The Elliotts: Secret Affairs: The Forbidden Twin

When was the last time she’d been on a date? Gone out to dinner with someone other than Summer or a girlfriend? Sometime during the past year she’d given up trying to irritate her grandfather by dating men he wouldn’t approve of. She’d been asked out during that time, but had made excuses not to go.

Looking back, she realized she’d stopped dating when John and Summer had started getting serious, and Scarlet had begun falling in love with John. She’d spent a lot of time at home, sewing. Summer had been worried about her, had often invited her to come along with her and John. Scarlet had made so many excuses she’d run out of creative ideas.

The irony, of course, was that her grandfather would approve of John—if he hadn’t once been engaged to Summer. Patrick wouldn’t tolerate scandal. He’d even forced Aunt Finny at age fifteen to give up her baby born out of wedlock, in order to save public face. Scarlet figured Fin was fighting so hard to win Patrick’s corporate game because she’d harbored so much resentment for him these twenty-plus years since having her baby taken away.

Scarlet didn’t want to become like Fin. She wanted to make peace with Patrick. But there was no way she could make peace by pursuing John for anything beyond this month of stolen nights. People would talk too much, especially this soon after the breakup.

She wished she were brave enough to end the relationship now, but she wasn’t. Only a couple more weeks, then the choice would be taken from her.

The phone rang, slicing into her thoughts, for which she was grateful.

“What do you think about using Une Nuit as a locale for a shoot?” John asked without saying hello. “Models seated at a table, looking at a menu, the name of the restaurant right there for the world to see.”

“I think it could be considered a conflict of interest, since my cousin Bryan owns the place. Is he a client of yours now?”

“Brand-new.”

“I thought Bryan liked to fly low under the radar. And last I heard he had reservations booked until the twelfth of never.”

“I can’t tell you what his plans are.”

“Can’t or don’t know?”

“Take your pick.”

She smiled. She liked a man who could keep confidences. “So, you’re spending the evening working?”

“It was that or stand in a cold shower all night.”

She burrowed into the sofa cushions, tucking the phone closer. “Were you serious in your note about having something to teach me?”

“That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

How in the world had Summer given up this man? Scarlet wondered for the thousandth time. He was quick-witted, funny, smart and sexy. What more could a woman want?

“Want to reschedule tonight’s plan for Friday?” he asked.

“Can’t. I have a meet and greet at Michael Thor’s new studio,” Scarlet said.

“It can’t last all night.”

“I promised Jessie I’d take her by Une Nuit afterward. I’m really sorry.”

A beat passed. “So, that leaves us back at our Saturday night Woo U date,” he said.

“Good thing you asked early,” she said pertly, glad when he laughed. “John?”

“What?”

“I’ve been thinking.” She waited for him to come back with some clever insult, but there was only silence. Maybe he heard the tension in her voice. “I’m not sure we should be doing more than just the Woo U stuff.”

“Meaning?”

“We were lucky my grandparents didn’t catch us tonight. Maybe that’s a sign we shouldn’t spend all that much time together.”

“You believe in signs? Omens? Fate?” he asked.

“When it’s convenient … or logical.”

“Before we make such a big decision, why don’t we sleep on it? We’ll talk about it on Saturday. After the date ends.”

Because she wanted to avoid the discussion herself, she said, “Works for me. Good night, John.”

“Sweet dreams, Scarlet.”

The way he said the words turned her to mush. She knew he had to be disappointed in her decision, yet he’d said his own good-night with tenderness in his voice, not impatience or irritation. Personally, she would’ve been irritated if he’d come to the same determination that she had.

She liked that she kept learning something new about him.

After a minute she glanced at the clock. She could change her mind right now—grab a cab and surprise him. He was at home and alone. He would satisfy her deprived needs ….

Instead she took a warm bath and went to bed, in search of those elusive sweet dreams.

John printed the results of his evening at the computer, stacked the papers and put them in his briefcase. He started to pour himself a Glenfiddich, hesitated then went ahead and splashed some in a glass. The smooth, pricey scotch could’ve easily reminded him of the day Summer broke their engagement, but instead he chose to associate it with his first night with Scarlet.

