"They don't take them down until the day after New Year's, Devlin," she answered him. He had missed her! He was lonely without her! Now why the hell couldn't he get the rest of it out? "I've missed you too," Emily said, "but I've been busy. The house is all decorated inside and out. Garlands and wreaths up. Two trees. The one in the den is all finished. I'm working on the one in the living room. We're having an open house on New Year's Eve, Devlin. Will you still be here, or do you like your city celebrations?"

"Publishing is closed down Christmas week," he told her. "Can I stay the whole week with you? Or maybe you would like to come into town and stay at my place?"

"Stay with me," she said softly, meaningfully. "Besides, you live in a studio apartment, Devlin. You've said yourself there's barely room to swing a cat, and I'm much bigger than a cat."

"What will the neighbors think?" he asked her.

"To hell with the neighbors, Devlin," Emily said.

He laughed low. "Can you be a good girl until I get there, angel face?"

"If I can be a bad girl once you're here," she told him mischievously.

"I've got a big present for you," he teased her.

"And I have just the perfect place to put it," she responded.

"You're making me hot," he told her.

"I'm putting my hand in my pants," she said. "Oh! I'm already wet, Devlin. That's what the sound of your voice does to me."

"I'm in bed," he replied. "I've got my dick in my hand. It's already getting hard, because that's what the sound of your voice does to me."

"Make yourself come," she murmured seductively. "I'm going to make myself come. I'm already playing with my clit. It feels so good, Devlin. Oh! Oh! But I wish it were your tongue there, and not my finger."

"I'm polishing my cock to a fine stand," he said. "But I wish it were in your juicy cunt, angel face. I'm going to fuck your brains out when I get home." He heard her breathing coming faster in his earpiece.

"Oh! Oh! Oh! Ohhhh!" she exclaimed. "God, that was good! But not as good as you, Devlin."

She heard him groan. "Jaysus! What a waste of good cum! I've had to use two handkerchiefs. Damn it, I want you, angel face! I don't want to have any more dirty-talk phone sex with you over the transatlantic cable."

"Then get your cute Irish ass home, Devlin," Emily said.

She heard him chuckle, and then he responded, "As fast as I can, angel face. Just a few more days. Good night, sweetheart."

"Good night, Devlin. Dream of me." She made kissing sounds into the phone.

To her delight he made the same sounds back, and then the line was dead.

Emily flipped her cell shut. Just the sound of his voice, the knowledge that he was coming home soon, made her happy. Home. He had referred to Egret Pointe as home. She felt herself smiling, and then she sneezed. Damn! Her cold was getting worse, and she still had the big Christmas tree in the living room to finish decorating. Tomorrow, Emily thought. She'd finish it tomorrow. Tonight she would eat some of Rina's chicken soup and just go to bed.


***

The next day Emily struggled up, and completed decorating her big Christmas tree. Good thing, she considered, that she and Essie had begun it yesterday, and the top half had been finished. She didn't think she could have climbed up on the ladder, but fortunately all she had left had been the bottom half. She took the ornaments carefully from their wrappings. Most of them were antiques that had been in her family for over a hundred years. Her favorite was the skinny Father Christmas that had always been referred to as the seasick Santa.

But she was still feeling lousy. She had the tree finished by early afternoon, and considering that she had to go into the city tomorrow, she decided to rest. She was coughing now, but as much as she disliked having to make the trip, it was business, and it was important she be at Stratford's Christmas party. Aaron would be there. Devlin would be there. That would be the hard part: pretending they were just editor and author.

Her appetite was finicky. She finished Rina's soup and made herself a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich with a glass of warm milk. When she had eaten she went upstairs and swallowed some cold tablets. Looking outside, she saw it had begun to snow. Maybe it would snow so much she wouldn't have to go into the city, Emily thought. Crawling into bed she fell into a deep sleep. It wasn't even eight o'clock.


***

It was still snowing when she awoke the following morning. She felt a little better, and so she took some more twelve-hour cold medicine to get her through the day. Looking at the clock she thought, In another twelve hours I'll be home. It made the day ahead of her just a little bit less onerous. She showered, washing her hair, then drying herself and her hair thoroughly before stepping out into the bedroom. Even so, a chill swept over her. The chime from the hall announced nine o'clock. She had plenty of time. Wrapping herself in her pink fleece robe, she went downstairs, and made herself a bowl of apple-and-cinnamon oatmeal. The heavy cream she poured on it made it taste even better, along with the hot tea she drank.

