"Of course she would cook," J.P. said acidly. "Does she do trifle?"
"Trifle to die for, and her creme brulee is incredible," he answered.
"Jesus, don't say another word!" J.P. exclaimed. "I'm going to throw up." She looked at her watch. "Crap! I've got a distributor coming in shortly." She turned sharply, and was quickly gone from the conference room with, out another word to him.
Well, that was interesting, Devlin thought, and he headed for his office.
"Savannah Banning is on the line from England," his secretary said. "She's in high dudgeon, Mick. She insisted on holding until you came out of your meeting."
"How long?"
"Close to five minutes now," the secretary said.
"I don't want to be disturbed," he told her, and shut the door of his office behind him, then picked up the phone. "Savannah! How are you? I understand we have a spot of difficulty. How can I help you?"
"You can help me by getting your Irish arse back to old Blighty, damn it!" Savannah exploded. "That woman is an idiot, Mick! She doesn't understand me at all!"
"I'm not coming back to England, Savannah," he said quietly.
There was a long silence on the other end of the line, and then Savannah said, "How is Emily?"
"Fine," he answered her. "We're talking about you, Savannah. Prunella just takes a bit of getting used to, sweetie. She's never worked with an American before."
"She wants a detailed outline. She says sales needs it," Savannah wailed.
"I'll call her and explain you don't waste your time with outlines," he said quietly.
"She wants to see pieces of the manuscript," Savannah told him.
"I'll tell her you deliver a completed manuscript, and not bits," Mick responded. "What else?"
"She isn't you!" And Savannah Banning began to cry.
Michael Devlin laughed softly. "I miss you too, sweetie. And I miss old Reg, and the kids, and those great family weekends down in Suffolk. But I suspect I'm back in the Colonies to stay. We're both going to have to get used to it."
"Then Martin is going to put you in charge," Savannah said.
"I hope not," Michael Devlin replied. "I like what I do, and J.P. is really more suited to run a publishing house than I am."
"You could learn," Savannah sniveled.
"I could, but I don't want to," he told her. "I just want to edit my books. I'll make it all right between you and old Pruny, Savannah. Okay?"
"Okay," she agreed. "Now, tell me about you and Emily."
"There's nothing to tell," he lied.
"Bullshit!" Savannah said.
"Lady Palmer!" Michael Devlin exclaimed. "I'm shocked. Shocked."
"I hope you've become lovers, Mick. She such a sweetie, and she needs a good man," Savannah told him.
"Savannah, do not disparage my reputation. I pride myself on being a bad boy, and you know it," he told her. "Remember all my fun miniscandals in London over the past few years. By the by, do the girls miss me?"
"Mick, you are such a silly man sometimes," Savannah remarked. "Was she a virgin? I somehow thought she might be."
"Savannah," he warned. "Remember we're on a company phone. Now if there is nothing else, I'm going to ring off. I'll call Pruny tomorrow. She'll be gone from the office by now with the time change. Say hi to Reg and the children for me. Ta." He put the telephone down while at the same time reaching for his cell and punching in the number one.
"Hello?" Emily's voice came through clear and sweet.
"I miss you," he said.
"It's only been a day, Devlin," she answered him.
"A day and a half," he corrected her. "I drove back late Sunday afternoon. Just another week, and we've got an entire month to ourselves."
"Devlin, I have to work if this book is going to be in on time," she reminded him.
"I want to be inside of you," he murmured. "I sent you that little toy for times like this. When we aren't together, I want to play phone games with you."
"Devlin!" she pleaded.
"Get it," he said. "I need you!"
"Hold on. I hid it so Essie wouldn't find it," she half whispered.
"I thought you didn't let her in your office," he said.
"I don't, but you never know. Okay, I've got it." Emily was already feeling a twinge of excitement. The sound of his voice on the phone could make her wet.
"Take it out of the box, angel face. Realistic, isn't it?" he teased.
"Looks just like you, Devlin," she teased back.
"What are you wearing?" he asked her.
"Never got out of my sleep shirt this morning," she told him.
