by Radclyffe
“Thanks. I’m afraid I’m still in the prep stage, and”—Emily frowned, indicating her jeans and T-shirt—“I’m not dressed.”
“I was kind of hoping for the bunny slippers.” Derian set the wine on a nearby table and pulled Emily close. She kissed her, one hand settling low on her back, her fingers dipping beneath the waistband of Emily’s jeans. She loved the feel of that little dip at the base of her spine, so soft and sensuous. “You look terrific. Don’t change a thing.”
Emily wriggled closer. “I’m not having dinner with you wearing a Star Wars T-shirt.”
Derian grinned. “I like it, but I would’ve put you in the Star Trek camp.”
“I’m one of those rare individuals who’s never chosen sides. I think they’re both incredible for different reasons.” Leaning back, Emily spread her palms over Derian’s chest, flicking open the top button of her shirt to kiss the hollow of her throat. “You, now, you’re definitely Star Wars. Speed and derring-do, a raider in the sky.”
Derian laughed and walked Emily over to the sofa. “Do you have anything on the stove?”
“Not yet, I was still chopping—” Emily gave a little squeak when Derian dumped her onto the couch and then lost her voice when Derian stretched out over her. Somehow they managed to wrap themselves around each other on the narrow space and then Derian was kissing her and Emily was grabbing on to every part of her, desperate to touch every inch, to pull her inside, as deep inside her as she could.
“I missed you,” Derian growled against her throat, one hand sliding under her T-shirt, stroking down her belly, and fumbling at the button of her jeans.
“Let me help,” Emily gasped, suddenly desperate to be naked, to have nothing between her and Derian’s hands. She tore open her jeans and pushed them down her legs, kicking them off while trying to keep Derian on top of her, not caring how ungraceful she looked as long as Derian never moved. Derian’s mouth was on her throat, her teeth lightly scraping, sending shivers of heat down her spine and fireworks bursting between her thighs.
“Oh my God.” Blindly, Emily found Derian’s hand and pressed it between her thighs. “Inside. I want you inside.”
Derian knelt between Emily’s thighs, stroking her breasts and her belly and finally filling her. Her eyes burned, feral and magnificent, stark and famished. For her. For her.
“Hurry.” Emily gripped Derian’s wrist and lifted to take her deeper. When Derian leaned down and kissed her, she exploded.
“Okay, so fast is good too,” Emily murmured into Derian’s neck.
“Fast is pretty fantastic.”
Emily squinted, focused finally. Derian lay beside her, holding her. “You still have all your clothes on.”
“You have a Star Wars T-shirt. I’m underdressed.”
Emily laughed, a little wildly, still trying to put the pieces of her sanity back together. “I never wanted anything the way I want you.”
“I can’t seem to stop touching you.”
Emily stretched and murmured contentedly. “That’s very good, then. I would like it, though, if we took your clothes off now so I can feel your skin. Love your skin. It’s so hot.”
Derian grinned against Emily’s rumpled hair. Hot skin. Why did she think that was the most exciting thing she’d ever heard? “I missed you all afternoon. Why did you have to have meetings scheduled back to back?”
Emily tilted her head and kissed Derian’s chin. “Oh, you know. Business? You remember the agency.”
“Oh. That. Vaguely.”
“I did have a very hard time thinking about work.” Emily opened the buttons on Derian’s shirt. Finding the skin she’d been hungering for, she ran her tongue in circles around Derian’s nipple. Derian’s fingers threaded into her hair and pressed her face closer to her breast.
“I like it when you do that,” Derian whispered, her limbs shifting restlessly.
Emily intended never to stop, but first she needed more. She slipped off the couch and knelt beside it, opening Derian’s belt and trousers. “Sit up.”
“Emily,” Derian groaned, swinging her legs to the floor. “I—”
“Off.” Emily gripped Derian’s trousers and tugged, pulling them down and away. She knelt between Derian’s legs and kissed Derian’s inner thighs, slowly working her way higher until Derian’s thighs tightened and her hips lifted from the couch.
