Page 35 of Miss Christmas

“So tell us about the latest book you’re working on at the publishing house,” he said, throwing her a bone.

She lit up. The genuine enthusiasm stirred him, a tiny stir of something resembling lustful interest, and that encouraged him. He needed to test their chemistry before the night was through. A thorough kiss, and then, if there was something between them, maybe more.

“A cookbook. I love it! It’s so well done I want to try every one of the recipes myself.”

“You cook?” He sounded like a starving man who’d stumbled into a cafeteria.

“Of course? Why wouldn’t I?”

“I suppose for the same reason I don’t cook,” he said. “Because you’ve been told by the fire department that they’d condemn your building if you tried it again?”

Margo and George laughed, knowing it was a massively exaggerated version of a one-time event. Emily looked at him as if she expected his hair to burst into flames right then and there.

“Oh no—did you have a fire? Were you hurt?”

He laughed. “No and no. I was mostly joking. But I did set off the smoke alarm and a neighbor did threaten to call the fire department if I cooked again.”

She nodded in relief rather than amusement. Will picked up his glass and downed the rest of his drink then raised his hand to signal another round.

The rest of the meal was innocuous and boring if pleasant and, when it was over—thank God—he held Emily close as they walked out the door.

“I have my limo here. I’d like to take you home.”

She nodded, then darted a look at Margo and George, who were huddled together against the cold.

“We’ll see you two tomorrow,” Margo said. They exchanged good-nights and George whisked Margo into their waiting limo.

Will turned back to Emily and directed her to the white limo at the curb. The driver opened the door and Will helped her inside, slipping inside after her. Pulling her close next to him, he whispered, “I hope you enjoyed dinner. Next time it’ll be without Margo and George.” He almost added I promise, but he realized he didn’t want to make any promises to her, that there might not even be a next time.

Her face was turned up to his at the perfect angle. All he needed to do was lower his head to press his mouth against hers for a kiss. He felt no excited anticipation. Only inevitability, as if he were playing a role, moved him forward.

Kissing her lips felt pleasant. They were warm and pliant and she was accepting if not eager. No passion. No excitement, not even a small buzz. His dick remained firmly dormant. Uninterested enough to not even twitch.

Lifting his head from hers, he watched her small smile. She said, “That was nice.”

Nice? That sealed her deal. There was no more of an insult to a man’s kiss than for a woman to label it nice. Yet she beamed at him and snuggled closer as if she hadn’t just attempted to castrate his manhood.

She had no idea. She was passionless to the point she didn’t even know it, had probably never had a man give rise in her to something better than nice.

There was no way in hell he was going to head in a serious direction with Emily Long. Maybe George had been right. Maybe he hadn’t known what was good for him. What he needed.

After the limo dropped her off and he suffered another uninspiring kiss on her doorstep, a good-night kiss where he managed not to tell her he’d call her—because he wouldn’t—he told the driver to take him to Margo and George’s penthouse.

“Too early to head home, Guy,” he said to the driver.

“I know what you mean, Mr. Regal.”

“I told you not to call me Mr. Regal. There’s too many of us. Too confusing.”

The driver laughed. “That’s why I do it—no need to worry about forgetting anyone’s name. But don’t worry, Will. I know who you are.”

“And why is that? Am I infamous?”

“Sure are. You’re the man who’s seeing Scarlet Jones. She’s the odds-on favorite to win the pageant in the company pool.”

“The hell?” He felt dizzy, like he’d just downed a shot of strong whiskey. The pleasant buzz of feeling like he was connected to Scarlet, still connected to her, warmed his belly. Woke up his previously reluctant dick. He collected himself enough to speak again.

“Why don’t I know about this pool? Maybe I want to place a bet.”