The Color of Love (9 page)

She heard Derian laugh as she hurried away. A
door closed behind her, and she breathed a sigh of relief at having a few
moments to collect herself. She so needed to find her balance around Derian, a
new and confounding experience. She appreciated beautiful women for the
aesthetics, who didn’t? The female form was such a fierce combination of
delicacy and strength—the female face endlessly captivating. Why else would
museums be filled with centuries of effort trying to capture the mystery of
woman? Derian shouldn’t have any more effect on her than an exquisite painting
or a spectacular sculpture, but she kept losing her breath when she looked at
her. And now she had the image of her nude emblazoned in her memory.

Totally her fault. If she’d been thinking
instead of enjoying a second half-glass of champagne, she would’ve realized she
was stepping into Derian’s private space when she drifted into the hall. But
she’d hardly expected her to be naked. The woman was so unbelievably casual
about physical matters, touching effortlessly if respectfully, and treating her
own body as if it was nothing special, and it certainly was. Special.
Refreshing, exciting.

And best not to think about that too much.
Perhaps she’d had a little too much of the very fine champagne after all. That
must be it, although she didn’t actually feel disinhibited in the least. After
all, she didn’t actually
plan
to go through with the mini-fantasy she’d had of running her palm over the
gentle slope of Derian’s chest and down…

Emily soundly set the unfinished flute of
champagne down on an end table and dragged her mind away from dangerous
territory. Determined to banish thoughts of Derian, naked or not, she scanned
the living room again, finally pinpointing what she’d thought missing. Bookcases.
Her much smaller apartment was crammed with bookshelves in every available inch
of wall, nook, and cranny. And even then, she didn’t have enough room for
everything she wanted to keep and had piles of reads and to-be-reads secreted
under tables, nightstands, even the bed. Sure, she was a child of the modern
age and had plenty of digital books on several different electronic readers,
but she still loved the feel of the physical form and had always been a
collector. First editions, odd editions, little-known titles that represented
something new and exciting at the time. She loved to keep those, each a piece
of history that marked her own life, or milestones in publishing, or changes in
the world around her.

Derian had no bookcases, at least none
visible in the main part of the apartment, which was unusual given the
traditional décor. Somehow, with her being
Henrietta’s niece, Emily would’ve expected Derian to be a book lover. She had
no idea why she thought that, now. It wasn’t as if a love of literature was
genetically inherited. Her parents had certainly instilled in her a love of
reading by example—her mother, more than her father, who restricted most of his
reading to world news, finance, politics, and other areas that impacted his
work. Her mother had been the fanciful one, reading everything from romances,
mysteries, fantasy, biographies, to graphic novels. Emily smiled, remembering
the first time her mother had shared a grown-up comic book with her. She could
still feel the surge of excitement of holding her mother’s copy of the bound
book with the gleaming, colorful pages and how special the shared moment had
been. So many moments in her life marked by the discovery of a beloved book.

“You can turn around now,” Derian said
softly. “I’m presentable.”

Emily turned slowly, thinking Derian had been
more than presentable just a few moments before. Finally, she managed to keep
at least some embarrassing words to herself and said nothing.

Derian grinned as if she were still reading
her mind, which was irksome and appealing all at once. A lot like the woman
herself.

“If I didn’t know better,” Emily said,
feigning annoyance, “I’d think you did that on purpose.”

“I might have, if I’d known you would have
enjoyed it.”

“I didn’t say that.” Emily narrowed her eyes.
“Do you actually enjoy shocking people?”

“Were you?” Derian asked quietly, suddenly
very close. “Shocked?”

“No,” Emily said, unable to hide the truth.
“I was not.”

“What then?”

“Surprised,” Emily whispered, “that’s all.”

“So you don’t really find me shocking?”
Derian traced a finger over the top of Emily’s hand.

“No,” Emily said softly, feeling the weight
of Derian’s finger pulse in her center. “I find you unexpected.”

Derian’s gaze intensified. “Not like the
rumors and gossip columns would have you believe?”

