The Forbidden Twin(17)

She laughed drowsily. "Sure."

He propped himself on an elbow, continuing his exploration. She opened her eyes.

"Spend the night, Scarlet."

"Okay."

His hand stilled for a moment, then journeyed on. A while later, his  generosity accepted and enjoyed, she fell asleep in his arms.



He could get used to this, John decided, sitting next to Scarlet. They'd  dozed for half an hour, showered together, then decided to have ice  cream by candlelight in the kitchen. She was dressed in his robe. He'd  pulled on boxers and a T-shirt.

"I would've guessed you didn't even own a T-shirt," she said, spoon in  hand. Candlelight flickered across her face. "You look younger."

"Since when is twenty-nine old?"

"Since you dress like you're fifty."

"I do?" He set down his bowl. "In what way?"

"Your suits are boring. And your shirts. And your ties."

He felt too relaxed to take offense. "I think anything compared to your clothing probably seems boring."

"It's an observation, not a comparison."

"I've never felt a need to keep up with the trends."

"You should. You're supposed to be selling cutting edge, whether it's products or people. You should look like it."

He'd never considered that. "What should I do?"

Even though she didn't rub her hands together, it seemed like she did. "Let me help you choose some new things."

"Put myself in your hands?" The image that came to mind had nothing to do with clothes, but rather the lack of them.

She set down her bowl carefully then moved over to straddle his lap. He  was learning just how complicated she was. He'd always expected her to  be a sensual, sexual woman, although he'd based that opinion on her  reputation more than anything tangible. But he saw shyness at times,  too, which surprised him.

This wasn't one of those moments. When it came to sex, she was bold and  demanding, but not domineering. A partner in every sense.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked, planting little kisses all along his jaw. "You're so serious."

"Everything that should be at attention is at attention," he countered,  with a smile. He had no interest in starting a conversation at the  moment.

She dragged her fingers down his cheeks. "I don't get to see these dimples often enough."

"When a clock is ticking on a relationship, there's not much to laugh at." He surprised himself admitting such a thing out loud.

She kissed him, tenderly, chastely. "Let's go to bed."

They blew out the candles, set their bowls in the sink, turned out the  lights. In his bedroom they got naked, slipped under the covers and held  each other close.

"This is just about sex, John," she said finally. "We can't have more than that."

"I know."

After they made love, she fell asleep. He studied his ceiling for hours,  as if the answers to his problems might be written there.

All he saw was that it looked very much as if an Elliott woman would break his heart, after all.



In the morning, her head on a pillow next to John's, Scarlet watched him  sleep, his hair mussed, his beard shadowy. She'd slept until nine, not  waking once. She couldn't remember a night when she'd slept so well.

Her eyes stung. Anything in life she'd wanted badly enough, she'd  gotten, had worked hard enough to get. But no matter what she did in  this relationship, she couldn't win.

Betray. Her grandfather's word echoed in her mind.

She eased out of bed, donned John's robe and headed to the kitchen. She  hunted for coffee and filters, then fixed a whole pot, not knowing how  much he drank in the morning, or if he drank it at all.                       
       
           



       

At the front door she looked out the peephole to make sure the coast was  clear, then grabbed the Sunday Times from the hallway. She finished up  the dishes from the night before and checked out his refrigerator for  possible breakfast food, finding eggs, cheese and English muffins.

At about ten o'clock she heard water run in the bathroom. Curled up on  the sofa, she was enjoying her second cup of coffee and the Times travel  section. A few minutes later he emerged, unshaven but with his hair  combed. He'd put on the T-shirt and boxers from the night before. She'd  been afraid he would come out in khakis and a preppy sweater or  something, dressed for the day.

He stopped in the doorway. A slow smile came over him. "Good morning. How'd you sleep?"

"On my side, mostly."

His smile widened.

"I slept really well," she said, moving her legs so that he could sit beside her, facing her. "And you?"

She offered her mug. He took it, then leaned over and kissed her, deeper  than a peck but not an invitation to more. He sipped from the mug,  resting his hand on her thigh, rubbing it through the fabric.

"I slept great, thanks. So, what do you usually do on Sundays?"

"If I'm at The Tides I go to church with Gram and Granddad. If I'm in  town, I'm pretty lazy. Read the paper. Go for a walk. Have a late  breakfast somewhere. Do some sketching and sewing. How about you?" There  was so much she had yet to discover about him. She knew his body. She  knew his scent, his touch, his laugh. But nothing about his routines,  his likes and dislikes. His passions.

"I don't think any two Sundays are the same for me. I play racquetball  sometimes, or golf, depending on the season. Visit my parents sometimes.  Work at home or even in the office occasionally. Go for a drive. Would  you like to go for a drive?"

She wished she could say yes. "Probably not a good idea, John."

His hesitation was barely noticeable. "Right. Well, breakfast, then. I'm pretty sure I have the makings for omelets."

"Do you cook?"

"A little. You?"

"Salads and eggs. And I reheat brilliantly."

"Took a master course in that, did you?"

She recognized the conversation for what it was-avoidance. They were  painted into a corner. Don't get too close, learn too much, enjoy too  thoroughly. Sex and inane conversation were apparently all they could  have. They had to otherwise resist.

"Maybe I should shower," she said. "Then we can fix breakfast together. Then I'll go home."

We can't spend the whole day with each other. The words hung over them as if in neon lights.

"How about we shower together?" he asked, standing, holding out a hand.

Later, she argued against him driving her home. She could take a cab. He  didn't think she should be seen wearing what was obviously an evening  dress at noon. On the drive to her house he held her hand. She didn't  pull away.

"Can we get together during the week?" he asked as they neared her house.

"Definitely. Let's talk later and compare calendars. It'd have to be at  your place," she added. "Granddad seems to like being unpredictable  these days. I never know when he's coming to town."

"Okay."

They had shared a long goodbye kiss before leaving his apartment, yet she hungered for another.

"Did you expect it would be this complicated?" he asked when they pulled up around the corner from her house.

She nodded. "I'm pretty realistic about most things in life."

"Are you having regrets, Scarlet?"

"None." Yet.

"Can I ask a favor of you?"

Her heart fluttered a little.

"If I can arrange a private consultation with my tailor, would you come  along and help me choose some new things for my wardrobe?"

"Will you promise not to argue about my choices?"

"No."

She laughed. "Well, okay. That's fair."

"I'll call you later."

The long day loomed before her. She almost wished she'd taken the chance  and gone on a drive with him. "Have a good day," she said, then looked  around, not seeing anyone she knew. She opened the door.

He just watched her, apparently as tongue-tied as she by the necessarily  banal conversation, then he drove off. She walked around the corner.  Someone was sitting on her doorstep. She could see fabric through the  railings but that was all. Then the person stood, not looking in her  direction, as if giving up.

"Aunt Finny." Relieved it wasn't … well, almost anyone else, she waited as Fin met her on the sidewalk.                       
       
           



       

"I wish I looked that good without makeup," Fin said.

"Oh, right, like you're some old crone. You're only thirteen years older than me."

"That's a lot of years in prime-woman age. I hope you had a good night?"

Scarlet grinned. "I'm relaxed."

"Ah. Lucky you."

"Come inside," Scarlet said, heading to her private entrance. "What are you doing here?"

"Taking your advice. I went for a walk in the park. I've been calling  you off and on to see if you wanted to have brunch with me."