"Don't judge him until you've met him and worked a bit with him," Rachel said. "We'll talk. Bye."
The phone line clicked off, and Emily set the handset back in its cradle. She sat for several long moments in Aaron's chair, and then with a sigh stood up as her longtime agent stepped back into the room.
"Finished? How is Rachel?" he asked.
"Talking with a garden designer as we speak," Emily said. "She's going to stay up in Connecticut and sell the apartment here in town. She says she's well fixed. I hope she wasn't just saying that to soothe me."
"She wasn't. And not only that, she already has half a dozen manuscripts to edit freelance for a couple of publishers. When word got out yesterday, she said her phone started ringing off the hook. Are you ready? Our reservation is for one p.m."
"Let me use your loo to freshen up," Emily said. "I wasn't expecting lunch with a new editor. You might have warned me, and I would have dressed better."
"You look fine," he told her, chuckling at the dark look she threw him as she disappeared from his office.
In the ladies' room Emily peered into the mirror at herself. Well, it could have been worse, she thought. Her short, fluffy strawberry-blond hair was having a good day in the dry spring weather. But oh, how she longed for the pale blue suit she had just bought to add to her author clothes. Still, the cream-colored silk slacks and the pale pink silk shirt she was wearing weren't bad. The whole look was rich-bitch, old-money, screw-you casual, she thought. She washed her hands, fluffed her hair, and renewed her lipstick.
"Ready or not, here I come, Michael Devlin," she said low. "And just remember it's my work you're buying, so who cares what I look like." She went to join Aaron Fischer. "Let's walk," she said to him.
"Why not," he agreed. "It's only five blocks, and we'll get there faster."
"If you're going to Felicity's bring me back one of those divine little lemon curd tarts," Kirk called from his office. "I've ordered a salad in with these damned contracts. And one for Sandra too," he said, remembering their shared secretary, who sat at a large desk in the gracious and elegantly decorated reception foyer of their office, which took up the entire top floor of the small old Park Avenue office building where Fischer and Browne, Literary Agents, was located.
"Make mine fruit," Sandra said as the elevator doors opened up. She was an older, motherly-looking woman who had been with the partners for years, coming to them fresh from the Katharine Gibbs Secretarial School. "I'm not into lemon curd, and Kirk knows it. Better bring him two." She waved them off as the doors closed smoothly with a faint hiss, and they descended swiftly without a single stop.
They walked from Park and up Madison Avenue until they arrived at Felicity's Tea Company, which served both luncheon and high tea six days a week. It was Emily's favorite place to eat in the city despite the plethora of elegant restaurants available. She could hear herself think in Felicity's, and the food was delicious. Felicity herself came forward smiling as they entered, holding out her hands to Emily.
She was a pretty woman with premature silver hair and dark eyes. She and her waitresses always wore the flowered, low-necked panniered satin gowns of the eighteenth century, and adorable little snow-white caps.
"When Sandra called to book I was hoping it was you," she said, kissing Emily on both cheeks. "Your guest is already at the table. Wow! Who is he?"
"New editor," Emily replied glumly. "Rachel retired."
"Ohh," Felicity murmured. "I'd love to write with him. He is very hot."
Great, Emily thought. Every woman who saw him thought Michael Devlin was hot. Just what she needed: a hot man who was going to help her write sexier. And how was he going to do that? And then she saw him, and stumbled over her own feet like some fool of a schoolgirl. She caught herself up quickly, feeling her cheeks grow warm.
Michael Devlin stood up as they reached the table. "Aaron, good to see you again," he said, a small smile touching his lips. He was very tall.
There it was: the soft, poetic hint of Ireland in his voice. Emily felt her knees weaken. This was worse than she had anticipated. She barely registered that Aaron was introducing them, but managed to stick out her hand nonetheless. Looking at him she had the distinct feeling that she knew him-really knew him-and yet he was a stranger.
