NYC Angels: Tempting Nurse Scarlet. Wendy S. Marcus

      “Anytime.” She went to remove her hand from his grip but he held it there.

      “We need to talk about Jessie,” Dr. Jackson said. So serious. Did the man ever smile? According to Jessie, no he did not.

      Scarlet took a moment to admire his tall, athletic build and short brown hair mixed with a hint of grey at his temples. He had a look of confidence and prestige she would have found very attractive on someone else. “No,” Scarlet said, looking to where he held her hand. “You need to talk to your daughter.” She looked up at him. “And here’s a helpful hint to improving communication between the two of you.” She yanked her hand back. “Stop comparing her to the perfect little boy you used to be. Just because you loved swimming and boating and all things water when you were a child, doesn’t mean she does.”

      Later that night Lewis stood in his designer kitchen, eyeing the modern stainless steel handle on the high-end black cabinet that contained the bottles of wine he’d kept at the ready in case any of his dates wanted a glass, and considered uncorking one. Although he wasn’t in the habit of drinking alone, it’d been the kind of day followed by the kind of night that warranted a little alcohol consumption to facilitate a return to his pre-Jessie level of calm.

      But Lewis Jackson had never turned to alcohol to drown his problems before, and he refused to start now. He was a problem solver, a thinker and a fixer. And to do those things he required a clear head.

      Since his daughter had taken up permanent residence in the loft guestroom, he tended to avoid the living area below after she went to sleep. So he walked down the hall to his bedroom, the smooth hardwood floors cool beneath his bare feet, the central air maintaining the perfect air temperature, his two bedroom luxury condo decorated to his exact specifications for style, comfort and function. And yet his home no longer brought him the welcoming serenity it once had.

      Jessie hadn’t said more than a handful of words—all of them monosyllabic—to him since they’d left the hospital, even after he’d insisted they eat their takeout grilled chicken Caesar salads together in the kitchen for a change. What an uncomfortable meal that’d been. Jessie, staring down at her plate, moving the chicken around with her fork. Lewis, trying to engage her in conversation, to offer reassurance about her trip to Lake George, to find out more about her relationship with Scarlet Miller, and, for the hundredth time, to gain some insight into the functioning of the pre-pubescent female mind. A booby-trapped labyrinth of erratic and illogical thought processes he could not seem to navigate through, despite successful completion of several child psychology classes and licensure as a pediatrician.

      After nine arduous months of trying, and failing his daughter at every crisis, Lewis gave in to the cold, hard fact: He could not do it alone.

      And yet again, an image of Scarlet Miller popped into his head. A pretty yet unfriendly woman and a skilled professional, who, he’d found out on further inquiry, received high praise and much respect from her peers and upper management. But at the moment, all that mattered to him was her relationship with his daughter.

      He reached into his pocket, pulled out the slip of paper he’d stashed there earlier, and glanced at his watch. A few minutes after eleven o’clock.

      It was too late to call, but his need to talk to her, to get answers and beg for her assistance overrode common phone etiquette. After hours and hours spent considering his options, Lewis had come to the conclusion Scarlet Miller was his key to deciphering Jessie’s passive-aggressive behavior and learning her secrets, to understanding her and starting a productive dialogue between them, so he could help her, so he could, please God, find something about her to love.

      Lewis picked up his phone and dialed.

      After a few rings a groggy female voice answered, “Hello?”

      Great, he’d woke her up. And the last thing he wanted to do was anger his best hope for achieving a healthy, positive relationship with his daughter. He cleared his throat. “Hi. It’s Lewis.”

      “I’m sorry. You have the wrong number.”

      “Wait. Is this Scarlet Miller?” he rushed to ask before she disconnected the call, and before it registered that if she hung up, she’d never know he was the inconsiderate louse who’d woken her. Well…unless she had caller ID. Then he’d no doubt come off looking even worse.

      “Yes,” she answered.

      “It’s me. Lewis Jackson. Jessie’s dad.”

      “Is she okay?” Scarlet sounded instantly awake. “Did something happen?”

      Lewis liked and appreciated her concern for his daughter. “No, she’s fine. Upstairs asleep.” At least as far as he knew. And since he’d learned the hard way never to assume Jessie was where she was supposed to be, Lewis walked to the doorway, poked his head into the hallway to confirm it was indeed eavesdropper-free, then closed and locked his bedroom door, just in case it didn’t stay that way.

      “How did you get this number?” Scarlet asked. “I’m sure I didn’t give it to you. And I doubt Jessie would have shared it.”

      Okay, time for some fast talking. “I just happened to come across the card you’d given to Jessie,” after searching for it in her backpack and pocketbook while she was in the shower—bad, reprehensible father—“while checking her plethora of pockets before putting her pants in the wash,” he lied. “I took it as a sign I should call you.”

      Silence.

      “Hello?” he asked.

      She let out a decidedly feminine, sultry sounding moan which made him question, “Am I interrupting something?”

      “No.” She did it again. “I don’t typically talk on the phone when I’m in bed. I’m trying to find a comfortable position.”

      And just like that, with the mere mention she was in bed, without-sex-for-nine-long-months-brain overtook concerned-father-brain with an enticing visual of her luscious body. A comfortable position came to mind. Scarlet spread out on top of satin sheets. Naked. Waiting.

      His sex-starved body went hard.

      “Soooo, you called me,” she said. “What can I do for you?”

      A loaded question if ever there was one. Because right this instant he wanted her to talk dirty, to touch herself and tell him all about it, to describe her aroused nipples and slick… Lord help him. Prolonged abstinence had effectively eradicated his ability to engage in casual nighttime conversation with a woman. From bedroom to bedroom. And if he took a few small steps, from bed to bed. And from out of nowhere, the idea of phone sex popped into his head.

      “Hello. Everything okay over there?”

      Totally disgusted with himself, Lewis rubbed his hand over his face and let out a breath. “A bad day followed by a bad night combined with a non-existent sex life since my daughter came to live with me and I am conjuring up totally inappropriate visuals of you, a woman I have known for less than twenty-four hours, at the simple mention of you getting comfortable in bed. In my defense, you were making some very sexy noises a moment ago, so I hold you partly responsible. But I assure you, when I picked up the phone to make this call my intentions were purely G-rated.”

      “And now what are they?” she teased.

      “Let’s just say, the next time you see me you owe me a slap across the face, because I totally deserve it.”

      Turned out she had a sexy laugh, too.

      He shifted in the recliner to relieve some of the pressure in his pants. Not good. Scarlet Miller was not the woman to slake his lust. He needed her to fix things between him and Jessie and would not risk anything interfering with his top priority. “Please accept my sincerest apologies.”

      “Accepted, but not necessary,” she said. “For the record, you could pass for sexy on the phone, too.”

      “You are not helping.”

      “Do