He carried the glass with him to look out his window. It had started to rain sometime in the past hour. He turned off all the lights and stood, sipping and watching and remembering. The way she’d watched him undress. Her red bra and thong. The incredible sounds she made, flattering and arousing. Then the way she rushed away, leaving her coat behind. He’d sat on his bed, holding it to his nose, breathing in her scent for a long time after she was gone.

He hadn’t expected to ever see her again, at least not like that. He’d been wrong.

And somehow he’d gotten himself into a position where they would spend hours together on Saturday without hope of ending up in bed. Maybe never sleep together again.

He really wondered whether he’d fried a whole lot of brain cells since he’d first slept with her. He knew he was infatuated, because she was rarely out of his mind. Even now he’d gone hard just thinking about her, a condition he hadn’t experienced with this much uncontrolled regularity since he was a teenager.

It couldn’t be more than lust. He refused to have his heart broken by another Elliott woman. Or even have his life turned upside down.

But he wanted her ….

To hell with it. He set his empty glass on the bar, grabbed his coat and keys and went out the door. He could sneak out of her house long before anyone was up to see him, convince her not to give up the sexual relationship.

But when the elevator doors opened he stared at the empty car until the doors closed. He returned to his apartment. His huge, quiet apartment. And went to bed alone.

Seven

Une Nuit buzzed no matter what night of the week, but this was Friday, and the crowd was different on Friday. Younger, even hipper, if that was possible. A visual sea of beautiful people dressed in New York’s color of choice—black—enjoying the daring French/Asian fusion cuisine that was always being written up in the media, thus keeping the very trendy restaurant the place tobe.

With Jessie in tow, Scarlet wove through the bar crowd at the front of the restaurant, looking for her cousin Bryan. While he might join them at dinner briefly, he generally wandered around the rest of the time, a hands-on owner.

She’d almost reached the maître d’s podium when she came across Stash Martin, a wickedly handsome Frenchman in his early thirties. As manager of Une Nuit, he was as much a fixture as Bryan.

“Scarlet, welcome,” he said. They exchanged kisses on both cheeks.

“Crazy,” she said, grinning, looking around.

“But quite typical. If you are looking for Bryan, he is not here. He is out of town. Again.”

“Where does he go?” she asked rhetorically then introduced Stash to Jessie, who was wide-eyed at the scene. Bryan had always been an adventurer, even as he seemed to love his restaurant. He came and went a lot, but his business thrived because he had a staff he could count on.

“You would like a table, eh?” Stash asked.

“Any family members here?”

“Not a one. The Elliott table is free.”

“What do you think?” Scarlet asked Jessie. “Table or the bar? How hungry are you?”

“Not very. The bar is fine.”

“Wait here a moment,” Stash said, then he approached the maître d’.

Scarlet had talked Jessie into borrowing an outfit from the closet of designer clothing at the magazine, but she hadn’t been able to talk Jessie into letting her hair loose from the braid she always wore. The black leather pants and turtleneck did give her a different look, a fashionable one. Even Scarlet, usually a standout because of the colorful outfits she often wore, was wearing black—a miniskirt, boots and belted leather jacket. Her hair was pulled up into an untidy knot. She considered the look as just another aspect of her personality.

Stash returned then pointed to a couple sitting at the very center of the long, black lacquered bar. “Stand behind them. They’ll be called in to dinner as soon as you make your way over there.”

Scarlet flashed him a smile. “You’re the best.”

He lifted Scarlet’s hand to kiss, and she fluttered her lashes playfully.

“When are you going to sleep with me and get me out of your system, ma chérie?” he asked, as he always did.

“Soon,” she answered, as she always did.

A few minutes later she and Jessie were seated at the bar, waiting for their drinks.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Jessie said in awe. “It’s like a movie. Red and black and sexy. And I love the copper-topped tables.”

“Maybe we’ll order something to eat later, so that you can taste how incredible their food is.” She smiled at the bartender when he placed an apple martini in front of her, then lifted her glass to Jessie. “To adventures in the big city.”

“I wish I could afford more of them. Someday. When I have a paying job. Every penny of my savings is budgeted. Thanks so much for this treat.”

