"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.