"Ms. Shann, I am delighted to finally meet you," Michael Devlin murmured, looking down at her. "Rachel has nothing but praise for you." He drew her chair out and seated her before sitting down again himself. "You have a wonderful feel for eighteenth- and nineteenth-century England. Your research is quite excellent." Jaysus , he thought. She's utterly adorable. That fluff of hair, and those big cornflower-blue eyes. I'd like to eat her with a spoon. How the hell am I going to work with something so delicious when what I really want to do is take her to bed? He was astounded by his own thoughts. He'd never had such a strong reaction to a woman before. It was bloody unprofessional.
"You've read my books?" she inquired softly. Her own voice seemed to be coming from a very long way away. He really was gorgeous. He had to stand at least six-foot-three, and he had a lean, elegant body. His face was one of those long, sculpted faces, more angles than planes. His hair was jet-black, and his eyes were deep green. He looked like one of her heroes, for God's sake. She couldn't look at him too much, because every time she did, her heart raced. She had never had such a strong reaction to someone like this before.
"Not all of them," he admitted, "but I will by the time you finish this next book for us. Would you like to tell me what it's going to be about? I haven't seen an outline yet, but I'll look forward to it."
"Emily doesn't do outlines," Aaron quickly said. "Well, not exactly. She can tell you what the book is going to be about, but not in detail. She doesn't like to be held down to an exact story line. The sales department is used to her."
"I always know roughly what I'm going to write," Emily told Michael Devlin, now recovering from the initial shock that her new editor really was hot. "But the story seems to write itself as I go along. I suppose that sounds silly, but that's how I do it."
"I am not a man to argue with success, Ms. Shann," he told her. He was getting a hard-on. What the hell perfume was she wearing? It smelled like lilacs.
"Shall we order?" Aaron said as their waitress came up to the table. "Em, the usual for you, or do you want something different today?"
She shook her head. "No. The usual, Aaron, please."
Aaron ordered the quiche lorraine and salad for Emily, and a mini chicken pot pie for himself. "And a nice large pot of Keemun," he finished the order, looking to his companion questioningly.
Michael Devlin ordered the sirloin and cheddar with Dijon mustard in a tomato wrap. "How big is it?" he asked the waitress.
She looked him up and down, and then said, "You'll need two."
He grinned disarmingly at her. "Make it two then."
"Three cups?" the waitress wanted to know.
"Three cups," Devlin replied. "And make certain it's good and hot, my lass."
"As hot as you, milord." The waitress chuckled, and bustled off.
There was a long, awkward silence. Emily didn't dare look at her new editor. Her thoughts bordered on lascivious, much to her surprise. Had she ever before this moment had such libidinous thoughts? Writers-at least, smart writers-didn't get involved with their handsome male editors. But then, she had never met such a good-looking man. Michael Devlin was really unique. And she sensed intelligence as well as the movie-star looks. She sneaked a quick peek from under her lashes. Yeah. He was that handsome. And that hot. And where the hell was all this overcharged libido of hers coming from all of a sudden? The lesson of her parents forever with her, Emily Shanski had always been careful where men were concerned. She was relieved to see that Aaron and Michael Devlin were now in serious conversation.
Their lunch came, and they ate quickly.
"Dessert?" the waitress asked with a twinkle in her eye. She had served Emily many times before. "The usual, Miss Shann?"
Emily nodded, grinning. "No visit to Felicity's Tea Company would be complete without it. I'm afraid I'm a creature of bad habits. At least where dessert is concerned."
"Mr. Fischer? Sir?" the waitress said.
"Bread pudding," Aaron replied. "And give me two lemon curds, and a fruit tart to go. And I'll take half a pound of gunpowder tea also."
"I'll have the caramel egg custard," Michael Devlin said.
The waitress bustled away.
"What's the usual?" Michael asked Emily.
"You'll see," she said with a small grin. "It's difficult to explain."
"Now I am intrigued, Ms. Shann," he told her.
"Please, I think if we're going to work together you should call me Emily," she replied. "May I call you by your first name?"
"My friends call me Mick," he responded. "And I suspect we're going to be friends, Emily." Reaching across the table, he took her small hand in his big one and smiled into her blue eyes. Then he released her fingers as quickly as he had taken them.
God in his heaven! She blushed. She was behaving like one of her heroines. No. She was behaving like one of their friends. Her heroines weren't this sappy. To her relief the desserts came, along with another pot of hot tea.
