Emily noticed how deftly Derian diverted the conversation away from herself, but she appreciated the desire for privacy, valuing it herself. “Films—”

“They’re just another form of books, right? Scripts translated into visual form?”

Emily smiled appreciatively. “There are definite similarities, of course, in terms of story structure and characterizations, but with the ability to inject narrative, as authors do in fiction, for example, books aren’t obligated to the kind of rapid characterization and plot development that scriptwriters are.”

“Nor dependent on actors who must communicate subtext through body motion and speech,” Derian added.

“Yes,” Emily said. “Which do you prefer? Films or books?”

Derian was silent a long moment. “I like films but prefer listening to books when I have the time.”

“Ah, you’re an audiophile. I like them too, but I miss the slower pace of reading,” Emily said. “I wondered where you kept your books, but of course you’d want them to be portable since you travel so much.”

Derian glanced around the room as if it was a strange new place. “I don’t have any books because I’m not a very good reader.”

Emily stilled. Derian’s voice had faded, as if she’d drifted someplace beyond their conversation.

“When I was small I couldn’t read at all,” Derian said matter-of-factly, as if relating a story about someone else. “They labeled it dyslexia, but I didn’t demonstrate all the signs. I don’t mix up the words, I have mostly directionality confusion. It was quite an embarrassment to my family.”

“Surely not to Henrietta,” Emily said vehemently.

Derian smiled thinly. “No, not to Henrietta. But my father was embarrassed by what they initially thought was some kind of mental disability.”

“I’m so sorry,” Emily murmured.

“Once I was old enough to verbalize what was happening, they figured it out and I got the right kind of therapy—all on the QT, of course.” She grimaced. “I can interpret most maps with a little effort, but it put an end to my desire to drive race cars.”

“So you sponsor them.” Emily knew Derian wouldn’t appreciate sympathy for something she’d obviously conquered, but she couldn’t help being saddened. Such a hard burden when her family had been so unsupportive. The idea of Derian suffering alone incensed her.

“I’m okay with it all now,” Derian whispered, taking Emily’s hand as if she were the one in need of comfort.

“I’m glad that we have audiobooks, then. And that you enjoy them.”

“Fortunately, it turns out I have an eidetic memory for numbers.” Derian grinned. “I can remember an entire spreadsheet of values after a quick glance. It gives me a very good edge in anything that requires probability.”

“Such as cards?” Emily said, trying for a lighter note.

“Exactly. Probability, statistics, anything requiring numbers is easy for me. It took a while for that to show up, but once it did, the rest—” She shrugged. “Let’s say my luck at the tables comes naturally.”

“Is that why you’re not interested in the agency?”

“I wouldn’t be any good at it, and as much as Henrietta has wanted me to join her on the fourth floor, I think she knows I’m not suited for it.” Derian rose and began clearing the table. “Besides, the board would never stand for it. I’m the black sheep, remember.”

Emily rose to help her. “Let me help. You’ve waited on me all night.”

“I enjoy waiting on you,” Derian murmured.

“And I’ve taken up quite enough of your time this evening,” Emily said as Derian pushed the food cart aside. “I really should be getting home.”

“Of course. I’ll call you a car.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary. I can easily get a cab—”

Derian cupped Emily’s cheek and brushed her fingers through Emily’s hair. “No, you won’t. I’ll see you downstairs and into a car.”

“You’re very kind,” Emily murmured, leaned into Derian’s hand without thinking, and watched heat flicker through Derian’s eyes. She thought for a heartbeat she was about to be kissed again. She didn’t move.

“No,” Derian whispered, “I’m not.”

And she stepped away, leaving Emily unkissed and unexpectedly disappointed.

Chapter Nine

Derian slid her hands into her pockets and watched the cab pull away, following its course along the park until it turned and disappeared. She’d escorted more women than she’d ever thought to count to a cab or car in the middle of the night, seeing them off to their other lives, their other lovers. Fortunately, few of her liaisons cared to spend the night, like-having-recognized-like before the assignations had begun. Even when the night gave way to dawn, she couldn’t recall a single instance when she and her bedmate had shared breakfast. Sitting opposite someone over a meal required a level of intimate conversation she usually avoided. Not so with Emily, though. Somehow they had effortlessly traveled into regions Derian rarely traversed, even in her mind. Thoughts of family, lost to time or tragedy, were not landscapes she cared to view, but she’d touched on all of that with Emily. And Emily had ventured there with her too, for a moment, before pulling back from whatever sorrows populated that part of her past. Derian wanted to know, wanted to help ease that grief, but she’d wait until invited, even though waiting was not her usual stance.

