The Color of Love

by Radclyffe

Emily was dressed and ready to go way too early. To keep from checking her makeup for the tenth time or looking in the mirror again to be sure her dress fell just right and not too low between her breasts, she went to the window to watch for Derian. She couldn’t pretend she didn’t feel like a high school girl waiting for her prom date, even though she’d never actually gone to the prom. She’d missed those things after the accident. Refusing to allow the past to intrude on a night she’d been anticipating for weeks, she let those memories drift back to where they belonged.

  She was dressed to the nines and going out to a gala with a handsome woman, and she intended to enjoy every minute of the evening, even if she was the only one who thought of it like it was a date. Derian undoubtedly thought of the National Book Awards as a necessary evil of her temporary job, but she’d agreed to attend with the same willingness she’d tackled all the other new responsibilities at Winfield’s. She’d settled in remarkably well at the agency, and despite not having any formal training in literature, she had an innate appreciation for what worked and what didn’t. Derian seemed to enjoy their business discussions as much as Emily and had a natural affinity for the production side of the business, being exceptionally good with numbers. Emily laughed to herself. No surprise there.

  Helping Derian learn the agency didn’t feel like work at all. She looked forward to every day, with their morning meetings, their after-lunch conferences, and the impromptu moments when Derian would drop by her office to ask her a question or discuss something that had come across her desk. Derian wasn’t trying to replace Henrietta, but she was learning what made Winfield’s tick. Unlike Donatella, Derian appreciated Henrietta’s vision, the heart of it all, and that mattered more than anything.

  A black Town Car slid to the curb and Emily’s pulse soared. She was used to that reaction by now, since every time she saw Derian, exhilaration rushed through her. She loved simply looking at her, the way she moved with a graceful, confident stride, the way her brows drew down just a little when she was deep in thought, the lazy way she sometimes watched Emily that made Emily feel incredibly sensual.

  Emily had only had a glimpse of her when Derian stepped from the car before she disappeared onto the stairs, but a second was enough to put her heart in her throat. For tonight’s formal event, Derian had chosen a dark suit with a classically tailored jacket and notched lapels, fitted trousers, and a pale gray silk shirt—sleek and elegant, like her.

  Feeling only a teeny bit foolish, Emily waited next to the intercom for the buzzer. As soon as it sounded, she said, “I’ll be right down.”

  “Let me come up,” Derian said. “I’m your escort, remember?”

  Emily laughed. “I think I can manage the stairs.”

  “No doubt, but a lady should be handed into her carriage in the proper fashion.”

  “All right.” Still laughing, Emily released the inner door and, when the knock sounded, took a deep breath and told herself not to think, just to enjoy the night. She opened her door and Derian’s gaze swept over her.

  “You look incredible.” Derian folded Emily’s hand in hers and kissed her knuckles. With her head still bent low, she murmured, “You take my breath away.”

  “You make me feel amazing.”

  Derian looked up, her eyes glinting. “I’ve been looking forward to this, and you are the reason.”

  Smiling self-consciously, Emily grabbed her small clutch from the table by the door and stepped out, closing it behind her. “I happen to know the National Book Awards is not exactly high on your list of events to attend. But I really hope you enjoy it.”

  Derian slid her hand behind Emily’s elbow and walked close beside her down the hall. “You’ll be there. How can I not enjoy it?”

  “After the twentieth conversation about market trends and predictions of doom for the demise of the entire industry, you might change your mind.”

  Derian held the door for her. “Who said I was going to be listening to any of that? I’m an expert at appearing to be interested and nodding at all the appropriate places while contemplating the next race.”

  “Your skills will come in handy tonight, then.” Emily firmly told herself not to think about when Derian might be off to the next stop on the endless racing circuit. Henrietta was home from the hospital, but thus far they’d all managed to keep her away from Winfield’s. Derian wasn’t leaving yet, and tonight was just for tonight. She’d think no further.

  After they settled into the backseat of the car, Emily gave the driver the address. Derian sat close, her arm stretched out behind Emily, the fingertips of her left hand resting on Emily’s bare skin. She hadn’t worn a wrap and now she was doubly glad. The weather had finally cooperated, and the evening promised to be one of those rare spring nights that felt like summer and held its warmth into the late hours. Derian’s fingertips on her skin warmed her all the way through, or maybe Derian’s touch was just a reflection of the heat that had been building inside her for days.

