“Yes, I know.”
Fool. Don't let the pompous ass get to you.
“Don't worry about me.”
“Someone needs to,” Robert snapped. “You certainly don’t.”
“I can look after myself.”
“Since when?”
Dammit to hell, he didn’t need Robert of all people to dictate what he should or shouldn't do. If he decided to go over to the redhead's box, he'd go.
Screw you, Robert!
“Stop worrying.” The lady in question languidly fanned herself with a program. Whoa. Sexy. “I won't do anything to embarrass the family.”
Sonny threw up his hands. “All I ask is that you be here for the brunch.”
Robert muttered something under his breath.
Weariness enveloped Cal. Why shouldn't he do what everyone expected? One hook-up wouldn’t spin the world off its axis. Why shouldn't he give Robert something else to carp about? “A hundred bucks. Right, Sonny? If she comes to the party after the play?”
“Uh-uh, not nearly enough, buddy.” Sonny shook his head. “The whole nine yards or nothing.”
Might as well light Robert’s fuse. Cal yawned, straightened a diamond stud on his cuff. “I'll collect at brunch tomorrow.”
Two pairs of eyes belonging to Miles de Graffen and his daughter fastened on his wrist.
Miles, an old family friend, had introduced Cal, as well as Lynette, to the joys of antique jewelry collecting. Both de Graffens openly envied Cal his studs because Miles’s jewel assortment, though more voluminous, didn’t include a set of legendary diamonds.
“Watch your Antoinette diamonds,” Miles said. “I intend to have them one day. And there are women who—” he looked across the auditorium, “—wouldn’t think twice about stealing them.”
Lynette laughed. “Too true, Dad. I’m one of them.”
Cal touched a glittering stone. “That’s why I keep them away from you. Don’t worry, Miles. I’m always careful with my good luck charms. But I promise you'll get first crack at them.
If
I ever decide to sell.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
The chorus finished its number. The house lights brightened.
As Cal left, Sonny called, “Remember the brunch. You can stay another day if she's worth it, but don't forget the brunch.”
“Ten-thirty, right? I’ll remember.”
Robert started in on his assistant. “He can't stay, Sonny. You'd have to be here to keep an eye on him and you know I can’t spare you. You’ve got to get to Las Vegas tomorrow to do the groundwork for the new resort.”
Keep an eye on me
. Cal gritted his teeth but kept going. He hated confrontations as much as he hated lectures. Especially lectures from Robert.
He’d liked the serious student Claire brought home, the man putting himself through college by working as a mechanic. But one accounting degree and fifteen years later, Robert Winslow had turned into a prick. How could Claire stand him? No wonder resort managers were complaining about his high-handed tactics.
No matter. Robert was the Board’s problem, not his. He had no say in running his family's corporation. His mother had seen to that long before her death.
In the lobby, Cal gave indolent waves or nods to familiar faces eager to catch his eye. Men stopped him to shake his hand or clap him on the shoulder while effusive women called his name before engulfing him in hugs and clouds of perfume. Despite pauses to respond and give sincere smiles in return, he didn't deviate from his destination.
Some of his popularity, he was smart enough to understand, was due to money. But people fascinated him. He genuinely enjoyed them. Claire insisted he ought to be in purchasing or public relations, but he knew his limitations.
Robert would be resentful if the black sheep tried to horn in on company affairs after all these years. And they couldn't afford to lose Robert. Claire’s husband might have his faults, but he knew his stuff.
No, best to leave running the business to Robert and the Board. That gave Cal plenty of time to plan next month's vacation in Greece or schedule a business trip coinciding with a horse race in England.
Or relax in the company of a tantalizing redhead.
His attentions had piqued her curiosity. He grinned, thinking of her expression when he’d thrown her that kiss.
Yep, she was the type woman who could be persuaded, and he was the man to do it.
Damn his vow to leave all women, especially redheads, strictly alone. A little flirtation never hurt anybody.
At her door, he entered without knocking.
“This box is taken,” she said. Her voice was husky and low. As enticing as her looks. “Oh!” The quick gasp conveyed recognition, surprise, and imperfectly concealed interest.
Mid- or late twenties. Her halter dress plunged down the “V” of her cleavage to where nipples nudged the thin black silk.
Sexy. Real sexy. The familiar need stirred.
“Don't you think I know it's taken?” When he stepped behind a chair at her left, a scent of oranges drifted by. “I've been watching you watching me all evening, sugar. I'd be ashamed, if I were you, flirting with me that way when I was trapped in my seat till intermission. You’ve got to stop ogling me.”
“Ogling you?” Breasts mounded with a disbelieving gasp. “I wonder why you’d think that. If you'd bothered to look anywhere else in the building, you would certainly not be under the mistaken impression that
I
was ogling
you
.”
“I couldn't possibly have looked anywhere else. I was too busy watching you.” Uninvited, he sat down beside her. “You're the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
The same old words he always said. He always meant them, too.
“You must not know many women, then. Go away.” Red-tipped fingers tightened around a beaded evening bag. The diamonds at her throat—not very good ones, though the lighting might have accounted for the off-tint—couldn’t hide the rapid pulse beating in one of the tiny hollows. Brows were delicate arches nearly hidden by red curls falling over her forehead. A dignified nose showed off a short upper lip that peaked delectably.
Made for kisses.
A pink tongue licked the peak. “I hate ugly scenes so don't make me call an usher to throw you out. I don't know you, and I don't want to talk to you.”
Strange. Oranges were common, but on her their fragrance was intoxicating. “No, you don't know me, but if I leave, how'll we ever get to know each other? You'll enjoy talking to me. I promise.”
Her complexion was the unblemished cream redheads sometimes possess. Her eyes, accentuated by green eyeshadow and fake fringes half an inch long, were large and emerald and abnormally bright.
