Emily couldn’t recall why not. “We don’t have much time. If we hurry—”

Derian growled and shook her head. “I’m not rushing. Not with you.” She looked up, grinned. Emily’s lips, flushed and red, parted. Her eyes glinted with hunger, hunger that answered Derian’s. She looked sexy and dangerous. “I need a lot of time to do what I’m planning to do.”

“Slow is nice,” Emily murmured, skimming her fingers over Derian’s mouth. She wanted her mouth. She wanted her mouth everywhere. “But honest to God, I wouldn’t mind fast right about now.”

Derian laughed. “There’s my bad girl.”

Emily grinned. “You definitely have the wrong idea about me.”

“Oh yeah? I don’t think so. Everything about you amazes me.” Derian wrapped both arms around her and tugged until Emily straddled her lap. She kissed her mouth, moved to her throat, and explored her breasts through the thin cotton of her tank, brushing her mouth over the hard points of her nipples. When she pulled one into her mouth, cotton and all, Emily arched, pressing tight into her lap, her head thrown back, her breasts mounding beneath her tank. Derian’s vision swam and longing pushed the breath from her chest.

Keeping Emily steady with an arm wrapped around her waist, Derian pulled up Emily’s tank and caressed her breasts and her belly and angle of her hip. Emily rocked in her lap, a seductive invitation for more. Derian murmured against her skin, “You’re sure about the time thing?”

“Believe me, I wish I weren’t.” Emily struggled for breath. “But if we miss any of our appointments, Henrietta—”

“Stop!” Derian groaned. “Way to put out the fire, baby.”

Laughing, Emily caressed Derian’s face, both hands gently outlining her cheeks and the angles of her jaw, finally sliding down her neck and under the collar of her shirt. Derian had never been touched with such care, or such desire. She sighed, content despite the simmering tension making her insides roil. “I love the way you touch me.”

“I’m so glad.” Emily kissed her again, for herself, for the pleasure of the softness of Derian’s mouth and the way the briefest contact filled her with longing and delight. She kissed her for the low groans torn from Derian’s chest, for the tightening of Derian’s hands on her hips, for the quickening of Derian’s pulse beneath her fingertips. She kissed her for the sheer and simple joy of it. “I don’t think I could ever get tired of touching you.”

“I’m dying to give you the chance to find out.”

“I wish I didn’t have to do this.” Emily kissed her lightly, and with more strength than she’d ever known she possessed, braced both hands on Derian’s shoulders and carefully climbed off her lap. Her legs were shaking. Everything inside her quivered. She hadn’t been kidding. She wouldn’t have minded fast at all. If Derian touched her right now, she was pretty sure she would come. But if Derian wanted slow, then they’d do slow, sometime. If she didn’t think about it, if she didn’t give in to the tiny kernel of panic that kept threatening to swell into reason and make her run, far and fast. If she didn’t think about what they were doing or what it might mean.

Derian frowned. “Whatever you’re thinking about, stop.”

“What do you mean? I wasn’t really thinking of anything.” Emily stepped back and busied herself pouring the tea. “How could I be? You tend to make me brainless.”

“No,” Derian said quietly, opening the bakery bag. “A minute ago you weren’t thinking at all, and you wanted me. Then you started worrying. Don’t do that.”

“I don’t know if I can stop,” Emily said carefully, taking two plates from the tray and setting one in front of each of their places at the table. She sat across from Derian, grateful not to have to stand any longer when her legs still threatened to desert her. “I’m a planner. I’m not spontaneous. I like to know the consequences, or at least the possibilities, before I rush into something.”

“I didn’t get you cookies, but I thought you might like scones.” Derian placed a cinnamon scone with a swirl of white frosting on the top in front of Emily.

“It’s perfect. Thank you.”

Derian fixed her with her heavy-lidded, languorous gaze. “Don’t overthink your feelings. There’s some things you can’t know until they happen. You can’t call the shot until the card is played. Sometimes you just have to gamble.”

“I’m not much of a gambler.”

“Sure you are. You took a chance coming to this country, you took a chance contacting Henrietta, and you took an even bigger chance setting your stakes at the agency. You’re winning all of those. Trust your instincts. You’re a winner.”

“There isn’t a single thing about going to bed with you that resembles any of those choices.” Emily broke off a piece of scone. It was delicious, but after Derian’s kisses, not enough to satisfy.