“Emily,” Derian warned, “I’m close.”
Emily splayed her fingers over Derian’s tense stomach and took what she’d been aching for all day. The sweet heat of Derian’s surrender pierced her, impaling her with awe. She stroked and caressed and drew her deeper until she felt the telltale tightening everywhere. At the last second, she slipped inside her and Derian convulsed, a hoarse cry of surprise and pleasure torn from her throat.
“So beautiful,” Emily whispered, her cheek pressed to Derian’s thigh. Derian’s fingers played in her hair, her breathing harsh and unsteady.
“I never had anyone own me the way you do,” Derian said.
Smiling, Emily kissed her stomach and climbed up beside her on the sofa. She pulled Derian down, and they tangled together again.
“I never knew I had so much craving inside me,” Emily said. “It’s a little maddening.”
“I know.” Derian kissed her. “Maddening and amazing and something I never get enough of.”
Emily tapped her fingers on Derian’s hip. “Although if we keep putting off dinner, we might die of starvation.”
“Never.” Derian wrapped a hand around Emily’s nape, holding her close. She wasn’t ready to let her go. She couldn’t think of anything she wanted beyond lying right where she was. She sighed.
“What?” Emily asked, in no hurry to get up. Derian had a way of making her forget everything she needed to do.
“I got a call this afternoon from some nervous investors. I need to show up before the race in Rio. Sponsor-type stuff.”
Icy tentacles slithered through Emily’s chest. “Oh. When?”
“The day after tomorrow. I tried to put it off, but—”
“No, of course you can’t. You’ve been away for quite a while now,” Emily said, starting to sit up. She couldn’t be this close to her and know that she was leaving. She was more than half-naked, she was exposed and feeling incredibly vulnerable, as if her skin were peeling away. At any moment she was afraid she might start bleeding. She had to gather her strength, somehow re-erect her shields. She ran both hands through her hair and tugged as she untangled her curls, the tiny spears of pain clearing the fog of sex and false security. Jumping up, she searched on the floor for her jeans. She couldn’t be naked any longer. “I should do something about dinner.”
“I know I might be leaving you in the lurch at the agency, but I took care of one problem.” Derian got up, grabbed her pants, and shook out the wrinkles in a quick, automatic move.
“Oh?” Emily said, trying to think of what to do with her hands. She couldn’t touch her right now. She couldn’t bear to touch her and want her and know that she’d be leaving soon. Of course she’d always known that, expected it, but hadn’t let herself think about it. Just the night, just the now. She’d made that deal with herself, hadn’t she? She couldn’t go back on it now. She couldn’t expect it to be any different than what it was. She’d never lied to herself. She wouldn’t start now. She backed up.
“I got rid of Donatella. As of tomorrow, she’s gone.” Derian pulled on her trousers but didn’t bother to button her shirt.
Derian was so damn casual about her body, about everything, and Emily had always known that too, hadn’t she? Sex was just another form of conversation for Derian. Nothing wrong with that at all. And she’d given Emily something precious, something far beyond pleasure. Derian had given her the knowledge of what she’d been living without, and what she refused to do without someday. Someday, when she could bear the hunger again.
“How did she take it?” Emily asked, amazed at how easily she could talk about something that mattere
d not at all while everything that did slipped away.
Derian grinned and poured wine from the open bottle on Emily’s kitchen island into the glasses Emily’d left on the counter. She handed one to Emily. “I told her she’d had enough time with the numbers. I’d gone over the books myself in the last couple of days, and there was nothing there to find. Winfield’s bottom line was far more than acceptable.”
“That’s great news.” Emily sipped the wine, found it tasteless.
Derian leaned against the counter, drinking wine and looking completely composed, not bothered in the least that she’d soon be leaving. “I don’t think she expected me to understand any of the numbers, but when I made it clear that I did, she pretty much ran out of ammunition. Her slings and arrows bounced off at that point.”