Contact lenses, probably. Near sighted with astigmatism? Maybe dull intellectually and ordinary conversationally, but irresistible physically. Packaged just the way he liked.
Cal moved closer. “I'll tell you who I am, and you tell me who you are. Then we can sit and talk. I'm Cal McIntyre. And you're...?”
The corners of her mouth tried to curve upward. After a full five seconds, she giggled. Not a titter, a breathy gurgle. “I'm astonished.”
“Hello, Astonished. How quaint. Is that an old family name?” He held out his hand. “How do you do?”
Ignoring his hand and execrable humor, she looked around for help. “I'll do much better when you're gone.”
Good. Not a hint of annoyance or impatience. The sweet thing was curious. “I'll leave but not until you tell me your name. Come on, fair's fair. I told you mine.”
“You’ve got a lot of gall. I’m calling someone to get rid of you.” The infectious grin wouldn’t be restrained, belying her words.
“Oh, I’ll leave. I promise. If you tell me your name. Please. If you don't, I'll be up all night wondering. And how can I ask you to dinner if I don't know what to call you?”
“I wouldn't go to dinner with you. I wouldn't walk out of the theater with you. I don't like men who stare at a woman all evening and then burst in on her private box uninvited.”
Said in the friendliest way imaginable.
Oh, yes, the lady was definitely interested.
He moved his chair a half inch toward hers. “If I promise not to stare any more, will you tell me your name?”
The delicious mouth tried its best to present a prim line. “You can call me Scarlet.”
“As in O'Hara?” Mild derision couldn’t be contained. “Is that what you are? A vain, opinionated, spoiled heroine?”
Her quick withdrawal made him backpedal. Stupid. Not playing the game lately had made him forget the rules. Scarlet apparently didn’t care for blunt men.
The puppy dog look should cover his mistake. “Not that you’re spoiled or opinionated. You’re perfect.”
His beseeching eyes didn’t allay her suspicions.
“Scarlet because of my hair.” She held up a strand, revealing a long rhinestone earring, before drawing enchanting brows together. “You'd better go.”
He loved gaudy dangling earrings. “I wasn't making fun of you, sugar. You didn't tell me the rest. Scarlet what?”
Two white teeth caught her bottom lip. “Scarlet… Smith.”
Smith. Yeah, sure. No matter. That luscious mouth, the orange scent, her whole flamboyance made him want to sigh. Later. Afterward. “Okay, Scarlet Smith. The Resort is having a small reception upstairs after the show for all the cast.”
Her face lit up. “Will Jeanne Picarde be there?”
So she had a thing for New York divas. “Along with the others. Would you join us?”
She drooped. “I can't. I'm expected at home.”
“Surely you don't have to answer to Mother.”
“I don't have to answer to anybody!”
“Good. Tell whoever’s expecting you that you'll be home later.”
“I can’t. I have a car scheduled to pick me up.”
Sweet Scarlet could be persuaded. “I can tell you really want to go. Cancel your car. I'll take you home afterward.”
The breathy laugh returned. “You're persistent. You make it seem easy.” One hand pushed at the necklace, drawing attention to the swell of her breasts, the sketch of her nipples. When she moved, the silk whispered suggestively. “I
would
love to meet Jeanne Picarde. Her voice is amazing.”
He knew what she was doing, but the flaunting of her body still worked. “Then come. Please. If you don't, you'll spoil my entire evening.” Her shoulder where it curved into her neck invited a light caress.
No, don’t spook her now.
“Call and tell them you won't be home tonight.”
“That won't do.”
A husband somewhere? Another messy scene for Robert to growl about?
Forget sanctimonious Robert.
“Then say you'll be a couple of hours late. I promise I'll take you home whenever you're ready.”
Another enchanting gurgle came. “All right. I can call home. I'll come to your party, but I won’t stay.”
“Just long enough to meet the actors. I'll come for you when the play’s over and take—”
“No. I'll meet you there. In the… Where did you say the reception would be?”
“Upstairs in the small ballroom. The Lady's Hall.”
“I'll come up after I see my driver.”
He pulled out a card. “Give this to the doorman so he'll let you in. I'll be waiting.”
When she took his card, her fingers were careful not to touch his.
Maybe he should ask her over to his box.
No, better wait. She might still flee. Before he could make any headway, she’d have to trust him and that meant patience.
A good thing patience was one of his few virtues.
“Promise me you won't back out.”
She shrugged. “I'll see what I can do.”
When he caught her wrist, her pulse rippled beneath his fingers. “That's not good enough. Promise me you'll be there. I won't leave till you do.”
“A promise under duress isn't much of a promise.” Long lashes lowered.
He adored false eyelashes on a woman. Along with bright eyeshadow, low cut dresses, swinging earrings, and five-inch stilettos. All the female trappings condemned by his sisters and his mother as tawdry, he loved.
“You'll keep your word.”
“Yes, I'll keep my word.” She twisted her wrist away. “I want to meet Jeanne Picarde.”
They took each other's measure for one long second before he left, breathing hard, despising his weakness. He was too frigging susceptible to redheads.
After a cigarette, he entered his own box in time to seat himself before the lights dimmed and the music began. The others looked at him with amusement.
Except for Robert. Cal winked at his brother-in-law, making Robert's pout deepen.
Yeah, I am what I am, boss man. So lump it.
Sonny, whose banter had brought a becoming blush to Lynette de Graffen's cheeks during her father's absence, asked, “I guess you got what you went after, huh?”
“We’ll see.”
She'd taken the bait. Hook, line and sinker.
The evening wouldn't be a total bust.
* * * *
What had she hooked? A minnow or a shark?