"What is that?" he wanted to know, staring at the plate the waitress set before her.
"It's a very thin slice of Felicity's Death by Chocolate cake, and a thin slice of her boysenberry pie," Emily said. "I love them both, but I could never make up my mind which to have. So Felicity came up with this solution. Pretty cool, huh?"
He laughed. "It's obvious you don't have a problem with your weight." Then he spooned up some custard. "This is good. She really does use eggs, doesn't she? My gran back in Ballyfer-gus made custard like this. She's gone now, of course."
"I thought you came from Dublin," Emily said.
"I went to school and university in Dublin," he explained. "My parents were killed in an auto accident when I was twelve. Gran Devlin took responsibility for me, but she wasn't up to having a growing lad in her house year-round. I went back to Ballyfergus during my school holidays to stay with her. We only had each other, you see. Very odd for an Irish family, of course. Most of them are big."
"We have something in common then, Mick," she said. She liked the way he spoke of his grandmother. There was warmth and genuine affection in his voice.
"Emily was raised by her two grandmothers," Aaron spoke up. "Right from her birth. I knew them both. Wonderful women!"
"Were your parents deceased too?" Mick asked solicitously.
"No. They were both too young for a baby, and they had other plans," Emily replied. Then she laughed at his look, which was half-shocked, half-curious. "It's a long story for another time."
Mick Devlin shook his head. "Sounds like your life is worthy of a novel, Emily." Having finished his custard he put his spoon down. He was charmed by her. She was a practical woman with a sense of humor, and an obviously very romantic nature, he thought, smiling.
"No, it isn't," she said. "It's my life, and nothing more." She licked a crumb of the chocolate cake from the edge of her mouth. He was a good listener, Emily considered.
"So," Aaron said before another silence set in, "you two need to get together to discuss how we're going to make this slight directional change in your work, Em."
"It isn't slight," she replied. "I'm known for writing sweet, not sexy. I'm not certain you can teach this old dog new tricks."
"You're a good writer, Emily, and we'll start easy," Mick told her. "It would be too much of a shock to some of your readers if we went too quickly. But not all of them will be shocked, judging by what's selling today. Your core readers will buy the book because you've written it, and you will gain new readers based on the reviews," Michael finished.
"You're presuming that the reviews will be good," Emily said.
"They will be," he assured her. "You're good, and readers love you."
"You'll have your editor out to Egret Pointe for a weekend," Aaron suggested. "That way the pair of you can get to know each other, and you'll work better."
Emily looked slightly surprised. The thought of being alone in her house with this man was rather intriguing. But of course it would be all business, she reminded herself.
"I wouldn't want to intrude on Emily's privacy," Mick quickly said. He used the British pronunciation of the word: priv -ah-see. God, a weekend alone with this fascinating woman would be heaven. But of course it would be all business, he reminded himself.
"No, no, of course you must come out," Emily told him. "Actually, it's perfect. I haven't started the book yet, and your input will be invaluable. Best to get started immediately, I suppose." She didn't sound wildly enthusiastic.
"Before you get frightened, write your usual story, and retire into anonymity," Mick murmured candidly. His eyes met hers briefly.
"Yes," she admitted, wondering how he could know her so well already.
"So let's set a date now," Aaron said. What was going on? He sensed something between Emily and her new editor. But how could that be? They hadn't known each other two hours yet. And Emily didn't have a boyfriend. He wondered if she ever had. Yet he also knew she wasn't gay. Something was happening here, but what?
A cell phone rang, and Emily reached into the thin purse she had hung over the back of her chair. "Sorry, I have to take this. Rina? Where are you? Oh. All right. We're at Felicity's. I'll be ready." She snapped the phone shut. "It's Rina. She's ready to go home. She'll pick me up here in ten minutes, depending on the traffic. She said you are not to go anywhere, Aaron."
"Oy vay!" the agent exclaimed. Then he looked to Michael Devlin. "My sister," he explained. Then he turned back to Emily. "I thought she was having a day at Klinger's. This is a day?"
