shirt, his movements jerky. She wasn’t telling him to stop. She was really going through with it?
He shrugged off his shirt and tossed it aside, reached for his belt buckle and pulled his belt out of the loops, letting it drop to the floor, noticing her spiky red high heels there, as well, a vivid reminder of the strangeness of the evening. He’d never seen her wear heels that high, which put her equal in height to him.
Equal. Was that the point? To make them equals? She’d suddenly become aggressive, not merely assertive?
His jaw tightened painfully as he searched her face, seeking answers to questions he didn’t ask because he wasn’t sure he wanted the answers. Not only did she not tell him to stop, she didn’t even flinch and instead studied his every move, not a hint of virginal shyness in her eyes. He toed off his shoes, slipped his trousers down and off, along with his socks.
His briefs were black and tight, had gone tighter in the past few minutes. She made a leisurely inspection of him that was more exciting than any kiss or touch he could remember. She swallowed and lifted her eyes to meet his again. Her nipples pressed against her dress. His heart thundered; his fists clenched.
If he took off the briefs, would she run? She’d kept him at arm’s length for months and months, yet after she’d slept with another man, she wanted him now? What kind of sense did that make? Comparison? It was totally out of character for her.
And if he slept with her now, would it be in forgiveness … or out of revenge? He wasn’t sure if he even wanted to find out, but an irrational force made him continue, even knowing he might be shot down or stopped. Or humiliated.
Except she’d said she’d made a mistake ….
He pushed off the briefs. She rose to her knees and reached out to touch him, her fingertips gliding down him like warm, silky water. He sucked in a breath, knelt on the bed and peeled her formfitting dress over her head, discovering a red lacy bra and matching thong underneath. He pushed the satin straps down her arms, the weight of her breasts taking the fabric temptingly lower, the lace hanging up on her nipples. Her lemony scent drifted up to him.
His mouth went dry. He’d imagined Summer as a white-bra-and-panties woman ….
He lifted his gaze to hers as he laid his palms on her breasts, feeling the smooth, warm firmness of her flesh, the heels of his hands grazing her hard nipples. She was so different from what he’d expected. So sexy. So willing. So …
So not Summer.
“Scarlet?” he managed to ask, taking his hands away, sure of her identity even as he asked the question. No wonder she was different. Not Summer, but her identical twin sister. Scarlet had a wild reputation, but he never would’ve guessed she would pretend to be her sister. What purpose did it serve? She’d always been standoffish with him, as if she didn’t like him.
She sat back, confusion in her eyes. “Have you ever seen Summer wear a dress like that?”
He could tell her he was three-quarters drunk, but it would seem like an insult. “I thought she’d come to seduce me.”
Scarlet’s lack of answer could mean anything. He wouldn’t try to second-guess her.
Mistaken identities aside, he was acutely aware that his arousal hadn’t suffered at the recognition of Summer’s twin. If anything, the shock of the revelation excited him even more, though he didn’t stop to determine why—didn’t want to determine why, except he’d endured a long abstinence.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, tired of waiting, frustrated by her actions and his own wayward thoughts.
She rose to her knees again and set her hands on his chest. For several endless seconds their gazes locked. “Does it matter?”
Not at the moment, but soon it would probably matter a lot. Her words about never expecting to make love with him echoed in his head. “You hadn’t intended to make love? Then what—”
“Maybe you shouldn’t be thinking so hard,” she said, drawing him closer.
Her touch erased all thoughts, banished all doubts, and he let go of his curiosity and kissed her instead. He forgot about Summer and opened himself up to Scarlet ….
Scarlet, who made incredibly sexy, needy sounds that vibrated from her throat, whose hands wandered over his body as he sought her in the same way. He flicked open her bra, tossed it aside, captured a nipple between his lips, then tongued the hard contours before drawing it into his mouth and savoring as she arched her back, her fingernails digging into him to keep her balance. He took as much care with her other breast, but need pounded him relentlessly, especially when she wrapped her hand around him as he throbbed and ached.
He jerked back, trying to slow down. This was probably the stupidest thing he’d done in his life, but he couldn’t stop— Yes, he could. He just didn’t want to.
He set his hands on her waist to help her stand, then he eased her thong down her legs. Grasping his head, she leaned over to kiss him, kissed him as he’d never been kissed before, with lips and teeth and tongue, until he couldn’t wait another second. He shoved her onto her back and moved her thighs apart. He watched as he entered her, clenched his teeth at the hot tightness that enveloped him, felt her contract, heard her long, low moan that quickly escalated in volume and tempo. He squeezed his eyes shut, holding back, waiting for her, then he exploded inside her. Sensation bombarded him, starting deep and low then racing through his body, even into his mind, blocking everything but feeling, hot, overwhelming feeling. It was good. She was good. Incredible ….
He resisted the return of logic and sanity, which came regardless of his wishes. He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. She lay silent beside him. Silent and still. He couldn’t even hear her breathe. Her perfume mingled with the earthy smell of sex. He wouldn’t soon forget it.
He would never forget it.
He turned toward her—
The mattress jiggled as she rolled away from him and off the bed. She gathered up her clothes and hurried to his bathroom, shutting the door.
Shutting him out.
Scarlet tried to let her mind go blank as she dressed inside John’s elegant bathroom. She focused on the black fixtures and brushed-nickel faucets. She avoided the mirror as long as she could, then she had to look.
Mascara smudges under her eyes made her skin look paler and her eyes darker than usual. She dampened a tissue and cleaned off the smudges, then finger-combed her hair, stalling, not wanting to face him again.
What had she done?
She’d only come to tell him she thought Summer had made a huge mistake in ending their engagement. Then somehow they were kissing. Scarlet had told him the truth. She’d never expected to kiss him—ever—much less make love with him. She may have cultivated a reputation for outrageousness in the past, but this was over the top, even for her.
The problem was, Scarlet had been in love with John forever, feelings she’d had to keep to herself when she realized he and Summer had discovered an affinity for each other—then they’d realized they were in love just about the time when Scarlet was going to tell Summer how she felt about John herself.
Scarlet had envied the way John had treated Summer, the way he looked into her eyes when she talked, the way he touched her whenever he was near, a sweep of a hand down her back or the surprisingly sexy brush of her curls with his fingers. But it was his consideration of Summer that had made Scarlet the most envious—how much time he spent with her. How they never seemed to run out of things to say, their discussions deep and long. How he always called to say good-night and good-morning.
Scarlet had never had a man treat her like that.
Well, consider the source.
She closed her eyes for a moment, not wanting to dwell on her own shortcomings.
She’d ignored those tender feelings she’d had for John for a long time, had avoided ever