“I might be guilty of enjoying the glitz and
glamour of your world,” Emily said, letting Derian search her eyes, “but I can
tell reality from fantasy in my own.”

“Can you?” Derian murmured, catching Emily’s
fingers in her palm. “How about tonight?”

“What about tonight?” Emily had the oddest
sensation she was falling into the undercurrents swirling in Derian’s eyes and
wondered if she cared.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like this to be a
date?” Derian’s fingers linked with Emily’s. “Because I would.”

“I can’t think of a worse idea.”

Derian didn’t look offended. She looked
curious. “Why?”

“Oh, a million reasons,” Emily said lightly,
resisting the urge to step back. She couldn’t retreat. She never retreated. And
if she did now, Derian would know in an instant she was attracted. She could
hardly be blamed for an unconscious and purely automatic response. Derian
Winfield was beautiful, intelligent, clever, and surprisingly tender. “You’re
Henrietta’s niece, and it’s probably not a good idea for us to have any kind of
personal relationship under the best of circumstances, but definitely not
these. You’re likely to disappear at any moment, which is fine, really, but
there’s no point in pretending that we have anything in common. So I think any
kind of relationship between us should be purely friendly and professional.”

The corner of Derian’s mouth worked as if she
were trying not to laugh. Emily frowned. “What?”

“Friendly and professional. Right.” Derian
leaned forward, kissed Emily softly on the mouth. “Okay.”

Emily’s lips parted as Derian released her
hand. Her heart thundered in her ears and a twisting sensation coiled inside
her. She wasn’t sure if it was the kiss or Derian’s audacity that disoriented
her, but for an instant, she forgot everything except the smooth heat of Derian
Winfield’s mouth. The kiss was barely a kiss, just a fleeting touch, silky
soft. Just enough to make her lips tingle. She tugged at her lower lip for a
second, willing the sensation to disappear. There. Much better. She stared at
Derian, found her watching her with a dark, penetrating expression that made
her shiver.

“Why did you do that?”

Derian shrugged, looking not the least bit
perturbed by the annoyance in Emily’s tone. “Because I’ve been thinking about
it since I stepped into the shower. And because you have an incredibly
attractive mouth.”

“But I just said—”

“I know,” Derian said easily. “I heard. But
if it’s all right with you, I’m going to disagree.”

“With what?” Emily folded her arms, watching
Derian light candles at each end of a dining table set into an alcove with
floor-to-ceiling windows and a spectacular view of the park.

“The purely professional part. I’m good with
friendly, though.” Derian tapped a console on the wall and quiet strains of
music filled the room.

Feeling began to return to Emily’s hands and
feet. She hadn’t realized she couldn’t feel them until then. She concentrated
on keeping her voice steady. “I should go.”

“We’re having dinner, remember?” Derian
smiled. “I’m sorry if I offended you. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Emily sighed. “You didn’t. I’m not offended
by a beautiful woman kissing me.”

Derian’s smile turned to surprise. “Thank
you.”

“Surely you’ve heard that before,” Emily
said, echoing Derian earlier.

“Not when I actually believed it.” Derian
shook her head, as if chasing away an unwanted thought. “I called the hospital
while I was getting dressed. No change.”

“I guess that’s good.” Emily was glad for the
abrupt shift in subject. Jousting with Derian over the subject of kisses and
dates was far too dangerous.

“I think so.” Derian gestured to the table.
“I also called Ralph. Dinner should be here momentarily. I did promise you no
more than a forty-five-minute wait.”

“I thought we were going out.”

“I don’t know about you, but I’m beat.” Derian
pulled out a chair, held it as she watched Emily. “I thought this might be
quieter and more relaxing. Do you mind?”

“It’s really not necessary. I can grab a
cab—”

A knock sounded at the door.

“Stay, Emily,” Derian said softly. “Please.”

Emily sat.

“Thanks, Peter,” Derian said to the porter who
delivered the large food trolley covered with gleaming stainless-steel chafing
dishes. “I’ll take it from here.”

His face registered the slightest surprise
before he quickly nodded. “I’m happy to serve you and your guest, Ms.
Winfield.”

