The Forbidden Twin(22)

"You're looking pretty good yourself." She admired his black silk pajama  bottoms, and the flesh otherwise revealed. And the sexy mouth. And the  gorgeous brown eyes.

Even though the house seemed relatively isolated, he'd drawn the curtains, and she was glad.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

She shook her head. She couldn't ask him if they were making a mistake.  She didn't want anything to ruin their time together. "We agreed we  wouldn't talk about anything serious."

"Then you need to wipe that serious look off your face."

He was right. She owed him that, anyway. He'd kept his part of the  bargain. So she smiled and stepped close and kissed his chest. She felt  him inhale, slow and deep.                       
       
           



       

Guilt settled on her shoulders. She'd started them on this path by going to him. Whatever pain they endured was her fault.

"This reminds me of the first time," he said quietly, breaking into her thoughts. "You wore red then, too."

She liked that he remembered. "And you wore black." She slipped a hand down his stomach, his abdomen … .

He sucked in air, captured her hand. "I don't want to hurry tonight. Tonight's about romance."

"And memories."

He was quiet a few long seconds. "Let's sit by the fire."

They fed each other strawberries dipped in the whipped cream, and sipped  champagne, and touched each other with feathery strokes as the fire  provided heat and mood. Words swirled in Scarlet's head, but none she  could utter out loud. They were too serious. Too full of what-ifs. Too  sad. She had to let the thoughts go, let him fill her world, this world.

He didn't seem in the mood to talk, either. When they weren't kissing,  they stared at the fire, hands clasped. But desperation finally seeped  in. She toyed with the drawstring on his pajama bottoms, loosened the  band and slipped her hand inside. He stretched out and closed his eyes.

She tugged on the fabric, dragged it down and off him, flattened her  hands on his shins and kept moving, along his thighs, over his abdomen,  up his chest then back down. He arched his hips. She held her champagne  flute aloft and dripped the cold liquid over him. He lurched up. At the  same time she took him in her mouth, warming him, tasting the  champagne … and him. He lay back down, making sounds of need as her tongue  sought and savored.

Every muscle was taut. Nothing about him was relaxed. She loved that she  made him that way, and that he let her take her time. He made her stop  now and then, drew quick breaths for a few seconds, then gave her  freedom again for a while. He was a wonder of taste and texture. Heat  rose from him. Control slipped away minute by minute, touch by touch,  breath by breath.

He stopped her. Moved out of range. Dragged himself up and leaned  against the couch. She wished she could sculpt. She would recreate that  beautiful, chiseled body still full of need. His muscles were bunched,  tendons visible.

She moved closer, laid a hand on his thigh. "Let me finish."

He smiled slightly and shook his head. "I like this feeling. I want it to last. C'mere."

He dove his hands into her hair, pulled her close and kissed her, but it  was such a little word for what that kiss was, all open mouth and  inquisitive tongue and nipping teeth and hot breath.

"Stand up," he said, low and fierce.

She rose.

"Strip for me."

She let the music guide her. Without hesitation or shyness she moved,  turning in a circle, her hips swaying, then finally letting one strap  fall down her arm, then the other. Gravity pulled the gown to the floor.  She stepped out of it then over his outstretched legs. He grabbed her  ankles, applied pressure until she moved her legs farther apart, found  her with his mouth and fingers, taking long strokes with his tongue, his  fingertips igniting fires, tickling, teasing, letting her need rise,  pulling away to let it ebb, then returning again and again.

When her legs started shaking, he pulled her down. She took him inside  her, clenched around him. She closed her eyes and arched her back as he  drew one aching nipple in his mouth, then the other, cradling her  breasts in his strong hands. He was fast losing control, though, she  could tell. And so was she. She ended up on her back, somehow, in a  maneuver she barely knew happened, and welcomed his thrusts, responded  with her own, called out her pleasure, heard his rise above hers. The  duet their bodies performed reached crescendo, stayed there, stayed  there, stayed there, then slowly, slowly faded.

The beauty of it all made her throat burn and her eyes well up. She  wrapped her arms around him, imprisoning him, and refused to let go.  They had been well matched physically, sexually, from the beginning. But  not like this. Nothing close to this. This was what came when  everything was right.

I love you. She said the words to him over and over in her head.

"Fire's dying," he said after a while.

Not mine for you. "We could just go to bed," she said.

"You go ahead. I'll put out the candles and take care of the food."

"We can do it together."

Naked, they moved around the room, eyeing each other, flirting silently.  She tried to picture him in fifty years, his hair silver, his smile  still wicked. A father. A grandfather. The image came easily. Too  easily.

They turned out the lights, walked hand in hand to the bedroom and  climbed under a downy quilt. His hands roamed her body, warming her,  exciting her when she should've been satisfied.                       
       
           



       

"Thank you for this weekend," she said, her lips brushing his neck.

"You took the words out of my mouth."

Later she felt him drift into sleep, his body heavy against hers. Only then did she allow herself the luxury of a few tears.

Even so, she had no regrets-except for how it all had to turn out.



"We have to talk about it," Scarlet said as they drove across the bridge into New York City on Sunday night.

She was right. John wasn't usually one to duck a situation, but he'd  been diverting the conversation whenever she even hinted that they  should discuss the future-or lack thereof-during the drive home.

They would make love one more time. That was all he knew for sure.

Last night they'd gone to bed and only slept, something a normal couple  might do but they never had, because they hadn't had time for such a  normalcy. He figured tonight would more than make up for it, sexually.  Emotionally, last night couldn't be matched. It had felt good to just  sleep together, to wake up in each other's arms and linger in bed.

"So, talk," he said now.

"Summer comes home tomorrow. We agreed to end the relationship when she returned."

"I'm trying to remember the reasons why."

"You know why."

"I know in the beginning we said it was about sex. We figured a month of  sleeping together would take care of that." He gave her a quick glance.  "It hasn't. Or at least not for me."

"Meaning?"

"I don't want to stop seeing you. Why can't we still meet at my place whenever we can manage it?"

"For sex?" Her voice was strained.

"Not just that." He reached over to wrap a hand around hers.

"It's hopeless, John. We can't ever go public, so why drag out the inevitable any longer?"

"Why not?"

"Because it's too risky. Every time we're together is a chance for  exposure. And I'm tired of all the hiding. The sex has been great, but  as long as we continue with it, I won't date anyone else. That's who I  am. And I'm tired of going places alone. I want a partner. More than  ever now, I want a partner."

She shifted toward him, her expression fierce. "Last week when I went  with my grandparents to the symphony, Fin was there. They didn't speak  to each other, except for Fin to tell Granddad off. It was horrible. My  grandmother was so hurt. I've been an observer of their estrangement for  years, but never like that. That total public snub. I won't do anything  that hurts anyone in my family. I couldn't live with myself if I did."

"How would our relationship hurt your family?"

"It could hurt Summer deeply. Don't you think people might think I had  something to do with your breakup if we're seen together this soon  after? I'm the one with the reputation, after all. It could seem like  I'm rubbing Summer's nose in her mistake-a reminder of how she hurt you.  It would be embarrassing for her. I would never, ever hurt her like  that, or betray her like that."

"Then maybe you shouldn't have slept with me in the first place."

A few long seconds passed. "I know you're upset, so I'm going to forgive  the fact you just put the blame all on me. I was the instigator, I  admit, but we both agreed to the terms," she said tightly. "I'm upset,  too. But we've been lucky not to be caught. We need to end it before our  luck turns bad."