“Keep performing well at Charisma, and you could be offered a paying job at the end of your internship.” She sipped her drink then looked around, making eye contact with a man at the end of the bar, who toasted her. She smiled but looked away, then realized she shouldn’t put up roadblocks, since Jessie might be interested. She decided to give him another chance, but Jessie’s words stopped her.

“There’s that man from the ad agency, John Harlan.”

Surprise pelted Scarlet from all sides. “Where?”

“At a table behind you, in the corner.”

She wasn’t sure she wanted to turn around. If he was with a woman, she didn’t want to know.

“He’s looking right at you. I think he knows I’m telling you he’s there,” Jessie said in an emphatic whisper.

“Hmm.” She took a long sip of her drink. He was courteous and would probably approach them at some point, especially since he and Jessie had taken note of each other. Scarlet would wait for him to initiate contact. Until then she could ignore the possibilities of whom he was with.

Maybe that blonde from the country club dance. She never had asked who that was.

“Is it true he was engaged to your sister?” Jessie asked.

Scarlet sighed. “They were engaged on Valentine’s Day, but Summer called it off a couple of weeks later, just about the time you were hired.”

“It must be weird for him, seeing you. Working with you, her identical twin.”

Tell me about it. She’d wondered at the beginning if she was only a substitute for her sister, a way to get Summer out of his mind, but she didn’t think that was true now. They had their own relationship. And while it was fun at times, she was always aware of the impending and necessary conclusion. They couldn’t even just date and see where things might go. Even if Summer—and their grandfather—could somehow accept it, because of Scarlet’s reputation, many people might assume that Scarlet had interfered somehow, even before Zeke Woodlow had appeared on the scene. It wasn’t worth the grief.

Or was it?

The man from the end of the bar approached, saving Scarlet from coming up with an answer. Late twenties, Scarlet decided. A little taller than she, blond and blue-eyed. He didn’t look overly sophisticated or jaded, which meant he might work as a flirtation for the still-naive Jessie. Diverting her attention from watching John was a good idea.

“I’ll bet you’re sisters,” the man said.

Scarlet met Jessie’s gaze. She looked startled, but Scarlet smiled. “Coworkers,” she said.

“I’m Rich.”

“Money doesn’t matter to me,” Jessie said sincerely.

Scarlet grinned. “I think he means his name is Rich. That’s Jessie. I’m Scarlet.”

“I know who you are,” Rich said to Scarlet, his hand resting on the back of her bar stool, almost touching her. “I saw your picture in the newspaper with Zeke Woodlow.”

Scarlet angled closer to the bar. “That was an impersonator,” she said, trying to make light of it. It had actually been Summer, dressed in Scarlet’s clothes, made to look like a groupie. Scarlet held up her empty glass to the bartender.

“I’ll get that,” Rich said to the man.

“No, thank you.” She decided she didn’t want this guy around, after all. She caught Stash’s eye, then tipped her head slightly toward Rich. Stash headed her way.

“Mon petit choux,” he said, nudging Rich out of the way to kiss her, a little longer than was necessary for the ruse, Scarlet thought, wondering what John was thinking of the scene. “I apologize for keeping you waiting, ma chérie,” Stash continued, nuzzling her neck.

“Don’t do it again.” She leaned into him as he slipped an arm around her shoulders.

Rich was resourceful, however, and undeterred. He turned his attention on Jessie. “May I buy you a drink, um, Jenny?”

Jessie used her little straw to swirl her ice, then she slipped the straw in her mouth and pulled it out slowly, getting his attention. “You know, Rich, I believe my daddy would get a kick out of you.”

He looked ready to swagger. “He would?”

“In fact, he has a saying that would fit you to a T. He’d say, ‘That poor Rich. He’s got nothin’ under his hat but hair.’”

Scarlet had to set her drink down before the contents sloshed over the sides. Jessie’s handling of Rich showed she wasn’t quite as naive as she sometimes seemed.

“Bitch,” he said, low and furious. “You—”

Stash moved but was blocked by John, who snatched the glass out of Rich’s hand and thumped it on the bar next to Scarlet’s. “Time to find a new watering hole, partner,” John said, clamping a hand on his shoulder.