  “We’ll have about an hour to mingle before the event starts,” Emily said. “I suspect everyone is going to want to meet you, so be prepared.”

  “My loins are girded,” Derian said dryly.

  “Well, try not to draw your sword unless absolutely necessary.”

  “I promise, no bloodshed.” Derian’s hand moved slowly up and down Emily’s arm. “Besides, I’ll have you to think about, and nothing could possibly bother me while I’m doing that.”

  *

  Seated at a large round table near the front of the banquet hall with eight other Winfield people, platters of hors d’oeuvres, and open bottles of champagne, Emily found her pledge to concentrate on business getting more difficult by the second. Usually she loved events like this one. She enjoyed networking, taking the temperature of the industry, watching the maneuvers of the power people who were part of the living machinery of the publishing industry. And she truly appreciated the work of the authors being fêted, even when, like tonight, none of Winfield’s were on the stage. She thought several of the authors they represented had deserved to be finalists, but awards were always less about quality and far more about politics. After all, they were determined by individuals who, no matter how well-informed and knowledgeable, still had personal agendas, biases, and favoritisms. Still, one always wanted one’s work to be appreciated, and as long as recognition was formalized this way, she was as competitive as anyone else in the business.

  Tonight her attention was split between the stage and Derian. She couldn’t seem to stop stealing glances at her, and every time she did, all she wanted was to be alone with her. As the various awards and categories were announced and awards given, Derian leaned closer.

  “How many of Winfield’s authors have been shortlisted?”

  “Quite a number,” Emily said quietly, “but not as many as should be, in my opinion.”

  “You’ll have to tell me some other time how this all works.”

  “We’ll have a breakfast postmortem.”

  “Tomorrow works for me.”

  Derian chuckled, a low seductive sound that slashed through Emily like lightning, making her forget everything that was happening in the moment. Impulsively, she said, “For me too. I always love to start the day with a business discussion.”

  “That’s the best offer I’ve ever had,” Derian said. “How soon can we get out of here?”

  Emily was thankful the lights were turned down low in the room and no one at their table was close enough to hear their conversation or notice her response. She wasn’t in the mood for pretending she didn’t know what Derian was talking about. She was in a very different mood altogether.

  “We have to stay to the end of this,” she whispered. “But I did happen to come by a very nice bottle of wine I thought you might like to share afterward.”

  Even in the dim light she could see the predatory glint leap into Derian’s eyes. She loved knowing she brought out the hunter in her and, ridiculously breathless, reveled in the wild surge in he
r depths.

  “I would love nothing more.” Derian leaned closer until their shoulders touched. “Waiting is exquisitely painful.”

  “I know.” Emily turned back to the stage, clapped in the appropriate places, and tried without success to concentrate on the rest of the ceremony. She caught Ron glancing their way more than once and envisioned another social cross-examination from him in the near future.

  As soon as the last award had been bestowed, the lights came up and the audience began to disperse. The award recipients gathered by the stage for photographs with their respective agents and publishers and those who waited to congratulate them.

  “Now?” Derian leaning closer, her mouth almost brushing Emily’s ear.

  “Yes,” Emily said, grabbing Derian’s hand and pulling her away before they could get caught up in the aftermath conversations. “Now.”

  *

  The car was waiting and they rode in silence, Derian’s arm once again around Emily’s shoulders, their bodies touching. Emily leaned in to Derian, anticipation electrifying every sensation. The warm air caressing her skin made her long for Derian’s hands to do the same. By the time they arrived and climbed the stairs hand in hand, she ached. She let them into her apartment and switched on a table lamp that gave just enough light to fill the room with a pale glow.

  “This should be ready now,” Emily said, pointing to the merlot she’d left open to breathe on the counter.

  “Emily,” Derian whispered, catching her in a gentle grip and turning her around.

  Caught in the undertow of Derian’s gaze, Emily stilled.

  “What about you?”

