by Radclyffe
“Donatella at least has your father’s blessing.”
“And we all know how much that counts for.”
“Derian—”
“Never mind, Aud. I don’t know why I forgot whose side you’re on. I seem to keep making that mistake.”
“Dammit! If you’d bothered to be here once in a while—”
“You’re right,” Derian said. “But I’m here now.”
She disconnected, dropped the phone into her pocket, and walked back into the hospital. Maybe the smartest thing to do was stay out of the way, let Martin do what he wanted to do for years—turn the agency into a moneymaking enterprise or kill it altogether. She’d opted out of that battlefront years ago. Ran from it, if she was being honest. Once Henrietta was on the road to recovery, she could get back to her life. She slowly climbed the stairs, her footsteps echoing in the silence of the stairwell. Back to her life. She couldn’t think of a single thing about it that she missed.
Chapter Sixteen
At 6:59, Derian rang the buzzer next to the small white rectangular tab with the name E. May typed in bold and tugged down the sleeves of her navy blazer. She’d paired it with dark jeans, a pale gray shirt, and black boots, hoping casual was a good choice for dinner in. She had an instant of uncertainty and laughed in wry amusement. Since when did she worry about impressing? A moment later, the intercom crackled to life. “Yes?”
“It’s Derian.”
“3C. Come on up—my door is unlocked.”
The small vestibule grew quiet until a few seconds later a long, low buzz sounded from the double interior doors and Derian let herself in to a narrow foyer leading to a set of stairs at the far end. The mosaic tile floor was mud-free despite the recent storms, the waist-high dark wood wainscoting and curved banister glowing with polish with only the occasional scuff mark, and the stairs free of trash and dirt. A nice apartment building, one of maybe five or six stone edifices in a row on a narrow side street. She climbed to the third floor, found apartment C, turned the brass knob, and she let herself into a softly lit living room in a high-ceilinged, open-plan apartment. Across the room, Emily worked at an island flanked by several tall bar stools that separated the small galley kitchen from the main seating area just to Derian’s right. Beyond the living area, floor-to-ceiling windows opened onto a view of a small pocket park she’d passed when the Uber driver let her off at the corner. At the opposite end of the room, other doors presumably led to the bedroom and bath. Focused spots illuminated the kitchen workspaces, leaving the rest of the large apartment in muted shadows cast by floor lamps with tasseled ivory shades. The mix of old-world elegance and modern efficiency seemed a perfect reflection of Emily.
“Hi,” Derian said, her heart beating rapidly for some reason.
“You’re right on time.” Emily greeted her with a bright, easy smile, looking sexy and relaxed in a black shirt with small iridescent flowers scattered over the front, body-hugging jeans, and strappy black shoes with low heels. Her hair was caught back with a plain tie, leaving a thick tail at her nape.
The heavy feeling Derian’d been carrying all afternoon since leaving the hospital fled her chest. “You sound as if you thought I wouldn’t be here.”
Emily laughed. “I did no such thing. If I’d been the slightest bit worried, I wouldn’t have done all this prep.” She gestured to the counter and an array of vegetables and other foods in a line of small, hand-painted ceramic bowls. She resumed expertly slicing vegetables on one of several cutting boards. “Is that the red I see?”
Derian hefted the Château Mouton in its unassuming paper bag. “As promised.”
“Would you open it, and we can have a little while I cook.”
“Excellent idea.” Derian carried the bottle to the counter, removed it from the bag, and opened it with a corkscrew Emily handed her.
Emily raised an eyebrow. “Where did you find that?”
“Ah, I had the wine steward at the Dakota procure it for me. Will it work?”
“Oh, I should think so.” Emily shook her head at the extravagance, secretly flattered by Derian’s efforts toward making the evening special, and went back to chopping.
Derian set the red aside to breathe and settled onto the high-backed stool to watch Emily work. Her hands flashed, the gleaming knife blade a blur, and small piles of colorful vegetables appeared as if by magic. Although the area was small, it was easy to see it had been laid out with care by someone who actually intended to use it. The range was a new compact high-end commercial model. Gleaming pots and pans sat on several burners and hung from a copper rack affixed to the ceiling. She watched as Emily efficiently assembled items into a roasting pan and slid it into the oven. “Looks like you have a calling. Ever considered being a chef?”