“I owe you a great debt,” Emily said.
Derian shook her head. “No, you don’t. If I’d been in the picture all along, my father probably wouldn’t have tried to take over as soon as Henrietta gave him an opening.”
“Nevertheless, everyone at the agency appreciates everything you’ve done.”
“I’ve enjoyed it. Working with you was a special bonus.” Derian set her glass down. “Henrietta has agreed, at least for now, not to fight her rehab regimen. It’ll be a few weeks before she can even work part-time. I’ll be back—”
“We’ll be fine,” Emily said. “You’ve interrupted your schedule, your life, for all of us, not just Henrietta. You’ve done enough.”
Emily tried to slip by her to hide in the kitchen. Just putting a counter between them would help, but she didn’t make it. Derian pulled her closer until she was almost standing between Derian’s legs. She couldn’t be this close to her and not put her hands on her. She clenched her fists at her sides. Please, she needed a little bit of distance, just so she could think again.
“There’s something else I wanted to talk to you about,” Derian said.
Business, that would be good. If they could just get back to business. “Oh?”
“I think I found a solution to all our problems,” Derian said. “Your visa, keeping Martin away from the agency, and taking care of the long term.”
“It sounds like a miracle cure,” Emily said.
“It might be,” Derian said, laughing. “I think you and I should get married.”
Emily stared, the cold enveloping her completely.
“It’s perfect, really,” Derian said, reaching back for her wineglass. “No one could argue about succession. You’d be a permanent resident, you’d be an insider—family, and you’d be the logical one to take over after Henrietta.”
“And what would you get out of it?” Emily asked, thankfully having recovered her powers of language. Her mind seemed to be working although she’d lost all feeling below her shoulders. She was actually numb. “Besides annoying your father, that is.”
Derian frowned. “My father? What does he have to do with this?”
Emily managed to extract herself and backed up until they were no longer in contact. That helped bring some sensation back into her body, and what followed was anger. No, not anger, fury. “I can’t imagine he’d be very happy to discover that you’d outsmarted him at one of his own games. He’s wanted to dismantle the agency or, at least, take control of it, and since you’d never shown any interest in it, he had the perfect opening. And then you outsmart him by marrying someone who, I imagine, he wouldn’t approve of, and making it impossible for him. You win.”
Derian frowned. “It’s not about winning some game with my father.”
“Isn’t it? Then what is it about? This arrangement you’re suggesting.”
“It’s a sensible solution,” Derian said, caught off guard by Emily’s accusations. She wasn’t trying to get back at her father. “I was trying to help you and Henrietta.”
“Help? By committing yourself to a marriage of convenience.” Emily felt just a little bit crazy. “God, I’ve become a character in one of my manuscripts.”
“Marriage of—no, that’s not what I’m suggesting.”
“Then what are you suggesting, Derian? We’ve had the marriage conversation already, remember? You’re not interested in marriage. It doesn’t fit with your lifestyle. Why would you do this?”
“Because—” Derian stumbled over the swirl of emotions tangled in her head, thrown by Emily’s anger, struggling to sort out feelings she’d never faced before. Trying to see the future she’d never envisioned. “I want you to be able to stay—isn’t that what you want?”
“For Henrietta. For the agency.” Emily nodded, the numbness receding. Only her heart remained frozen. Not for her. Of course, not for her. Derian didn’t love her. She took a deep breath. “I appreciate your offer. It’s very kind of you.”
Derian’s brows drew down. “Kind? It’s not about being kind—”
“Yes, that’s exactly what it is. That, perhaps, and some misplaced guilt about not being here sooner.”
“Guilt.” A muscle in Derian’s jaw tightened. “Because I ran out on my family, you mean. Because I didn’t fulfill the Winfield legacy.”
“Before we say things we might regret,” Emily said very carefully, fighting desperately for solid ground while a tornado of hurt and self-recrimination whirled inside her, “I think we need to reassess exactly what we’re doing.”