  Ready? Oh yes, she was ready. For what, beyond needing to touch and be touched, with this woman, by this woman, she didn’t know. And didn’t care. All was now. “Yes.”

  Derian’s kiss began with a slow, commanding press of her mouth, one hand on the back of Emily’s neck and her arm around Emily’s waist. Emily knew this kiss, remembered it in her bones. She went into Derian’s arms easily, naturally, sliding both arms around her shoulders. The kiss went on forever while they swayed together, everything receding from her awareness but the taste of Derian’s desire, and her own restless hunger. When they broke apart, she was gasping. She wanted another kiss, she wanted the unknown that lay beyond it. She tightened her hold on Derian, brushed her lips over Derian’s throat.

  “Have I mentioned I love your kisses?”

  “I don’t believe so.”

  “I do—and I’d like more.”

  “Tell me we can have the wine in bed,” Derian said, her voice a low growl. She brushed her fingers through Emily’s hair, exposing her neck as she kissed the angle of her jaw, her throat, the hollow above her collarbone. Her grip was possessive, demanding. “Please.”

  Emily closed her eyes and let her head fall back, content for Derian to feast. Her breasts ached to be caressed, her flesh craved to be owned. Her belly was tight, the heat between her thighs spreading like wildfire. “Yes.”

  “Where?”

  “This way.” Emily caught Derian’s hand and led her into the bedroom. The tall windows let in enough light to see by, and she turned, gripped Derian’s jacket, and pushed it from her shoulders. “I’ve dreamed of seeing you naked.”

  “Haven’t you already?” Derian let Emily strip the jacket down her arms and reached for the buttons on her shirt.

  “Well, I have seen you naked,” Emily said, brushing Derian’s hands away to continue opening the buttons herself. “The dreams were more about where and how and what we’d be doing.”

  “I hope the reality—”

  Emily kissed her into silence. Derian stood still, letting her have her way, and the thrill of possession broke over her. Never had she imagined such pleasure. Her hands trembled with the power as she pushed the crisp edges of Derian’s dress shirt open and kissed the hollow of her throat. “Oh, believe me, the reality is far, far better.”

  “For me too,” Derian murmured, a note of wonder in her voice.

  Emily slid the cuff links from Derian’s sleeves and reached blindly toward the bedside table to set them down, never stopping her soft kisses down the center of Derian’s chest as she bared pale, smooth skin. She loved this soft glide of Derian’s skin under her lips, loved the heady sweet scent of her. She pushed Derian’s shirt off and pulled the sleek silk she’d worn underneath upward, and then there was only the rise of Derian’s breasts beneath her mouth and the honeyed wonder of her skin.

  Derian groaned. “We need to do this lying down.”

  “I know.” Emily’s breath fled as Derian unzipped the back of her dress, slid the fabric down her shoulders, and lifted her breasts free of the material. She pushed into the heat of Derian’s hands, kissing the sweep of Derian’s breasts, just glancing her nipples. “I can’t seem to stop touching you.”

  “Then don’t. Whatever you want, it’s yours.”

  Derian unbuckled her belt and shed the rest of her clothes. Emily let her dress fall to the floor in a pool around her feet and started to remove her undergarments.

  “Wait.” Gloriously naked, and completely unself-conscious, Derian knelt. “Let me do this.”

  Emily braced her hands on Derian’s shoulders and looked down, watching Derian’s hands move on her body. Her thighs quivered. Her vision clouded. “Hurry.”

  Derian laughed softly. “Not tonight.”

  “Whatever you want,” Emily whispered, catching her lip between her teeth as Derian pressed a cheek to her stomach and slid a hand up her back to release her bra. Derian stroked her hips and hooked her thumbs under the scrap of lace she’d so carefully chosen, knowing Derian would see them.

  “These are pretty,” Derian breathed against the sheer fabric. She looked up and grinned her arrogant grin. “For me?”

  “Mmm.” Emily raked her fingers through Derian’s hair, words having abandoned her to the primal language of desire. Derian’s fingers lightly trailed across the delta of her thighs, stroking her through the silk. Emily’s hips lifted to her touch. “Derian, take me to bed. I want you on top of me.”