“I’ve always loved to cook. But the books captured me first.” Emily nodded toward the wine. “Would it be a sin to try that prematurely?”
“I’d say it’s breathed enough. Besides, there can be no sin in shared indulgence.”
Emily regarded her silently, and Derian held her gaze. She couldn’t be anywhere near Emily without that stirring of excitement, and tonight she didn’t want to avoid it. The last days had been hell. Meeting Emily was the only good thing to come out of the whole nightmare, and for a few hours, she intended to bask in the pleasure. Derian poured wine into the two glasses Emily set on the counter, then lifted hers and held it out. “To Henrietta.”
“To Henrietta.” Emily lightly touched her glass to Derian’s. A high, clear chime of crystal rang out. “Thank you for calling me this afternoon.”
“Not at all.” After Derian had visited Henrietta in the recovery room, she’d called Emily at the agency with an update. Henrietta was stable, but not yet awake. She wouldn’t remember Derian visiting, holding her hand, informing her that all was well. That didn’t matter. She’d been there, as she’d needed to be—for herself as much as Henrietta. “Tomorrow she’ll be more aware and you can visit.”
“I hope so.”
“So,” Derian said as the warm, sharp taste of the wine teased all her senses, “who taught you to cook?”
Emily made a wry face. “I always wanted to spend time in the kitchen when I was young, but my parents thought trailing after the cook was unseemly. They didn’t mind, however, when I took cooking lessons as soon as I was old enough.” She shrugged, her expression distant. “I stole off to the kitchen at the embassy as often as I could when they were entertaining foreign dignitaries, trying to master as many national dishes as I could.”
“You must have quite an eclectic repertoire, then.”
“I don’t get much chance to use it these days.” Emily shook off whatever memory had momentarily clouded her expression. “I hope you like Asian fusion.”
“I enjoy food, but I must admit, after hundreds of meals served in restaurants and hotels, the allure fades.”
“Well, perhaps we can reinvigorate that.”
“Perhaps.” Derian sipped her red. “That and other diminishing pleasures.”
Emily flushed and quickly looked away. Derian smiled inwardly, recognizing she wasn’t the only one feeling the pull of attraction. Ordinarily she wouldn’t resist the draw, especially not when the woman in question obviously shared her desire. This time, though, she needed to proceed a great deal more carefully. Emily was no innocent and certainly not a child, but despite her apparent openness to mild flirtation, she had already weighed in on the subject—and her answer had been no. Still, people were known to change their minds, and Derian enjoyed the gentle chase. And she liked that nothing beyond dinner had been suggested. She didn’t want any of her time with Emily to resemble the empty, and ultimately forgettable, evenings she’d spent with other women. She didn’t want to play games, she didn’t want to forget the night as soon as it had passed. She simply wanted to enjoy the company of a bright, beautiful, exciting woman.
“Is something wrong?” Emily asked quietly.
“No,” Derian said quietly. “I
n fact, everything is surprisingly all right.”
*
They ate at a small round table covered by a snowy white linen cloth in a shallow alcove off the living area. Three tall narrow windows gave a view down onto the park. Emily had opened one of the windows and surprisingly warm evening air wafted in, carrying the sounds of the city.
“It’s nice,” Derian said, “seeing a bit of green.”
“Not exactly the kind of view you’re used to,” Emily commented.
“No,” Derian said, her eyes on Emily. “Actually, far better.”
Emily blushed. “Where were you staying in Monte Carlo?”
Derian grinned briefly at the deft deflection. Emily’s shy blush just made her want to tease her more. “Hôtel de Paris.”
“Ah, yes. That overlooks the racecourse on the plaza.”
“You’ve been there?”
“Only vicariously.”
“You’re very well informed, then.”
Emily laughed. “I don’t travel frequently, but I enjoy reading pretty much everything. And I already confessed to being a celebrity addict.”
“I would imagine for a woman like you, that would not be satisfying for very long.”
Emily poured tea from an ornamental pot into small glazed cups. “Why is that?”