“I can handle it, but thanks.” Derian stepped
aside so Peter could slide the cart into the room and closed the door behind
him. She didn’t want company. She wanted to be alone with Emily May, and
setting up the table would give her a few moments to get her game in order. She
hadn’t intended to kiss her. The thought had crossed her mind, that was true.
She’d wanted to kiss her from the moment she’d found her nearly asleep, waiting
for her outside the intensive care unit. Emily had looked vulnerable and
delicate, but Derian’d known better than to think she needed rescuing. She’d
seen Emily’s strength as well as the shadows of some past pain when she’d stood
by Henrietta’s bedside and declared her certainty that Henrietta would be all
right. Daring the Fates to disagree. Emily was anything but fragile, which made
her all the more desirable.

But an inexplicable urge to shield her from
whatever plagued her and a primitive instinct to claim her attention were no
excuse for kissing her. She knew better than to toy with women who weren’t open
to being toyed with, and Emily was one of those. She didn’t give off a single
player vibe, nor had she given any indication she wanted to be kissed. Derian
was good at ferreting out signals, at reading seduction in apparent disinterest
that merely invited her to the chase, and she never pressed where she wasn’t
wanted. She hadn’t been thinking about sex when she’d given in to the impulse
to taste, she’d only been thinking about another touch—another incendiary
instant of contact that shook her more than the most abandoned encounter. This
time, she’d been the one pressed by desire, driven to break her own rules by an
unfamiliar need to stir in Emily the same kind of yearning that stirred in her.

Emily had said she wasn’t offended by the
kiss, but taking liberties wasn’t like her. Derian didn’t want to stray into
those waters again. A woman, especially Henrietta’s protégé, who could so
easily make her forget all the reasons why she only played with players, had
danger written all over her. No—Emily was too close to home, too dangerous in
her appeal, too altogether beyond the safety zone.

“I can’t say I’ve ever done this before,”
Emily said, glancing over her shoulder to watch Derian approach with the cart.

“What’s that?” Derian asked, promptly
forgetting her resolution to stay away. Emily had a way of looking at her with
such absolute clarity, as if the screen Derian placed between herself and the
rest of the world was completely invisible. Her skin heated as if Emily touched
her simply by looking. Most women couldn’t touch her even when they were naked
together.

“Had dinner in such a beautiful place, with a
view like this.” Emily swept her hand toward the window and the glittering
night.

“I’m glad you like it.”

“I do,” Emily said softly. “Thank you.”

The quiet thrum of pleasure in her voice made
Derian’s blood pound. She cleared her throat. “I hope you don’t mind, I ordered
for us. You’re not allergic to anything or averse to particular foods?”

“Actually, I’m gluten, dairy, meat, carb, and
acidic free.”

“Well, I ordered sparkling water. That should
be safe.”

Emily laughed. “I’m mostly vegetarian, but I
confess to succumbing to a good steak now and then. I live for pasta and never
met a seafood dish I didn’t like. I’m sure whatever you ordered is fine.”

Derian began to uncover the chafing dishes.
“That was unkind.”

“I suspect you can handle it.” Emily grinned.
“Can I help you?”

“No, stay right there.” Derian folded a snowy
white napkin over her forearm and rested a dish on it. “I shall serve Madame
tonight.”

Faint color rose to Emily’s cheeks. “Very
well, then. Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” Derian murmured.

Emily settled back in her chair and prepared
to be waited on. She remembered being waited on at formal functions her parents
had held at their home for visiting dignitaries when the party was small and
the embassy would’ve been too cold and impersonal. She’d never liked being
seated at the big table at the far end, away from the adults, always feeling as
if she was there more for show than for her presence. Every now and then her
mother would glance her way and smile as if to tell her she knew she was still
there, but her father rarely gave her a look, too lost in conversation with
whomever they were feting. Her memories of the impersonal formal dining faded
as Derian silently moved around behind her, sliding dishes in front of her with
a whispered description, filling her wineglass with a calculated cascade of
blood-red liquid, slipping other dishes to the center of the table with
sterling silver serving utensils positioned within.