  The plea in Emily’s voice broke Derian’s patience. She surged to her feet and, circling an arm about Emily’s waist, half carried her the few feet to the bed. Reaching down with her free hand, she tossed the covers roughly aside and guided Emily down. When she slid on top of her, their legs entwining and Emily holding her tight, Derian hungered with an ache that threatened never to be satisfied. Stripping away the last shimmer of material between them, she filled her hands with Emily’s warm flesh, tasted her, drank of her, gloried in her. She didn’t hurry, kissing and caressing her breasts, her stomach, the insides of her thighs. She lost herself in her and still the hunger roared.

  “I want you so much.” Derian braced herself on one arm, watching Emily’s face. “I want to make you come.”

  “So, so good.” Emily arched beneath her touches, electric with desire. “Take, touch me.”

  Derian stroked between Emily’s thighs, and Emily’s eyelids fluttered. Emily’s lips parted, her unfocused gaze sought Derian’s, and her body tightened. Derian kissed her gently and slid deep inside her. Emily’s cry against her mouth filled her with a primitive surge of triumph. She stroked in time to the lift and fall of Emily’s hips, and when Emily covered her hand to guide her, her heart nearly stopped. Chained by desire, she willed herself to Emily’s call.

  “You’re going to make me come,” Emily exclaimed, part shock, part pleasure.

  Derian stilled, every sense focused on feeling her, hearing her, seeing her come apart with pleasure. When Emily gave herself over, the moment was forever and swifter than a heartbeat. So powerful, so exquisitely perfect.

  “More,” Derian whispered and slid down to take her into her mouth. Emily’s hands came into her hair and she surged into Derian’s mouth. Derian teased her, stroked her, took her to the edge and over again. Emily’s wild cry rifled down her spine, fired her blood. She wanted never to move, but the pull of Emily’s
hands on her shoulders drew her upward and then somehow she was on her back.

  Emily straddled her thighs and leaned down to kiss her, her hair a soft curtain around Derian’s face. She clasped Emily’s hips, guided her back and forth in a slow roll against her as they kissed. Emily came again in short, ecstatic thrusts against Derian’s stomach. Derian rose up and cradled her in the curve of her body. She kissed her, stroked the damp hair from her cheek. “You’re amazing.”

  Emily laughed weakly. “I think that’s my line.”

  “No line,” Derian whispered, kissing her closed lids, her mouth, her neck. Emily made soft contented sighs, caressing Derian’s breasts and belly. Derian shuddered. “And you’re pretty much driving me crazy.”

  “My turn,” Emily said in a throaty commanding tone. She pressed her hand to the center of Derian’s chest and pushed her down. Still curled beside her, her hair spread out on Derian’s chest, she kissed her throat and stroked her chest and belly and cupped between her thighs.

  “I love the way you touch me.” Never had Derian wanted so much to be taken.

  Emily gave another of those contented sounds, her mouth traveling over Derian’s breasts as her fingers closed around her and tugged in slow, sure motions. Derian gritted her teeth, incredibly close but willing herself to hold on. Somehow Emily knew just how fast and how far to take her, until every muscle was poised to explode, and then she’d let her down just enough to keep her on the brink. Once, twice, three times she brought her within a heartbeat.

  And then Derian begged. “Please, don’t stop this time.”

  Emily gathered Derian close, her mouth a breath from Derian’s. “I won’t.”

  Emily kissed her then, a kiss to steal her breath, a kiss to steal her reason, a kiss to steal her old life and take her to a place she’d never been. Derian came hard, she came helplessly, trembling in Emily’s arms.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Derian woke at dawn with Emily spooned against her, back to front. Her arm was around Emily’s waist, her cheek nuzzled against Emily’s nape. Chestnut hair twined across her face. The oddest sensations, contradictory yet forged into a single flame, fired her blood. Contentment, warm and soothing, along with banked desire, edgy and wanting. Kissing the back of Emily’s neck, she lightly stroked Emily’s breasts and abdomen, fingers drifting lazily. Pieces of the night played through her mind—Emily moving beneath her, sharp cries of pleasure, pleas for more and again. Emily riding her, stroking her, taking her—surely and without reserve. Derian’s clit pulsed and she groaned, sliding a hand between Emily’s thighs. She was warm and wet.