Derian tried the tea. It was surprisingly fragrant but not the least bit cloying. Full and aromatic. “I’ve never been a tea drinker, but I think this might persuade me differently.”
“It’s practically the national drink where I grew up. High tea is one of the customs left over from colonialism that is still embraced in Singapore. I enjoy coffee, but I find it’s only good when taken sparingly. Like so many things.”
“Not necessarily a popular sentiment.”
“And you’re dissembling again.” Emily pointed a finger. “What do you mean, a woman like me?” Emily wasn’t fishing for compliments. She was genuinely curious. Oh, she wanted Derian to be interested. She wasn’t so self-deluding as to deny that. Having the interest of a beautiful woman was not something she could ignore or pretend she didn’t want. But she so rarely wondered how others thought of her, she couldn’t fathom what clues—or what secrets—she’d exposed.
“A woman of substance.”
“Oh,” Emily said with mock horror. “That sounds ghastly. Stodgy and boring and—you make me sound like a stereotypical librarian.”
Grinning, Derian looked around and tilted her chin in the direction of an entire wall of floor-to-ceiling bookcases, every shelf filled and many overfilled with books. “Observe.”
“Of course I love books,” Emily said. “Why on earth would I do what I do if I didn’t?”
Derian took Emily’s hand and gave it a playful shake. “I’ve never in my life known a librarian who looks like you.”
“Nice try, but you obviously haven’t met many librarians. Contrary to the stereotype, many of them are far more attractive and interesting than me.”
“I doubt that,” Derian murmured.
Emily’s playful protests flew from her mind. She’d never known she was so susceptible to flattery, but every time Derian looked at her as if she were seeing someone beautiful and intriguing, Emily was transported into a world of possibility she’d never imagined. She felt sexy and desirable and desirous. She swallowed. “You have a way of making me forget myself.”
Derian played her thumb over Emily’s knuckles. “Is that a bad thing?”
“I really don’t know. It’s unique.”
“Good. I’d hate to be ordinary where you’re concerned.”
“Oh, believe me. You’re anything but that.”
“And to answer your question,” Derian said with unusual seriousness, “I already know you’re strong and independent and determined. I also know you’re kind and loyal and generous. All of those things to me equal substance. You wouldn’t find a steady diet of parties, cocktail conversation, and the constant striving for greater and greater thrills very interesting.”
“And is that what your life is like?”
Derian sighed, glancing out the window as twilight crept across the park, blurring the shadows of pedestrians into formless shapes. “My life passes by so quickly, I don’t really notice.”
“I imagine a steady diet of excitement and adventure would be like that,” Emily mused, not sounding critical but more contemplative. “I think it must be tiring, never to have a moment to reflect.”
“I think that’s exactly the point.”
“And yet you’re here,” Emily said. “You left all that behind without hesitation. I can tell you’re not happy to be here, but you came despite that. Out of loyalty and love. To me, that’s substance.”
Derian released Emily’s hand and lifted the teacup, cradling the small beautiful object of art in her palm. “Staying in the first place might have been more impressive.”
“I don’t see anything wrong with searching out the life you want,” Emily said. “I take it you left because that wasn’t here.”
“I don’t know,” Derian said. “I’m afraid I was too angry to ask myself if there was anything here I wanted.”
“Well,” Emily said softly, “you’re here now.”
“Yes,” Derian said, savoring the delicate beauty of the woman across from her. “I am here now.”
Suddenly self-conscious and afraid her enjoyment of Derian’s attention would be far too obvious, Emily rose to clear the table. “Why don’t you pour the rest of the wine, and I’ll meet you in the living room in just a minute.”
Derian rose with her. “Let me help you.”
“Absolutely not.” Emily gave Derian’s shoulder a playful shove, appreciating the play of muscles beneath her fingers. “Guest, remember?”
“If you insist.” Derian filled the glasses, set them on a coffee table opposite an ornate white marble fireplace with a broad mantel bearing filigreed candlesticks at either end, and settled into a comfortable floral-patterned overstuffed sofa.
