by Radclyffe
Derian had no bookcases, at least none visible in the main part of the apartment, which was unusual given the traditional décor. Somehow, with her being Henrietta’s niece, Emily would’ve expected Derian to be a book lover. She had no idea why she thought that, now. It wasn’t as if a love of literature was genetically inherited. Her parents had certainly instilled in her a love of reading by example—her mother, more than her father, who restricted most of his reading to world news, finance, politics, and other areas that impacted his work. Her mother had been the fanciful one, reading everything from romances, mysteries, fantasy, biographies, to graphic novels. Emily smiled, remembering the first time her mother had shared a grown-up comic book with her. She could still feel the surge of excitement of holding her mother’s copy of the bound book with the gleaming, colorful pages and how special the shared moment had been. So many moments in her life marked by the discovery of a beloved book.
“You can turn around now,” Derian said softly. “I’m presentable.”
Emily turned slowly, thinking Derian had been more than presentable just a few moments before. Finally, she managed to keep at least some embarrassing words to herself and said nothing.
Derian grinned as if she were still reading her mind, which was irksome and appealing all at once. A lot like the woman herself.
“If I didn’t know better,” Emily said, feigning annoyance, “I’d think you did that on purpose.”
“I might have, if I’d known you would have enjoyed it.”
“I didn’t say that.” Emily narrowed her eyes. “Do you actually enjoy shocking people?”
“Were you?” Derian asked quietly, suddenly very close. “Shocked?”
“No,” Emily said, unable to hide the truth. “I was not.”
“What then?”
“Surprised,” Emily whispered, “that’s all.”
“So you don’t really find me shocking?” Derian traced a finger over the top of Emily’s hand.
“No,” Emily said softly, feeling the weight of Derian’s finger pulse in her center. “I find you unexpected.”
Derian’s gaze intensified. “Not like the rumors and gossip columns would have you believe?”
“I might be guilty of enjoying the glitz and glamour of your world,” Emily said, letting Derian search her eyes, “but I can tell reality from fantasy in my own.”
“Can you?” Derian murmured, catching Emily’s fingers in her palm. “How about tonight?”
“What about tonight?” Emily had the oddest sensation she was falling into the undercurrents swirling in Derian’s eyes and wondered if she cared.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t like this to be a date?” Derian’s fingers linked with Emily’s. “Because I would.”
“I can’t think of a worse idea.”
Derian didn’t look offended. She looked curious. “Why?”
“Oh, a million reasons,” Emily said lightly, resisting the urge to step back. She couldn’t retreat. She never retreated. And if she did now, Derian would know in an instant she was attracted. She could hardly be blamed for an unconscious and purely automatic response. Derian Winfield was beautiful, intelligent, clever, and surprisingly tender. “You’re Henrietta’s niece, and it’s probably not a good idea for us to have any kind of personal relationship under the best of circumstances, but definitely not these. You’re likely to disappear at any moment, which is fine, really, but there’s no point in pretending that we have anything in common. So I think any kind of relationship between us should be purely friendly and professional.”
The corner of Derian’s mouth worked as if she were trying not to laugh. Emily frowned. “What?”
“Friendly and professional. Right.” Derian leaned forward, kissed Emily softly on the mouth. “Okay.”
Emily’s lips parted as Derian released her hand. Her heart thundered in her ears and a twisting sensation coiled inside her. She wasn’t sure if it was the kiss or Derian’s audacity that disoriented her, but for an instant, she forgot everything except the smooth heat of Derian Winfield’s mouth. The kiss was barely a kiss, just a fleeting touch, silky soft. Just enough to make her lips tingle. She tugged at her lower lip for a second, willing the sensation to disappear. There. Much better. She stared at Derian, found her watching her with a dark, penetrating expression that made her shiver.
“Why did you do that?”
Derian shrugged, looking not the least bit perturbed by the annoyance in Emily’s tone. “Because I’ve been thinking about it since I stepped into the shower. And because you have an incredibly attractive mouth.”
“But I just said—”
“I know,” Derian said easily. “I heard. But if it’s all right with you, I’m going to disagree.”
“With what?” Emily folded her arms, watching Derian light candles at each end of a dining table set into an alcove with floor-to-ceiling windows and a spectacular view of the park.
“The purely professional part. I’m good with friendly, though.” Derian tapped a console on the wall and quiet strains of music filled the room.
Feeling began to return to Emily’s hands and feet. She hadn’t realized she couldn’t feel them until then. She concentrated on keeping her voice steady. “I should go.”
“We’re having dinner, remember?” Derian smiled. “I’m sorry if I offended you. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
Emily sighed. “You didn’t. I’m not offended by a beautiful woman kissing me.”
Derian’s smile turned to surprise. “Thank you.”
“Surely you’ve heard that before,” Emily said, echoing Derian earlier.
“Not when I actually believed it.” Derian shook her head, as if chasing away an unwanted thought. “I called the hospital while I was getting dressed. No change.”
