Cause For Scandal (Dynasties: The Elliotts #3)(3)
Author: Anna DePalo

Summer touched her hair. It was down and loose, its curls cascading past her shoulders.

Beneath her short, belted pea coat, she wore a black suede skirt that ended above the knee and black boots that ended right below. If Scarlet was to be believed, knees were sexy.

Her deep-red top plunged low, revealing tantalizing cle**age, and her face was made-up. Normally she favored a natural look, using matte lipstick with just a hint of color. But tonight, her lips were a dark red and had a lovely sheen due to the smattering of gold dust in her lipstick.

Apparently, gold of twenty-three karats or higher was edible. Who’d have known? Certainly not her. But as assistant fashion editor at Charisma—EPH’s answer to Vogue—Scarlet was in a position to know.

As she walked into the Garden, Summer looked down at her ringless hand. There was no telltale pale band on her skin to give her away.

Her sister had insisted that she leave her engagement ring at home. When she’d protested, Scarlet had taken her hand and tugged at the ring herself.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Summer,” her sister had said. “How do you expect to impersonate a rock groupie?”

“What’s the ring got to do with it?” she’d shot back, trying to pull her hand from Scarlet’s grasp.

“Haven’t we been over this? Groupies are allowed backstage because they’re young, sexy and single. Are you going to go to all this trouble just to be done in by a ring?”

In the end, she’d let Scarlet take the ring. But the whole thing still didn’t sit well with her. It felt as if she were being disloyal to John.

That feeling was ridiculous, of course. Tonight wasn’t a date. She just happened to be trying to lure a rock star to do an interview by using some sex appeal. What the heck was wrong with that?

In fact, she had almost convinced herself. Almost.

She thought about John again. He’d be returning from his business trip soon—which was a good thing, since they had a wedding to plan.

She was a meticulous planner and list keeper, and getting engaged at twenty-five put her right on target as far as the five-year plan that she’d drawn up for herself.

It read like this: twenty-five, become engaged and rise to full reporter status at The Buzz; twenty-six, get married; twenty-eight, make name for self as hotshot entertainment reporter; thirty, rise to management position at The Buzz and become pregnant.

So far, so good. It helped, of course, that John had his own five-year plan. It was one of the things that had helped her pick him from the field of men that she used to date and that she had eventually winnowed down to The One.

Like her, John was serious and ambitious. At twenty-nine, he was already a partner at his advertising firm and had an impressive clientele that required him to fly around the country on business.

He was her perfect complement, and by this time next year she’d be Mrs. John Harlan. After nine months of dating, John had popped the question to her over a romantic dinner on Valentine’s Day.

The perfection of the proposal had been the last proof she’d needed that she was making the right decision: she’d been thinking that Valentine’s Day would be the right time to get engaged, but the comportment-school grad in her had been too polite to drop hints. But then John had gone ahead and proposed.

So what if, late at night, alone in bed, she experienced the occasional twinge of unease? Weren’t all brides supposed to be nervous?

Turning her attention to the concert as it finally started, she soon found herself swept up in the dreamy mood that she’d fallen into the night before.

If she’d been tempted to dismiss last night’s concert as a fluke, this time there could be no denying Zeke Woodlow’s power as a performer and, more importantly, his ability to affect her.

Occasionally, she stopped to write in a small notebook, searching for the right adjectives to describe his performance and his electric effect on the audience.

When Zeke got to “Beautiful in My Arms,” she again felt magically transported and as if he were singing just for her. It was almost like the feeling she’d experienced in one other situation—when she’d let herself do something totally out of character….

She jerked her mind back from the direction of her thoughts. No sense thinking about that now. It was her little secret. Tonight was about getting a job done.

This time with some luck—and insider tips from a coworker at The Buzz—she managed to sneak out of the arena at the end of the concert and locate the hallway that led to the performers’ dressing rooms.

She had her coat unbuttoned—as Scarlet had said, “Show them the goods”—and a small suede handbag dangled from one hand.

She steeled herself as she approached the first burly security detail standing guard. You can do this.

She flashed him a breezy smile, noticing his eyes did a quick dart up and down as she approached. His face relaxed a fraction, male appreciation replacing cold stoniness.

Well, well. Scarlet was right.

Feeling suddenly empowered, she kept her smile in place and flicked him a coy look. “I’m here to see Zeke. He said to look him up when he was in New York.”

“Did he?”

She nodded, standing close. “I spoke to Marty—” she’d made sure she knew the name of Zeke’s manager, since, if you were going to lie through your teeth, there was no sense in being wrong “—and he said to come right up after the concert.”

“You know Marty?”

“Only for the last five cities. I’ve seen Zeke play in L.A., Chicago, Boston….” She trailed off, then added significantly, “We’ve always had a great time.”

Mr. Burly nodded over his shoulder. “Third door on the left.”

That was it? She felt like crying with relief. Instead, she smiled and said, “Thanks.”

She thought she could get used to life as an auburn-haired bombshell. She felt liberated, almost reckless.

In front of Zeke’s door, she took a steadying breath and knocked.

“Come in,” said a male voice through the door.

Turning the doorknob, she stepped inside the softly lit dressing room.

From the other side of the room, his voice reached her. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

His voice went through her like a heady shot of vodka. Deep, sexy, rich and vibrant, it was even more potent up close and personal than it was on stage.

His back stayed turned to her as he picked up a cell phone from a nearby table and pushed some buttons. “I’ll be ready to leave for the hotel in about ten minutes. Is that okay with you, Marty?”