sparkling behind trendy glasses as she snagged the tiny envelope and held it over Scarlet’s head.
“I write your performance reviews.”
Jessie laughed and handed Scarlet the card. “I don’t suppose you’re going to read it out loud.”
“Good guess.”
Alone, Scarlet held the envelope to her lips for several seconds before opening it. Inside was a phone number. No flowery sentiment. No invitation to dinner. Just a phone number.
She smiled, slowly. Score one for John.
She picked up the phone and dialed.
“John Harlan.”
She heard expectation in his voice, maybe because he was trying to cover it. “Nice move.”
“Who’s calling?”
She grinned. “Let me start over.” She hung up and redialed. After he answered, she said, “The flowers are exquisite. Thank you.”
“So you remember me?”
She slipped into the role. “Of course. We met at the Charisma open house over the holidays.”
“You were wearing a green dress the color of your eyes,” he said.
Her breath caught, even though they were talking about an imaginary occasion. He made it sound real, as if he’d seen and admired her in that dress. “You were wearing a suit and tie,” she countered.
“Lucky guess. I hope you’re wondering why I sent the flowers.”
“I’m curious, yes.”
“I’d like to get to know you. Would you have dinner with me? Maybe a week from Saturday?”
“I’d love to.”
“May I pick you up, say, at eight o’clock?”
“That would be perfect.”
“I’ll call you during the week to reconfirm.”
“Okay.”
He said goodbye and hung up, and she was left wondering if he meant they wouldn’t talk to each other or see each other until he picked her up. Was that how far the role-playing would go? Or would they have a separate life, continuing what they’d started?
For now she would let him lead the relationship. She would go to The Tides for the weekend to visit Gram and Granddad, as planned; attend the Spring Fling at the country club; and make herself unavailable to John, letting absence do its work.