“I guess that’s good.” Emily was glad for the abrupt shift in subject. Jousting with Derian over the subject of kisses and dates was far too dangerous.
“I think so.” Derian gestured to the table. “I also called Ralph. Dinner should be here momentarily. I did promise you no more than a forty-five-minute wait.”
“I thought we were going out.”
“I don’t know about you, but I’m beat.” Derian pulled out a chair, held it as she watched Emily. “I thought this might be quieter and more relaxing. Do you mind?”
“It’s really not necessary. I can grab a cab—”
A knock sounded at the door.
“Stay, Emily,” Derian said softly. “Please.”
Emily sat.
Chapter Eight
“Thanks, Peter,” Derian said to the porter who delivered the large food trolley covered with gleaming stainless-steel chafing dishes. “I’ll take it from here.”
His face registered the slightest surprise before he quickly nodded. “I’m happy to serve you and your guest, Ms. Winfield.”
“I can handle it, but thanks.” Derian stepped aside so Peter could slide the cart into the room and closed the door behind him. She didn’t want company. She wanted to be alone with Emily May, and setting up the table would give her a few moments to get her game in order. She hadn’t intended to kiss her. The thought had crossed her mind, that was true. She’d wanted to kiss her from the moment she’d found her nearly asleep, waiting for her outside the intensive care unit. Emily had looked vulnerable and delicate, but Derian’d known better than to think she needed rescuing. She’d seen Emily’s strength as well as the shadows of some past pain when she’d stood by Henrietta’s bedside and declared her certainty that Henrietta would be all right. Daring the Fates to disagree. Emily was anything but fragile, which made her all the more desirable.
But an inexplicable urge to shield her from whatever plagued her and a primitive instinct to claim her attention were no excuse for kissing her. She knew better than to toy with women who weren’t open to being toyed with, and Emily was one of those. She didn’t give off a single player vibe, nor had she given any indication she wanted to be kissed. Derian was goo
d at ferreting out signals, at reading seduction in apparent disinterest that merely invited her to the chase, and she never pressed where she wasn’t wanted. She hadn’t been thinking about sex when she’d given in to the impulse to taste, she’d only been thinking about another touch—another incendiary instant of contact that shook her more than the most abandoned encounter. This time, she’d been the one pressed by desire, driven to break her own rules by an unfamiliar need to stir in Emily the same kind of yearning that stirred in her.
Emily had said she wasn’t offended by the kiss, but taking liberties wasn’t like her. Derian didn’t want to stray into those waters again. A woman, especially Henrietta’s protégé, who could so easily make her forget all the reasons why she only played with players, had danger written all over her. No—Emily was too close to home, too dangerous in her appeal, too altogether beyond the safety zone.
“I can’t say I’ve ever done this before,” Emily said, glancing over her shoulder to watch Derian approach with the cart.
“What’s that?” Derian asked, promptly forgetting her resolution to stay away. Emily had a way of looking at her with such absolute clarity, as if the screen Derian placed between herself and the rest of the world was completely invisible. Her skin heated as if Emily touched her simply by looking. Most women couldn’t touch her even when they were naked together.
“Had dinner in such a beautiful place, with a view like this.” Emily swept her hand toward the window and the glittering night.
“I’m glad you like it.”
“I do,” Emily said softly. “Thank you.”
The quiet thrum of pleasure in her voice made Derian’s blood pound. She cleared her throat. “I hope you don’t mind, I ordered for us. You’re not allergic to anything or averse to particular foods?”
“Actually, I’m gluten, dairy, meat, carb, and acidic free.”
“Well, I ordered sparkling water. That should be safe.”
Emily laughed. “I’m mostly vegetarian, but I confess to succumbing to a good steak now and then. I live for pasta and never met a seafood dish I didn’t like. I’m sure whatever you ordered is fine.”
Derian began to uncover the chafing dishes. “That was unkind.”
“I suspect you can handle it.” Emily grinned. “Can I help you?”
“No, stay right there.” Derian folded a snowy white napkin over her forearm and rested a dish on it. “I shall serve Madame tonight.”
Faint color rose to Emily’s cheeks. “Very well, then. Thank you.”
“My pleasure,” Derian murmured.
Emily settled back in her chair and prepared to be waited on. She remembered being waited on at formal functions her parents had held at their home for visiting dignitaries when the party was small and the embassy would’ve been too cold and impersonal. She’d never liked being seated at the big table at the far end, away from the adults, always feeling as if she was there more for show than for her presence. Every now and then her mother would glance her way and smile as if to tell her she knew she was still there, but her father rarely gave her a look, too lost in conversation with whomever they were feting. Her memories of the impersonal formal dining faded as Derian silently moved around behind her, sliding dishes in front of her with a whispered description, filling her wineglass with a calculated cascade of blood-red liquid, slipping other dishes to the center of the table with sterling silver serving utensils positioned within.
“You do this very well,” Emily murmured.
Derian sat down beside her, close enough for Emily to catch her spicy scent. “My father always insisted on a formal table when the family dined together. I learned from watching the maids. Sometimes I even helped them, just to annoy him.”