The evening with Emily had been a departure in more ways than one. Spending time with Emily was not like spending time with other women. She hadn’t been eager for her to leave—just the opposite. Even now, a hollow ache percolated in her chest, as if Emily had taken some of the energy and excitement of the night with her. Derian wasn’t inured to the company of other women—she appreciated the intimacies they shared, but she’d always been satisfied with the physical. Oh, she was aware of Emily physically, all right. She could envision making love with her. Sitting across from her at the small table, she’d imagined it more than once. Even now, the vibrant images were so clear and insistent, desire surged like a heavy hand squeezing deep inside.

She grimaced, caught off guard and not at all pleased. She’d already mentally cataloged all the reasons why even thinking of Emily in that way was a bad idea, and being reminded that her head did not rule her body only made the unruly physical urges more aggravating. She wasn’t going to be able to sleep until she banished the persistent craving for a woman she didn’t want to want. A walk in the brisk dark and a diversion of a more familiar type might refocus her interest in a safer direction.

Hunching her shoulders inside the light wool blazer she’d tossed on to accompany Emily downstairs, she headed toward Midtown and the metrosexual club she remembered from her last visit. If Cosmos wasn’t there any longer, she could surely find another without any difficulty. New York never slept, after all, and New Yorkers were notoriously adventurous and nonjudgmental, at least where sex was concerned.

As she strode quickly through the still busy streets, dodging puddles and the occasional slush pile left over from the late snow, she contemplated calling the hospital to check on Henrietta. After eleven. Surely if there was some change, some problem, someone would’ve contacted her by now. What the hell. The time didn’t really matter—hospitals ran twenty-four seven. Skirting between cabs crowding across the intersection, she pulled out her cell phone and scrolled to the number she’d saved earlier. After half a dozen rings, the hospital operator answered and sent her through to the intensive care unit.

“ICU, Higgins,” a man said.

“This is Derian Winfield. I was wondering if you could give me an update on my aunt’s condition. Henrietta?”

“Hold on for a second.”

A little more than a second later, a woman came on the line. “Hi, this is Sally, Henrietta’s nurse. Who is this, please?”

“Derian Winfield. Henrietta’s my aunt.”

“Oh, right, Penny mentioned you earlier. She’s fine. All her vital signs are stable, her lab results look good, and she’s resting comfortably.”

Derian wondered how they knew if Henrietta was resting, comfortably or otherwise. If Henrietta had any say in things, she’d be half-awake at all times, just to be sure everyone was keeping on track. “Has she been alert, talking?”

“Every now and then she surfaces for a few seconds—a minute, maybe—and she knows where she is. But it’s not unusual for patients who’ve sustained this kind of physical insult to kind of draw back inside. It’s part of the healing process. It’s perfectly normal.”

“Uh-huh.” Derian would have preferred hearing HW was haranguing the staff and causing a fuss, but she knew it was too soon. Her desire to make the whole damn nightmare go away wasn’t going to be enough to make it so. “Thanks. You’ll be sure someone will call me if there’s any change?”

“I’ll be here all night. If there’s any problem, I’ll call you, and I’ll let her know you were asking for her if she wakes up.”

“That’d be great. Thanks.” Derian disconnected and slid the phone back into her pants pocket. The uneasy sensation of her world being slightly atilt persisted. Trying to set aside her worry over Henrietta, she let her thoughts drift back to Emily. She should be home by now. A phone call would be out of line, but the need to hear her voice made her fingers clench around her phone.

“Goddamn it,” she muttered. Somehow, she’d let Emily escape without getting her phone number. For the best. Maybe her head was in the game after all—only this time it was a game she wasn’t used to playing.

She rarely took a woman’s number or exchanged hers, unless she met someone she’d like to see again—someone whose sense of humor, sharp intelligence, and love for the game matched her own. Then she gave her number and took theirs after they agreed to the ground rules. No promises, no strings, and above all, discretion. But she’d never been driven by some urge deep inside to reconnect, to hold on.