Rich glowered, but he left without comment, just a surly look.

“Are you okay?” John asked Jessie.

“I’m fine. Actually, it was kinda fun.” She grinned.

Scarlet waited for him to turn his attention on her, but he said good-night and left. She watched him walk out the door, cross in front of the window and disappear. Only then did she look toward the corner where he’d been seated. Three women sat there.

“He had been alone,” Stash whispered in her ear.

Scarlet tried to calm her nerves. She didn’t know what to think about John. Was he mad? Jealous of Stash? Hurt?

She decided to change her outward mood since even Stash had picked up on something he shouldn’t. “Thanks for the rescue. But, mon petit choux?”

“My little cabbage.” His eyes twinkled. Jessie laughed.

“I know what it means.”

“It is an endearment.” He lifted a loose strand of hair over her ear. “Perhaps you ladies have had enough excitement and would like to have dinner now. I have kept the table for you.”

Scarlet decided if she didn’t take some time to think about John and how to handle what had just happened, she would probably do the wrong thing—like go after him. “I’ve worked up an appetite. How about you?” she asked Jessie.

“I could use a big ol’ rib eye myself. There’s nothing like dispatching a preening bull to give me an appetite.”

Scarlet smiled. She was glad they’d gone out together. Glad she’d gotten to know Jessie better. “Would your father really have said something like that?”

“Oh, yeah. He’s full of ‘em.”

“What does he do?” Stash asked as they reached their table.

“He’s a cattle rancher.”

“Do you rope and ride?”

“About as easily as breathing,” she said.

His brows raised. “I have never before met a cowgirl.” He asked a passing server to bring two menus.

“I’m going to use the restroom first,” Jessie said to Scarlet then headed toward the back of the restaurant.

Scarlet hoped Stash wasn’t going to comment on John’s behavior, but she should’ve realized she wouldn’t be that lucky.

“So. Your sister’s fiancé.”

“Ex-fiancé.”

“And you.”

“No. Just in the same place at the same time.”

“T’es menteuse, toi.”

“I’m not a liar.” Technically, they weren’t together. They were just enjoying each other’s company briefly.

“He did not take his eyes off you from the moment he saw you.”

She wished she had a menu to hide behind. “I have no control over John’s actions.”

He only smiled. “Bryan would want me to tell you your meal is on the house.”

“He’s my favorite cousin,” Scarlet said sweetly.

Stash grinned and walked away.

Much later Scarlet and Jessie shared a cab home. Scarlet lived only a few blocks from Une Nuit and was dropped off first. Jessie continued on after thanking Scarlet profusely for the amazing night.

Scarlet headed up her stairs, questions running through her head. Should she call John? Was he angry? Was it better just to leave it alone for now?

She turned the landing of the third floor and spotted John leaning against the wall by her door. She slowed, studying his face, trying to guess his mood. She wanted to see him flash those dimples, but she didn’t think there was much chance of that. He looked … single-minded.

He didn’t move an inch when she approached. Her shoulder brushed his chest as she put her key in the lock. “What would you have done if I’d brought someone up with me?” she asked mildly, her heart pounding.

“Discouraged him from going inside.”

Scarlet opened the door and went in, leaving the door open but not inviting him. He came inside and shut the door.

She tossed her purse on an entry table then crossed her arms. “What do you want, John?”

“You know the answer to that.”

“Short of that, what else?” The game, the words, excited her. She sensed he knew it, too.

“You ignored me.”

“You ignored me, too,” she said. It had confused her, angered her, that he’d spoken to Jessie at the bar but not her.

“You were cozy with Stash. I didn’t want to interfere.”

“Stash and I flirt with each other. It’s nothing.”

“I’m not telling you what to do or not to do. We don’t have an exclusive relationship.”

That hurt. Even if it lasted only the month, she’d thought it was exclusive.

“Well, fine, then. Because I don’t explain myself to anyone.” She turned away, not having a clue what to do next, just that she couldn’t look at him.

“Look,” he said, coming closer, touching her shoulder.

She pulled away.

“This is not going the way I envisioned,” he said, frustration in his voice. “I just wanted to clear the air before tomorrow night. I don’t think I could have even a pretend date with you with tonight hanging over us.”