“Teenage rebellion?”
Derian sipped her wine. “More than that, I guess. Maybe lifelong rebellion.”
“Do you have siblings?” Emily asked.
“I do now, a half brother. He’s…” She paused as if counting in her head. “He must be six. I haven’t seen him in quite a while.”
Emily took a bite of the very delicious food. “It must be odd, having such a younger sibling.”
“Truthfully, I don’t think of my father’s second family as having anything to do with me. I have nothing against the boy, of course. But I don’t know his mother or him, and my father and Marguerite—that’s his wife’s name—took up well after I left home.”
“What’s his name?”
“Daniel.” Derian poured a little more wine in Emily’s glass.
“No more,” Emily said, laughing lightly. “I’m not used to it.”
“Of course.” Derian replenished her glass and put the bottle aside. “How about you? Big family, small family?”
Emily carefully set her fork down. She usually managed to avoid talking about family, which wasn’t all that difficult since her associates were business ones and the topic didn’t often come up. Henrietta knew, but she’d never shared the story with anyone else, not even Ron. Not the whole story. “Small, I guess. One older sister. Pam.”
“She here in the city too?” Derian asked conversationally.
“No. She isn’t.”
“That’s hard, when you’re close.” As if picking up on the tension in Emily’s voice, Derian regarded her steadily. “Sounds like you are.”
“Yes,” Emily said around the lump in her throat. “I miss her.”
“Where is she?”
“At home—in Singapore.”
“Ah, I didn’t realize.” Derian smiled. “You sound very American.”
Emily laughed. “English-speaking schools, and I’ve been here almost a decade.”
“Do you get back often, then, to Singapore?”
“A couple times a year.” Emily shook her head when Derian offered another helping of one of the entrées.
Derian covered the dish. “Are the rest of your family still there?”
“Pam and I are the only ones left.”
“Ah. I’m sorry too, then. It must have been a challenge, coming over here alone.”
“I was determined, so I didn’t think of it much at the time.” Emily let out a breath, forced a smile. “And I’ve been lucky. The agency is a great place to work, and I’ve made some good friends.”
“So tell me about you and Henrietta,” Derian said. “How did you end up here? Winfield’s isn’t the biggest literary agency in New York, and you strike me as going for the top.”
“Winfield’s is smaller than some, true,” Emily said, knowing she sounded protective, “but it is also one of the most respected.”
“Ah,” Derian said softly, “so you value substance over show.”
“I like to think so.”
Derian leaned back, cradled her wineglass. “How did you and Henrietta meet?”
“Well,” Emily said, “I guess you could say I chased her.”
Derian laughed. “Now there’s a story I really want to hear.”
“All right.” Emily recounted for Derian how she had first contacted Henrietta, and the gradual development of their long-distance working relationship that culminated in her move to the agency, and finally their very deep friendship.
When she’d finished, Derian nodded. “I can see where Henrietta would’ve been intrigued by someone who cut through all the bullshit. You’re good at that, aren’t you?”
“I suppose that’s true.” Emily shrugged. “I’ve always been the pragmatic type. For me, most things are black and white. I say what I think, and I prefer others do the same. I like life to be straightforward.”
“That would put you in the minority.” Derian finished her wine and slid her glass away. “In my experience, people rarely say what they think, and oftentimes don’t mean what they say. Everything is a little bit of a game.”
“For you too?” Emily asked.
“Oh,” Derian said, laughing. “Most definitely.”
“And how do you know when something is real?”
“Well everything is real in th
e moment, isn’t it, even when it’s a game? You just have to know you’re playing.”
“You’re not just talking about cards and cars, are you.”
Derian’s expression flattened. “No.”
Emily frowned. “I’m quite certain I would be terrible at pretending other than what I felt.”
“I think you would be too. Don’t gamble.”
“Actually, I’m very good at cards. I’ve been told I have an excellent poker face.”
“Do you bluff?” Derian asked.
“Yes, insomuch as I am quite capable of keeping my thoughts and feelings to myself.”
“I suppose that could be considered a bluff.” Derian tapped a finger to Emily’s hand. “We’ll have to play sometime.”
Emily flushed. “I don’t think so. I’m afraid you’re far too experienced for me.”
“I don’t know,” Derian said musingly. “I might’ve met my match. But I was thinking more of playing together, not against each other.”
Emily sensed the conversation veering once again away from the topic and into some realm she couldn’t quite comprehend. She was never entirely sure they were talking about what they were actually saying. Subtext was everything in fiction, but she preferred plainer language in real life. “You would not find me a very good partner. I’m afraid I don’t know any of the rules.”
“Oh, not to worry. I’d be happy to demonstrate.”
“I doubt we’ll ever have the chance,” Emily said a little frostily. Derian’s grin was infuriatingly arrogant and just a little too compelling to contemplate.
“So what do you do to occupy your time,” Derian asked, seemingly unfazed by Emily’s tone, “if you don’t enjoy games?”
“I read, of course,” Emily said.
“No, no, that’s work.”
