Page 7 of Miss Christmas

Will rode the elevator up to his two-bedroom apartment on the eighth floor of the building around the corner from Central Park South and near his cousin George. Not as upscale as George and Margo’s place, but it suited his needs. He liked the old-world charm, the fireplace mantel that hadn’t been touched since the forties, the tall ceilings, and the Greek-column woodwork around the doorframes and at the archway into his living room. He walked past the room now, taking a fleeting glance at his view of the twinkling city, then headed down the hall straight to his bedroom.

No way could he stay up another minute if he was going to get to the gym in the morning before an early work day. Thanks to pageant duty, he had more to do than his usual mountain of work. He tossed his phone onto the nightstand, tore off his clothes down to his boxers, and collapsed onto his bed, not bothering to pull back the green plaid down comforter—a gift from his aunt who had helped him decorate the apartment when he’d moved in there. Maybe he ought to update sometime. His eyes drifted closed and his mind drifted to the blood-stirring young woman he’d met today.

Scarlet Jones. Her file had been heartrending. She was an actress going for her shot in the big city, but she was so much more.

Her personal statement told a story about a passionately ambitious young woman, motives fueled by grief at losing her twin sister. They’d shared the dream to conquer Broadway together any way they could. But in spite of the fact that Scarlet had donated her kidney to her sister, it hadn’t been enough. She’d literally lost a piece of herself when her sister died.

Will had stared a long time at the handwritten paper with the unmistakable puckering that he knew was from tear stains. The idea that Scarlet had submitted her handwritten application on paper and possibly staged the suggestion of tear stains occurred to him. But he dismissed the notion. It was more likely that she didn’t own a computer. The young woman was clearly living a hair above poverty. Though she seemed to come from a stable, hard working family, Will had no doubt that Scarlet was the kind of young woman who would never take a penny from her parents even if she were starving.

Family meant everything to Scarlet, not that she said so explicitly, but it had been implied in every word of her application. At least the importance of family was something he had in common with her.

That and tragedy.

Will shook the thought from his head. No way would he ruin his night’s sleep by going there.

He let his imagination picture a youthful Scarlet instead. She and her sister had done everything together from cheerleading to going to the state university as roommates. But it was their shared determination to succeed as actresses that stirred his blood. Contemplating Scarlet on stage, his mind swirled in that space between reality and dreams.

Until the blaring tone of his cell phone made him jump back to wakefulness.

“Damn.” He had no idea who’d be calling at this hour on a weeknight, but it couldn’t be good. Scrambling to snatch the phone from the nightstand, he pressed it on without registering the caller.

“Hello?” A beat of silence pounded his ears and he was about to toss the phone and chalk it up to a crank when her voice interrupted him.

“Hello, Will. It’s Scarlet. You weren’t sleeping, were you?”

Popping bolt upright in bed—all kinds of body parts at full alert now—he fought through the sleep-haze to make sense of her call, to figure out what to say in response.

But he was a man and everything in him responded to her in that elemental man-wanting-a-woman-way, so he rolled with it.

“Well, hello, beautiful. I must be sleeping because I’m listening to the voice of the woman of my dreams.” It was cheesy, but he was rewarded with a full throaty laugh on the other end.

“Aren’t you going to ask me why I’m calling you late at night when we hardly know each other?”

“I figure you’re either testing the number I gave you or you’re hoping for some midnight phone sex.”

Expecting another laugh, when he didn’t get it, his gut tightened and his cock sprang up, paying closer attention.

“Maybe it’s both. What would you say to that, Mr. Regal?” Her voice lowered to a purr and he could picture her, wild dark hair, violet eyes flashing, naked, full breasts glistening. Blood pumped fast and hot through him now, charging up his engines. Trying to hold onto his sanity, he told himself that she was likely teasing. He kept one hand on the phone and the other clutching the bedclothes.

“Why so formal, Scarlet? Call me Will—or better yet, why don’t you call me Lover Boy?” She chuckled low and soft.

“Lover Boy? But I hardly know you.” The tease in her voice prompted a flash of insight. She’d probably googled him and found out all kinds of things since he’d last seen her. The same way reviewing her contest application had filled in some details about her. But mostly, what held front and center in his mind was the fact that she was hot as hell and too bold for her own good—or his.

“What do you want to know? I can tell you some things.” His stiff cock stared back at him through the opening in his boxers, begging him for attention as he listened to her voice. He closed his eyes and pictured her.

“Are you naked? Do you like naughty women, Lover Boy?”

He half grunted, half laughed. “I think I adore them.” Trying to keep cool, to keep the sex-choked sound from his voice, he went on. “You’re the naughtiest woman I’ve met in a long time. Tell me you’re naked.”

There was a rustling sound in his ear.

“Would it surprise you if I said yes? Does it surprise you that I’m so attracted to you?”

“No and maybe.” He released his grip on the comforter and slowed his breathing. He needed to have a real conversation with her. He shouldn’t have phone sex with one of their pageant contestants. It was inappropriate on so many levels. She was trouble and he ought to at least attempt to find a someone he could have a serious relationship with. Maybe even someone he could settle down with. She was absolutely not his type. He pictured his future wife as someone more conservative.

If there was one thing he was certain of, Scarlet Jones was not Mrs. Regal material. He shouldn’t even be considering a flirtation with her. His cock disagreed, but he forged on.

“I know you know who I am and I wonder if our encounter got you this hot, or whether it’s the fact that I have money.” It had to be said. The elephant in the room every time he contemplated an affair with a woman with no money who knew he had it. He hated it. The splurge of honest cynicism had a cooling effect on his dick. He realized that the pause while he waited for her response was lengthening.