Page 21 of Miss Christmas

He laughed. “I had the lawyers strike that clause specifically for your contract.”

“Seriously, Will—”

“Seriously, Scarlet. There’s nothing in the contract that has anything to do with who you sleep with. We’re not trying to run your life, just spell out your promotional obligations and your prizes.” He slid the folder in front of her and opened it.

She looked down at the fine print briefly then held out a hand. “Pen?”

He rummaged through a drawer, pulled out a Montblanc, and handed it to her. She blinked at the reality of his wealth pinching her yet again. How was it nothing to him to have a pricey pen socked in a junk drawer, and to her stranger than alien? Taking a deep breath, because she needed that ten thousand dollars that she could legitimately win, she snatched the damn pen from his hand and scrawled her name across the signature line, big and bold.

That done, she hopped from the bar stool. She’d eaten as much as she could, which wasn’t as much as usual for some reason. Wrapping his gigantic robe around her, she looked an invitation at him and began walking back toward his bedroom.

Predictably, he followed, wearing his boxers that she adored, that suited him, and a T-shirt. She couldn’t wait to make those boxers stand out like a flag and then rip them off him. Will was so damn much fun. And more, surprisingly, he’d been warm and affectionate and had a generous heart and—forget about it, Scarlet. Stick to fun.

Keeping the robe on for some inexplicable reason, she climbed in bed on top of the rumpled comforter and plumped two pillows to sit against. Will followed suit, positioning himself so that their legs stretched out in front of them and he tangled one of his in between hers. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. Her insides flipped and, if she were in the audience for this performance, she would have rolled her eyes. But from where she sat, she was helpless. So helpless that even her well-honed sarcasm was unable to come to her rescue.

“Tell me something about yourself that I don’t know,” he said.

She opened her mouth, dumbfounded. The helplessness disappeared.

“What did you do, Will? Read one of those Cosmo articles on what a woman wants most from a man after lovemaking? Sounds like you’re following the script too closely. You’re supposed to let the conversation start organically. Didn’t you get to that part?”

It was his turn to open his mouth and remain silent for a beat. Then he frowned.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

She wondered if he could possibly be sincere, but there had been no warning that Will was a dorky emotional lover, had there been? Her heart beat faster, but not with that sexual desire she’d experienced before. No. This time around, it was fear. Her mind searched for an act to handle it, but all she could come up with was to play it straight.

“Okay. Never mind. I’ll answer your dorky question. How about this—did you know I was salutatorian of my class?” She waited, pins and needles digging into every nerve.

He nodded, hesitation in his expression as if he knew where she was taking him. He squeezed her hand.

She whispered, “And do you know who the valedictorian was?”

“Your sister.” His words were low, raspy and reverent.

She nodded, helplessly aware that tears had sprung into her eyes. He knew without being told that she would go there, to that locked vault that held all the treasured memories of her sister. It didn’t help that he reached out and gathered her in his arms. She cried. Hard. Like she hadn’t done in a very long time.

“It’s okay, Scarlet baby. I know exactly how you feel.” He murmured the words into her hair, but she heard them.

Then it registered.

“How would you know?”

He stopped. His hands and everything in him went still. She didn’t even think he was breathing, so she pulled from his embrace enough to look at him, sniffling. When she saw his face, her tears vanished. All the pain she’d felt was gone and now appeared in his eyes, on his face, his handsome, excruciatingly pained face.

Heart pounding, fairly leaping from her chest to be with him, to console him, she touched his face, caressed his beard-roughened jaw.

“I’m so sorry, Will. Tell me about it.” Her voice was the same reverent whisper as his, a plea to unburden, to let her help him because she couldn’t stand not to, couldn’t stand to see him in pain, couldn’t let him stay this way, not on her watch.

With his voice sounding like a rusted-out door hinge moving for the first time in a century, he spoke.

“I had a twin brother.”

Chapter 6

Those first words killed him, made him nauseated. But her violet eyes pooled with empathy, soothing him, calming him. Taking a deep breath, he didn’t hesitate to say what came next, without any thought or plan or concern.

“He was killed in a car crash. We were sophomores at St. Paul’s in New Hampshire. I didn’t go back after that. I transferred to Collegiate School here in the city. My grandfather pulled strings. My mother was messed up by it and—”