"Hold it in your right hand," he instructed her. "Start licking it. And use your left hand to play with yourself. I want you nice and wet, angel face," he told her as he unzipped his slacks and released his penis, which was already partly swollen with just the sound of her voice. He imagined her leaning back in her big leather chair, the sleep shirt hiked to her waist, the softness of her smooth, rounded hips against the black leather.
"Ohh, Devlin, this is so good," Emily whispered into the telephone. "Ummm. Ummm. Ummmmm." She began to suck vigorously on the dildo in her hand. It had been made to duplicate Michael Devlin's long, thick cock in full flagrante. It was made of a natural colored rubber, and spitted on a twisted rod of polished ashwood.
"Are you playing with your clit?" he wanted to know. The sucking noises were driving him wild. He could almost feel her mouth on his penis.
"Are you playing with your dick?" she countered.
"I am so hard you could break it off." He groaned.
"I'm so wet that Mr. Naughty is going to slip right in and go all the way," she replied. "I've got it ready, Devlin. Do you want me to shove it in? Do you?" Her voice was breathy with her excitement.
"Not yet. I want you to want it a little more, angel face," he teased her.
"You're going to come all over your office, Devlin, if you don't stop," she said. "Better let me fuck myself now so you can cool off."
"Bitch!" He groaned. She was right. He reached for his handkerchief to contain the spurts of cum he couldn't contain any longer.
"Ahhhhhh! Oh, God, that feels good!" She thrust the dildo back and forth in her vagina until, with a long exhalation of a sigh, she came. "But it's not as good as the real thing, Devlin, is it?" she complained. "I miss you too."
"I talked with Lady P today. She sends kisses," he told her.
"I'll e-mail her later," Emily responded. "And as lovely as this interlude was, I think we both have to get back to work, Devlin."
"Yeah." He sighed. "I've got a lunch date with some sexy new author."
"Think of me when you're with her," Emily told him.
"That's the problem. If I think of you I'll get a hard-on. We wouldn't want another woman getting the wrong idea, now, angel face, would we?"
Emily laughed. "Good-bye, Devlin," she said as she hung up the phone. She hadn't answered his question. She couldn't. But the truth was, she didn't want him with any other woman. Almost eleven weeks ago Michael Devlin had walked into her life. She had lost her virginity and fallen in love for the first time. What an idiot she was. She was in love with a man who owned a house in London, and had women with titles fighting over him. "You have finally gone around the bend, Emily," she said aloud.
She had seduced him in order to experience sex so she could write the kind of novel Stratford wanted her to write now. She had blackmailed him into becoming her lover, and teaching her all those wonderful, delicious, and sensual things she needed to know. He thought of her as business, and nothing more. Oh, pleasant business, to be sure-for both of them, if she were being honest with herself. But she had no business falling in love with a man like Michael Devlin. He was going to break her heart. But until then she was going to enjoy every minute of her time with him. Autumn was coming. The book would be finished by November, the way she was writing. And then it would be over.
Emily started to cry. She didn't want it to be over.
She wanted it to go on forever and ever. Her heroines got happy endings. Why couldn't she have a happy ending? Her intercom buzzed. Emily struggled to compose herself. "Yes, Essie, what is it?"
"Rina's here. She says you were to have lunch. You didn't tell me you were having company. I was doing your grandma's silver," Essie grumbled.
"We're going out, Essie. That's why I didn't tell you to fix lunch," Emily replied. "Tell Rina I'll be down in five minutes."
"Oh, that's okay then," Essie said, and the intercom went dead.
Emily sat for a long moment. Then, realizing the dildo was lying on her desk and her sleep shirt was up around her waist, she began to giggle helplessly. Good thing Rina hadn't come up, she thought, and found her with her legs spread open on her antique desk, fucking herself while she talked dirty on the phone with her editor. She wiped the dildo down with water from her water pitcher, and replaced it in the cream-and-gold silk box it had come in before putting it back in her bottom desk drawer, which she locked. Standing, she pulled her sleep shirt down. Then she hurried downstairs to her bathroom to wash her face and hands, get quickly dressed, and run a brush through her tangled strawberry-blond hair.
