"Do you cosset Emilie Shann?" J.P. asked slyly.

"As a matter of fact, she cossets me. She's a terrific cook. I'm going to miss my weekends just because of her cooking," he said. "I've had to work out harder at the gym after our working weekends." He chuckled. Information for J.P. to chew on, but safe information. It retained Emily's nonthreatening image in J.P.'s mind.

"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."