"She said there were too many anorexic matrons with tight faces and expensive boob jobs for her taste. She did a manicure, pedicure, and facial. You know Rina isn't good in the city anymore, Aaron. She's become a real country girl. She and Sam love Egret Pointe."
Aaron shrugged. "Who would have thought a girl from Riverside Drive and Eighty-first Street would grow up to be happy in a place called Egret Pointe?"
"Hey, we've got a Krispy Kreme now," Emily teased him.
He chuckled, then got back to business. "So when should Mick come?" he asked her. "This weekend? Next?"
"Either is all right with me," Emily said. "I'll go with Mick's schedule."
He'd planned to look for a small summer rental at Montauk this weekend, but small rentals could always be found, especially if he didn't quibble over price. And besides, he wanted to know more about Emily Shanski, a.k.a. Emilie Shann. "This weekend will be fine," he said in his deep, lilting voice. "I've been back almost six weeks, and haven't had a weekend in the country yet. I like the country. Where would you recommend I stay?"
"Aaron has my number. Call me and I'll give you directions. Of course you will stay with me," Emily said almost breathlessly. A tall, handsome man with an Irish lilt in his voice wandering about the town would certainly attract attention in Egret Pointe. If she kept him bottled up in her house and garden for the weekend no one was likely to see him, and there would be no gossip about the good-looking guy with Emily Shanski.
"Good, good," Aaron said, relieved that it was all now settled. He let Michael Devlin pay the bill, and took the box with the tarts and the bag of green gunpowder tea from the waitress. They bade Felicity good-bye, introducing Michael Devlin before they went. Rina was just pulling up in her Lexus as they stepped out onto Madison Avenue.
She honked and waved.
"I will bid you good-bye, Emily," Mick Devlin said, smiling at her. "For now. I'll look forward to the weekend. I think we'll get some good work done. Aaron, I'll call you." Then he was off, striding down the street.
Rina had pulled over into a fire lane to allow Emily to get into the car. "Hey, big brother," she said. "When are you and Kirk coming out to open the cottage?"
"I'll ask him," Aaro
n said. "You look mah-vel-ous, Rina. Have you lost weight?"
"Go screw yourself, sweetie. Call me," Rina said as Emily climbed into the car and belted herself up. "Ta!" She gunned the car out of the fire lane, and back into the midafternoon traffic.
"Bye, Aaron," Emily called to him before Rina's window rolled up tightly.
"Who was the hottie with you?" Rina Seligmann wanted to know. "My God! Tall, dark, and handsome. You don't see too many of them today. Is he straight? Or is he one of Aaron and Kirk's friends? And why were you all having lunch together?"
"He's my new editor," Emily said. "Rachel's retired. It's a long story."
"It's a long ride home," Rina said. "Get talking, sweetie."
Rina Seligmann, nee Rina Fischer, and Aaron's younger sister, was the wife of Egret Pointe's beloved doctor. Her husband had cared for both Katya Shanski and Emily O'Malley until their deaths. Rina had known their granddaughter, Emily, most of her life. Actually, the young woman sitting next to her was the same age as her oldest child. She listened as Emily outlined her morning with Aaron, and her luncheon with her new editor.
"Aaron doesn't want to move you to another publisher?" Rina asked.
"I suppose that will be the court of last resort," Emily said slowly, "but it really wouldn't make a whole lot of sense, if we can avoid it. All my backlist is with Stratford, Rina. Even with my name and sales record, it would be starting over again."
"It makes me so damned mad that none of this is your fault," Rina said.
"It's like Rachel said: I'm a pawn on a chessboard. If I'm going to check the bitch queen, I have to pull this off. J. P. Woods doesn't give a shit for me. She just wants Martin to make her Stratford's new CEO so she can get back at Mick Devlin."
"Do you think you can work with him?" Rina asked. "I mean, without trying to jump his bones. He really is outrageously attractive. I'm glad he's not gay. That would really be a waste. Still, if he were gay we could all be friends, and cause gossip in town."
"He seems very nice," Emily said. Nice wasn't quite the word she wanted, but it would have to do. How could she tell Rina that this man she had just met had her thinking about being on a beach naked with him?
Forbidden Pleasure Page 2