"You look cute," Rina noted as Emily came down the stairs. "I like the capris."
"Where are we going?" Emily asked her.
"I thought the club," Rina said. "It's quiet there with so many kids still in camp."
"Essie, I'm going now," Emily called to her housekeeper.
They drove to the Egret Pointe Country Club in Rina's Lexus, parked, and went through the bar to the terrace by the pool, seating themselves beneath an umbrella table. The waiter brought them peach iced tea, took their orders, and disappeared. No one was swimming, and there was only one other couple across the pool at a table. Emily recognized Nora Buckley and her employer, Kyle Barrington.
"He is so dishy," she remarked to Rina.
"Isn't he?" Rina chuckled. "But as was said of Lord Byron, mad, bad, and dangerous to know. At least, that's his reputation. I hear he's broken up one marriage and endangered at least two others. And he seems to do it just for the pure sport of it. He really isn't interested at all in the women he screws. I don't know how Nora manages to work for him, but she says he's a good employer, is nice to her, and hasn't hit on her."
"I think Nora's the nice one," Emily remarked. "And so brave, after everything that happened. She's your neighbor, isn't she?"
Rina nodded. "Yes, and she is nice. Ah, here's lunch."
The waiter set down salad plates, each holding a scoop of chicken salad, potato salad, and cole slaw along with a sliced tomato. The two women ate, and Emily was unable to resist dipping into the breadbasket for a miniature blueberry muffin. Sex always increased her appetite.
Rina chuckled as her companion reached for a second muffin. "The work is going well then," she said.
"Yep." Emily nodded, smearing soft butter on the little muffin and popping it into her mouth. "I would never have thought I could write like this, but I can!"
"And having your handsome editor in your bed every weekend hasn't hurt either," Rina murmured softly. She reached for the last little muffin.
"And I'm using the Channel too," Emily admitted. "I was always an observer before, but now I put myself in the heroine's slippers, Rina. The duke looks just like Devlin, but his personality is quite different."
Rina's brown eyes widened. "You're having sex there too?" she practically whispered. "My God! I thought you looked tired lately, but I put it down to the stress of work, and having to change your style so drastically. Emily, I'm not sure you should be doing what you're doing in the Channel. Oh, I know a lot of women take lovers there because they can't be caught or get STDs or get pregnant. And after a while most women need a bit of a change from their spouses. The Channel offers us our fantasies without any of the guilt we would have in our own reality. But I think you're playing a dangerous game, Emily, honey."
Emily shook her head. "Look, Devlin is doing what he's doing with me to help me over the-you'll forgive the analogy- hump and into a new style. He's my editor. It's his job. But once the book is done it will be over. I'll just have the lovers I take in the Channel. I think he might even go back to London."
"He's in love with you," Rina said quietly.
"No, he isn't!" Emily exclaimed. And she sighed wistfully.
"Sweetie, I could be your mother. I know these things. I recognize the signs. I've seen Michael Devlin with you. I've seen both of you in East Harbor at least twice. Once you were having a cozy luncheon in a corner of the Lobster Trap. Sam and I had been antiquing and were going there for lunch when we saw you. We stayed outside on the terrace so that you wouldn't see us and be embarrassed. It was obvious you just wanted to be with each other. Then we saw you another time at the inn when we went out for the anniversary. Oh, Emily! The way he looks at you. He isn't treating you like an editor with a writer. He's treating you like a man in love. Give him a chance, and you'll see."
"It's nothing more than a business arrangement, Rina. You'll see," Emily said softly, and she blinked back the tears that were threatening to well up in her blue eyes.
Rina smiled and shook her head. "No, you'll see I'm right."
"Dessert menu, ladies?" the waiter asked, coming up beside them.
Rina gave him a jaundiced look.
The waiter grinned and handed them the menus.
"I'll take the key lime pie," Rina said quickly.
"I want the three-berry sorbet," Emily decided. "What kinds today?"
"A scoop each, strawberry, raspberry, and blackberry," the waiter answered.