Less than a minute later when Emily sat down, her scent, light and spicy as a fragrant tea, teased at Derian’s senses. A different kind of hunger emerged, sharp and demanding. “Thank you for dinner. It was one of the most enjoyable meals I’ve had in a very long time.”
“I’m glad you liked it.”
“The food was delicious,” Derian said, placing her wineglass carefully back on the table. She slid closer until the outside of her thigh touched Emily’s. When Emily didn’t draw away, but just looked at her with the question in her eyes, Derian framed her face with both hands. “But it was the company that made it so special.”
This time when she kissed her, it wasn’t fleeting, and she didn’t ask permission. She didn’t wait to be invited. She’d wanted to kiss her since she’d walked in the door, and pretending otherwise was fruitless and self-deluding. Emily’s mouth was soft and sweet and delectable as the finest wine. When Emily made a small surprised sound of pleasure, Derian’s heart leapt into her throat. A surge of want so powerful her thighs tightened shot through her. She slid her hand around to Emily’s nape, soft hair gliding over the top of her hand, and drew her closer until their bodies touched. Emily’s breasts pressed into her, firm and compelling.
Emily nibbled at her lip and Derian groaned, fingers tightening. She slid deeper, exploring the heat and soft secrets of Emily’s mouth. Emily slid both arms around her shoulders, stroked her back, explored in a way Derian hadn’t expected. Hands probed her muscles, traced the ridge of her spine, caressing and delighting her, inflaming her. Derian pressed closer and Emily leaned back against the pillows, half reclining. Derian braced herself on an arm over Emily, wanting to cover her, wanting to consume her with such urgency she had to struggle to be gentle. She kissed the corner of Emily’s full, yielding mouth, the angle of her jaw, her long graceful neck, the hollow of her throat. Unable to stop, she unbuttoned the uppermost button of Emily’s shirt and kissed the soft triangle between her breasts.
“God, I want you.” Her voice w
as hoarse, an unfamiliar desperation cutting through it.
“Derian,” Emily murmured, her voice low and foreign. Her fist tightened in Derian’s hair. “Wait—”
Derian gripped Emily’s shoulders, angled a leg between hers. The touch of Emily’s body sent heat sweeping through her. She searched for another button, her mouth on the curve of Emily’s breast. “Emily. I want to make love to you.”
Emily tugged Derian’s head up and kissed her, catching Derian’s hand before Derian could clasp her breast. “I’m not—I can’t—”
Derian shuddered and gritted her teeth. Taking deep, gasping breaths, she forced her head to clear. As soon as she could manage, she pushed herself up and stared down. “Are you all right?”
Emily didn’t hesitate. “Yes. Of course.”
“You’re very beautiful.” She smiled wryly. “I can’t help wanting you.”
Emily smiled, color flooding her face. “Thank you.”
“I should go.” Summoning all her will, Derian stood, extending her hand to help Emily up. “Thank you for tonight.”
Emily grasped her hand. “Derian, I—”
“No,” Derian said quickly. “You needn’t explain. I won’t apologize this time, though, especially since I very much want to do that again.”
“I enjoyed tonight too,” Emily said. “All of the night.”
“I’m not a patient person,” Derian warned.
“I’m not worried.” Emily walked her to the door. “Good night, Derian.”
Emily didn’t say any of the things Derian expected. She didn’t say she didn’t want to be kissed again. She didn’t say they should keep their relationship professional. She didn’t say no.
For tonight, that was enough.
“Good night, Emily.”
Chapter Seventeen
Still grinning as she reached the street, Derian strode to the corner, double-checked the street signs, and texted Uber for a pickup. She typed in her destination and waited. The new service made getting around so much easier. She didn’t have to think about which direction she needed to walk to get a cab or explain to a driver where she needed to go, a sometimes challenging feat when so many cabbies needed help with directions. When she traveled and didn’t have a driver of her own, she’d found getting around even in the cities she knew difficult, despite all the tricks she’d learned over the years to defeat her directional dyslexia. She leaned against a lamppost, feeling the smile fill her. Emily had definitely kissed her back. There’d be another time, another kiss. She wanted it, and she wasn’t going to waste time asking herself why. The answer was simple. Kissing Emily was exceedingly pleasant.