Having eaten, Emily trudged back upstairs and got back into bed. She didn't feel great, but she felt better. Aaron called to make sure she remembered the car would be there for her at noon. She had at least two and a half hours before she had to get dressed. She set her clock for eleven fifteen, and when it rang Emily awoke to bright sunshine. The storm had blown itself out. Looking out the window, she saw the street was already plowed, which meant the parkway would be plowed too- worse luck.

With a sigh she turned to get dressed, slipping on a pair of pure silk cream panties and a matching lace bra. She was not going to the Stratford Christmas party without her underwear, and Devlin was just going to have to live with it. She couldn't decide whether she should wear a wrap dress or slacks, but given the snow she decided on her cream-colored wool slacks and a matching cashmere turtleneck. She pulled thin cashmere socks over her feet and slid into a pair of ankle-high Ferragamo boots in a rich chocolate-brown leather. Simple makeup: a little periwinkle-blue eye shadow, mascara, blush, and lipstick. Good, tasteful jewelry: an elegant gold-and-silver pin on the left side of her sweater, matching earrings in her ears, and Emily O's beautiful silver repoussé bangle on her right wrist, her own gold Seiko on her left wrist.

She took a small clutch in cream leather. In it she fit a little brush, a lipstick, a tiny spritzer of her favorite scent, sunglasses, tissues, a single credit card, a packet of vitamin C drops, and her cell. Looking in the mirror, she fluffed her hair with her brush. She had seen it look better, but she had a cold, and it would probably look fine for the day. Hurrying downstairs, Emily took her long camel-hair wrap coat from the closet, checked the pocket for a pair of gloves, and, reaching up onto the shelf, pulled down an Irish wool tam-o'-shanter. She had a cold, she rationalized again. She needed to keep a hat on until she got there. Didn't everyone say you lost most of your body heat through your head?

As if on cue the doorbell rang and, opening it, she greeted the chauffeur. "Morning! Hope the drive wasn't too bad."

"Nah," he answered her. "Parkway is clear, and so are your roads. You got a good little highway department out here in the boonies. I'm Frankie. You ready to go, Miss Shann?"

"Did they send lunch in the car, or should I make a sandwich quickly?" she asked.

"You must be somebody real special," Frankie said. "There's a little hamper in the back for you. You just tell me when you want to stop and eat."

"I'm used to eating on the run," Emily said. "You don't have to stop for me, but thanks." She put on her coat, cinching the sash to close it.

He helped her into the car, set a thick fleece lap robe over her knees, and, gaining the driver's seat, pulled out from the curb. A sudden wave of weariness swept over her. Emily closed her eyes and dozed. When she opened them again they were on the parkway, and she realized they were almost into the city. Glancing at her watch she saw it was one thirty. She had slept for an hour and a half. She felt better for it. Opening up the hamper, she pulled out a thermos. A label on it said, Chicken Soup. She opened it and poured some into the self-contained cup. It was delicious, and still quite hot. There were two miniature croissants wrapped in clear wrap. They were filled with thin slices of Havarti cheese and ham. She wolfed them down, wondering why, when you were sick, someone else's food always tasted better. Closing the hamper, she wiped her mouth, pulled out her lipstick, and put on fresh.

Around them the traffic was horrendous. Of course-it was two days before Christmas. Only an idiot brought his car into the city two days before Christmas. The world was obviously full of idiots, Emily decided as the cars around her honked noisily.

"Jerks!" Frankie the chauffeur said. "Whatta they think? Honking's gonna make the rest of the traffic disappear in a puff of smoke?" He swore under his breath as a black limo with black windows tried to cut him off, gunning the town car to keep his own place in the line of trucks, buses, and cars. "I got orders to pick up a Mr. Fischer," he said to her. "You know him?"

"He's my agent," Emily answered. Good. They would have a few minutes alone to talk before they got to Stratford.

Aaron was waiting at the curb in front of his building as they pulled up. He got into the town car and went to kiss her cheek, but Emily pulled away, putting up a cautionary hand as she did so.