“Reassess,” Derian said, her eyes narrowing. “That sounds like a business proposition.”
“Yes, well, we’re talking about business, aren’t we?”
“Not exactl—”
“And I think it would be best if we keep our relationship on professional terms from now on.” There, she’d done it, what she should have done from the beginning—erected some boundaries in her relationship with Derian, for her own self-preservation.
“And if I don’t agree?” Derian’s eyes were molten.
“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice.”
“You’re wrong about that,” Derian said on her way out the door. “I’m no longer part of the Winfield Agency as of right now, so our professional relationship, if that’s what you’d like to call what we’ve been doing, is officially over.”
Emily slumped against the counter, staring at the closed door and trying to convince herself she’d just made the only decision she could. She believed that, she really did, but doing the smart thing didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. How far would she have to go to silence the craving for the sound of Derian’s voice and the touch of her hands? She had no clue, but she at least knew where to go first.
Chapter Twenty-six
Derian only knew one way to handle confusion and anger and disappointment—she moved on to the next stop on the revolving stage of her life. Head down, cutting her way through the early evening sidewalk strollers with the ease of years of handling casino and racetrack crowds, she pulled up the number on her phone of her favorite travel agent, one of several kept on retainer by the corporation to handle all the upper-level management travel needs, including hers.
“Monica? Derian Winfield.”
“Yes, Ms. Winfield. How can I be of assistance?”
“I need to be in Rio by this time tomorrow.”
“Just a moment.” Monica sounded as if the peremptory request was just another ordinary item in a day’s work, which Derian guessed it was. She imagined Monica must go everywhere with a mobile, because no matter what time of day or night she called her, Monica always took care of her.
“I can get you on a direct flight from DC at six ten a.m. You’ll fly the corporate jet to Reagan National. Shall I send a car for you at four?”
Derian hesitated. She needed to go—she’d been putting off Antonio, her business manager, for weeks. If he said she needed to put in an appearance to woo some nervous investors before the next leg of the circuit, she believed him. She had nothing pressing at the agency—nothing she couldn’t have Vonnie delegate with a quick phone call. After all, Emily could have been doing her job all along, and she’d planned to have Emily step in
while she was away. At the moment, talking to Emily and pretending everything was business as usual felt like more than she could handle. She ruthlessly pushed aside the quicksilver flash of pain when she imagined Emily at the office, looking beautiful and sexy as only she could in casual business clothes. Looking beautiful and sexy no matter where she was or what she was doing. “Yes, have me picked up at the Dakota.”
“Very good—shall I arrange a wake-up call when the driver is en route?”
“That would be fine.” She didn’t have much to pack. Once she’d left, the Dakota staff would take care of disposing of the few things in her kitchen, sending any clothes she left behind out to be laundered, and cleaning the place.
“I’ll reserve your usual suite at the Copa?”
Suddenly weary just thinking about the high-octane world she’d be jumping back into the next night, Derian sighed. Maybe the nonstop parties masquerading as business meetings would be just what she needed to quench the seething unrest souring her stomach. “Sure. Thanks.”
“Of course, Ms. Winfield. Have a good flight.”
“Good night.” Derian shoved her phone into her pants pocket and tried not to think about the hash she’d made of the night. Since kicking herself was a physical impossibility, she’d just keep walking until she burned off some of the anger. Nothing had turned out the way she’d expected, and she still couldn’t figure out where things had gone so wrong. She mentally replayed the conversation with Emily—hell, all their conversations—wondering how she’d misread the signals so completely. One minute they’d been closer than she’d ever been with anyone, not just physically, but in every way, and the next she’d felt like she’d been talking to a stranger. Emily had actually suggested Derian’s proposal was meant to manipulate Emily into doing something just so Derian could gain an advantage over Martin. Pain knifed through her chest. That Emily could imagine Derian was like him—a manipulator, someone who used people as weapons against one another—hurt far more than all the insults Martin had ever hurled her way.