"Yum! Make it so," Emily told the waiter, who grinned at her Star Trek reference, and went off to fetch their desserts.
The couple on the other side of the pool got up and wended their way through the large planters of New Guinea impatiens, petunias, and trailing vinca to stop at their table. Rina and Nora Buckley greeted each other affectionately, while the tall, dark, and handsome Kyle Barrington stood waiting impassively.
"You know Emily Shanski, don't you, Nora?" Rina asked.
"I remember you as a young girl," Nora said, "and I certainly enjoy your books. How is your new one coming along, my dear?"
"Very well, thank you," Emily answered, wondering how Nora Buckley knew she was in the midst of a new book.
"How are the kids?" Rina asked. "I haven't seen you in ages."
"My job keeps me busy," Nora answered. "The kids are fine. Jill starts her last year at Duke Law in a few weeks, and J.J. is going into his junior year at State. And I have terrific news: Margo has finally agreed to marry Taylor. She kept turning him down because she said she didn't want to be widowed again. Turns out he's five years younger than my mother." She laughed.
"Nora."
"Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Barrington. We really have to go, Rina. Call me. Bye, Emily. Nice to see you again." And then Nora was gone.
"He's even dishier close up," Emily remarked when the couple were out of hearing. "But he's got cold eyes. And he makes me nervous just being around him."
"Mad, bad, and dangerous to know," Rina repeated. "But Nora seems to do well with him, and she loves her job. He's quite the expert on seventeenth- and eighteenth-century English and American furniture, if you ever want anything in the house appraised for insurance purposes," Rina remarked.
"No use insuring antiques if you love them, my grandmother always said. If they're stolen or lost in a fire, money won't bring them back," Emily said.
They ate their dessert, and then Rina drove Emily back to her house. "When do you see Devlin again?" she asked as they drove along the tree-lined road.
"Well, he won't be staying with me in August because he's got Aaron's cottage," Emily replied. "I've got the book pretty much under control now."
"But you don't have yourself under control," Rina said. "Are you in love with him, Emily?"
"Doesn't matter if I am," came the reply.
"I told you that he's in love with you," Rina con
tinued.
"I don't think he is, and I'm not going to embarrass him by declaring myself," Emily told her friend. "My God, Rina, what a wedge that would drive between us. He could never edit me if I went all mushy-gushy on him. And he is a good editor. Best I've ever had. Rachel was good, but Devlin's better, I have to admit."
"There's a lovely hot tub at the cottage out on the back deck," Rina informed Emily. "It's very, very private too." She grinned mischievously at her younger companion. "Sam and I did it there once when the boys weren't home."
"Too much information!" Emily said laughing. "I don't ever want to think of my doctor as having sex with his wife, who's like a second mother to me."
Rina chuckled as she pulled up to Emily's big house. "Hey, I'm not dead yet, kiddo," she told Emily.
"Never said you were, Rina, and never thought it either," Emily responded as she got out of the Lexus. "Thanks for lunch." She hurried into the house.
"Your office phone rang while you were gone," Essie said. "I finished your grandma's silver, and now I'm going home." She went out the door Emily had just entered. "Sounded like your agent."
"I'll check. Thanks," Emily called to her housekeeper's retreating back.
She ran upstairs to find a message from Aaron. She punched in his private number. "What's up?" she asked when he answered.
"Good news! Good news! J. P. Woods called me today. She wants to make us a new offer." His voice was brimming with his delight.
"And you told her…?"
"When I got back from Italy." Aaron chuckled. "I said there wasn't any time to negotiate anything to our mutual satisfaction right now. Your editor must be pleased."
"He seems to be," Emily replied smoothly. "We'll do some work while he's here. And I'll have him hire Essie to keep the place neat. Single straight men can be messy."
"Thank you, my darling. Tell Mick the gardener will be in once a week, so not to be surprised when Tony shows up. I probably won't talk to him before we go."
"When are you going?" she wanted to know.
"Tomorrow night," Aaron said.
"Have fun on Capri," she told him.
Aaron Fischer chuckled. "Ciao, bella!" he told her, and rang off.
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