Derian grinned. “I’m very glad to hear I have more appeal than Winfield’s. I’d like to think I’m a lot more exciting.”

“Oh, I think I can safely say that you are.” Emily took a breath. “I’m not really sure we should go any further, though.”

“Emily, that ship has sailed.”

“Oh, baloney,” Emily snapped.

“Baloney?”

Emily waved a hand. “Nothing has sailed anywhere until we—”

“When,” Derian said comfortably, popping a piece of carrot muffin into her mouth. “When we make love.”

“Are you always so damn sure…never mind, I know you are.” Emily blew out a breath. “But things have changed at the agency. You’re there now, you’re in charge. You’re my boss.”

“Oh, baloney.” Derian tamped down a wave of irritation. She couldn’t discount Emily’s feelings, as ridiculous as she found that whole argument. If it was important to Emily, it had to be important to her. “First of all, I’m not your boss. I’m Henrietta’s temporary stand-in, and you are more my boss than the other way around. Everyone knows it.”

“Derian, you’ve been at the agency half a week. You catch on quickly. And even if you were an utter failure, you’re still Derian Winfield, Henrietta’s niece, and you are very much everyone’s boss.”

“Is that how you think of me?”

Emily sighed. “I’m trying to.”

“What’s stopping you?”

“You. You confuse me. I have trouble thinking clearly when I think about you.”

Derian grinned that self-satisfied grin. “Good.” She glanced at her watch. “I guess we should probably get going if we’re going to make those appointments.”

“The problem isn’t going to go away,” Emily said, taking her tea with her as she rose. “I’ll be ready in just a few minutes.”

“The problem isn’t a problem unless we make it one,” Derian called after her. “Do you think you could wear the slippers?”

Emily muttered something under her breath Derian couldn’t catch, but the intention was clear. Derian laughed. She’d never met a woman who could make her laugh as easily as she could make her insane with desire. Emily was unique. She wouldn’t let a tangle of government red tape or her father’s ego threaten Emily’s happiness, especially not when she could do something to solve the problem.

Chapter Twenty-two

The Town Car let them off at the corner of Thirty-Fourth Street and Eleventh Avenue in Hell’s Kitchen behind a long line of double-parked cabs disgorging people in droves. Sidewalks and crosswalks were packed with people converging on the Javits Convention Center, a sprawling modern glass and concrete building four stories tall and as many deep, that extended for six blocks along Eleventh. Rows of hot dog and pretzel vendors were setting up on the curb and, given that the sky was overcast and threatening rain at any second, the ubiquitous vendors selling umbrellas from the back of vans had arrived as well. A carnival atmosphere prevailed despite the menacing skies.

“Looks like opening day in Cannes,” Derian remarked, resting her hand gently in the small of Emily’s back as they wound their way through the crowds.

“Prepare yourself for something very different,” Emily said, laughing.

“Oh, don’t worry, I have.” Derian imagined a long day of networking, the very idea of which made her want to head in the opposite direction. But she’d have Emily for company, and that made the dreariness more than tolerable. She was actually looking forward to the event.

When they made it through the long row of glass doors into the foyer, Derian drew a sharp breath. She’d known what to expect, but the assault was always the same. Huge spaces filled with people, banks of escalators going up and down, signs everywhere, and an overwhelming sense of disorientation. Even casinos had more orderly layouts than this place. Sweat gathered on the back of her neck. The initial panic was always the same.

“We just have to pick up our badges.” Emily, her voice bright with excitement, pointed to the registration area and a long row of booths in the far right corner.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so excited to be going to a conference,” Derian said, hurrying to keep up with Emily, who cut through the crowds like a cab on Seventh Avenue.

“Oh,” Emily said, arrowing in on her target, “this is a lot more than a conference. This is…everything—it’s what we’re all about. Not just what’s new in books, but how we make them, who’s reading them, and where the industry is headed.”

“I’m afraid I’m going to need an interpreter,” Derian said, “because I feel like a stranger in a strange land.”

Emily grasped her arm. “Don’t worry, you have a seasoned guide. The first time I attended with Henrietta I was the same way.”

“I doubt that—at least you speak the language.”

“You will too, soon. Until then, I’ll be your backup.”

“It seems like you’ve been doing that for me since we met.” Derian grimaced. “I’m usually not quite so useless.”