“What is ‘tonight’ to you? Why are you angry?”

“You think it was easy watching you flirt with that jerk at the bar, then again with Stash? And you knew I was there. I know Jessie told you. Were you trying to make me jealous?”

She spun around. “The jerk came up on his own,” she said, breaking her own rule about not explaining herself. “I sort of encouraged him because I thought he might work for Jessie. Then he showed his true, sleazy colors and I beckoned Stash to come over. I flirted with Stash so that there wouldn’t be a scene, but the jerk was also stupid and things got out of hand, anyway. Stash is a friend. That’s all.”

“You could’ve beckoned me,” John said quietly.

He was hurt? That was what his problem was? She closed her eyes for a moment. Since he was being honest with her, she could do the same. “I hadn’t turned around at the bar. I didn’t know if you were on a date. I didn’t want to know.”

“I would’ve come to your rescue regardless.”

“Your date would’ve been unhappy about that.”

He set his hands on her shoulders. “Why would I have taken a date to Une Nuit? You told me you were going to be there. Why would I do that to you?” He didn’t wait for answer. “What kind of man do you usually go out with that you would think me capable of such rudeness?”

“Obviously a different kind of man. I’m working on changing that, however.”

She saw him relax.

“I don’t intentionally hurt people, Scarlet. I am civilized.”

Maybe on the surface he was. He’d been raised well, raised to be civilized. But at moments like tonight and during their private tryst in the country club conference room, he wasn’t completely civilized. She liked that about him. She loved that about him. She’d fallen in love months ago with the kind man who’d been so good to Summer, but now she’d fallen deeply, hopelessly in love with this fascinating man who was more primal than she’d expected, more intriguing, more complex. She liked that he’d been waiting for her when she got home, wanting to clear the air, even if the answers to his questions weren’t what he wanted to hear. She liked that he faced things head-on.

She laid her hands on his chest and looked him in the eyes. Words didn’t come, however. After the longest thirty seconds of her life, he lifted his hands and pulled out her hair clip, letting her hair fall around her face, then combed it with his fingers. He cupped her head, moved toward her. She suddenly wished she’d kicked off her shoes so that she could rise up on tiptoe to meet him. The idea made her smile.

“What?” he asked.

“You make me feel so … female.”

One side of his mouth lifted. “Is that a good thing?”

“No one has made me feel like that before.”

“Again, is that a good thing?”

“Yes.”

“How have you felt before?”

“I don’t know. Equal. Or sometimes even dominant.” She didn’t want to tell him more, didn’t want to give him ammunition for teasing her. She just knew she felt different with him.

“You’ve been plenty dominant with me.” He was still holding her head, keeping her close. His breath dusted her face. His beautiful dark brown eyes were filled with tenderness and need.

She smiled wider. “Not in comparison.”

“Ah.” He brushed his lips over hers once, twice, once more. “You make me feel different, too.”

His mouth finally settled on hers, his tongue seeking hers. She wound her arms around him.

So much for resisting each other.

With a sigh she gave in to her needs, not attempting to stop the urgent sounds that rose from within her, which seemed to arouse him more. He pulled her close, slid a hand over her rear, tugging her against him, letting her feel his need. She moved her hips against him, and his kisses turned almost violent. He fisted her hair and tipped her head back, ran his tongue down her neck, his fingers frantically opening the belts and buckles on her jacket then shoving the jacket off her, hearing it land with a quiet thud. She was starved for him, had never wanted like this before, as if she could die if she didn’t have him inside her immediately.

He fumbled with her zipper, then her skirt joined her jacket, leaving her in a sheer black bra, thong and boots. Her nipples were so hard, they hurt.

He took a step back to unbutton his shirt, dragged the tails free.

“When I’m ninety I will remember this,” he said, low and harsh.

She hooked her hand in his waistband and brought him closer, wanting him, needing him. She knelt before him, pressed her mouth to his fly, his hard need flattering and exciting. She reached for his belt buckle—

The phone rang.

“The answering machine will get it,” she murmured, placing both hands on him, watching his head fall back as she traced the length and breadth of him through the fabric.