“Come to dinner,” Emily said. “We still haven’t had the red.”

“I’m sorry if we ruined last night’s bottle.”

“I stoppered it. Not form, I know, but it will probably be fine.”

Derian frowned. “When?”

“When you fell asleep.”

“I can’t believe I didn’t feel you get out of bed.”

Emily kissed her lightly. “You were sleeping pretty heavily. By the way, I like watching you sleep.”

“Uh…okay. Good, I think.”

“Mmm. Very good.” Emily hopped out of bed, just managing to escape Derian’s grasping hand. “Stop.”

Derian groaned.

“If I stay, I’m going to want you inside me again, and you need to waylay Henrietta before she makes some kind of end run.”

“You’re really trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

“I know you’re tougher than that.” Emily leaned down, her breasts brushing Derian’s shoulder, and kissed her. “You can always join me in the shower.”

“Not if you want to go to work anytime soon. Like in the next week.” Derian grabbed Emily’s hand. “I’ll be thinking about tonight all day.”

“So will I.”


*


Emily was determined to get some work done, even though she couldn’t stop thinking about the night before. She thought she’d known what it was like to make love with a woman, but she hadn’t even begun to fathom the addictive, exquisite exhilaration of bringing Derian pleasure. She loved knowing Derian desired her, loved running her hands over Derian’s body, loved answering Derian’s need. She loved seeing her passion reflected, her hunger met and matched. All she could think was again. Again. Again. Again.

“Hello-o-o,” Ron called from the doorway.

With a start, Emily said, “Oh. Hi.”

“For a second, I thought you were sleeping, but your eyes were open.” Ron came in and dropped into his usual pose in the chair, elbow on knee, chin in his hand, studying her. “Tell me everything about last night.”

Emily’s face flamed. “Last night? Weren’t you there?”

Ron made a pfft sound. “I don’t mean the awards. What about all the rest—insider gossip, you know, the good stuff. You must have gotten something juicy.”

“Oh,” Emily said, struggling furiously to focus. “Yes. No. I mean, yes, I went. But you know how it is. The usual suspects, the usual topics of discussion. Nothing really new.”

“How disappointing.” Ron flopped back and sighed. “Not much surprise with the winners either. I don’t know why I keep hoping every once in a while they’ll actually pick the best book instead of the most politically advantageous one.”

Emily laughed. “Yes, well, we’ll probably have world peace at any moment too.”

Ron snorted. “How did Derian behave?”

“Derian?”

“Yes, you know the one I mean, Derian Winfield, our boss? The woman glued to your side all night long?”

“Oh, Derian. She was fine.”

“I think you’d better elaborate,” Ron said slowly, his eyes narrowing. “Because something obviously happened. You seem a little dazed and confused.”

Emily glanced at the open door. She didn’t want to have a personal conversation about Derian in the office, and she didn’t want to tell Ron she’d slept with her either. She wasn’t falling back on false modesty, she wasn’t that precious. But Derian was their boss, even if just temporarily, and it didn’t look good for either one of them if people knew. She wasn’t as concerned about her own reputation as much as she wanted to protect Derian’s. She already knew most people thought Derian was a self-absorbed player, and she knew that was far from the truth. Unfortunately, false impressions were often the hardest to change. She looked at Ron. “Derian was absolutely fine.”

“And that’s it?”

Emily smiled. “That pretty much covers it.”

“You’ll tell me the rest one day soon, right?” Ron asked knowingly.

“When the time is right,” Emily promised, although she had no idea when that might be. Or even how she would know. She’d vowed not to think beyond the moment, which twenty-four hours ago had seemed like a reasonable decision, but that was a promise she was finding harder to keep by the moment. Any relationship with Derian could only be temporary. Now all she had to do was convince herself of that.

Chapter Twenty-five

Derian settled onto a couch in the family area adjoining the gym, replete with treadmills, exercise benches, workout mats, and stationary bikes, where Henrietta was starting her rehab program. She could see HW, decked out in matching sweatpants and sweatshirt with NYU emblazoned in big bold letters, through the windows that spanned the top half of the wall separating the two rooms. Compared to many, no, most of the other rehab patients, HW looked hale and hearty. No one who didn’t know her would realize her steps were slower than her usual near-running pace, or that she was a little unsteady getting up from a chair. Her voice probably sounded normal to other people, but to Derian’s ear she was a bit on the quiet side. All things considered, though, her aunt looked great. The doctors had cautioned Henrietta at the last visit not to push too fast just because she seemed to be recovering very quickly. Henrietta, of course, countered that her job was a desk job and was no more strenuous than sitting at home. Derian, who’d insisted on going with her, had pointed out HW was rarely behind her desk but more often running off to meetings, conferences, and power lunches. Fortunately, the doctors hadn’t been that easily hoodwinked and had instructed Henrietta to stick to the rehab schedule.

HW wasn’t supposed to be back in the office full-time for at least another six weeks, but Derian doubted they’d be able to prevent her from working part-time for much longer than another two. She wouldn’t mind when Henrietta moved back behind the desk where she belonged, and doubly glad that someday Emily should rightfully take that seat. Her brief stint as the interim CEO had been more than enough to convince her she wasn’t cut out for helming the ship. As to what she was cut out for, she didn’t know and, before now, she’d never really cared to try. She’d avoided making any kind of long-range plans since she’d graduated from college. Her only goal then had been to put as much distance as possible between Martin and herself as quickly as possible. That hadn’t required much in the way of thought, another thing she’d tried to avoid as much as possible. Being without a purpose was not the Winfield way, which was probably exactly why she had chosen that lifestyle.

She hadn’t been idle, but she hadn’t been living a conventional life either. Sure, she’d profited by putting her money behind the right racing teams, investing wisely, and having a natural affinity for winning at the tables. Those successes hadn’t been planned so much as fallen into. Being able to look at things from a distance now, she realized she’d spent all her life trying to be anything but a Winfield and doing anything that wasn’t the Winfield way. Sometimes, maybe, she’d gotten in the way of her own satisfaction without realizing it. Working at the agency had been a surprise—especially when she’d discovered she enjoyed being part of the team. Now that her tenure was ending, she was unexpectedly disappointed to be leaving. True, not seeing Emily every day was a big part of that, but she’d miss the spirit and passion of the place too.

A nurse walked Henrietta back into the waiting area and Derian got to her feet. “Tired out already?”

The nurse looked aghast, but Henrietta merely laughed. “I could go a few more rounds but my therapist called it quits.” She thanked the nurse and took Derian’s arm. Her grip was strong and firm. “Are you taking me to lunch? That’s within the bounds of the program, isn’t it?”

Derian laughed. “It’s not a prison sentence, HW.”

“You should try it sometime and see what you have to say after a few days.”

“Point taken.” She’d ordered up one of the company cars and it was waiting in the entranceway when they walked out. “Anyplace special you’d like to go?”

“Fortunately, I’m still allowed to eat. Let’s do Junior’s.”

“I’ll call and get us a spot.”

They arrived at the diner a little before the lunch hour and secured a booth in the window. After they’d ordered, Henrietta sipped her orange juice and regarded Derian with a speculative gaze. “I think it’s time for you to tell me what’s really going on at the agency, don’t you?”

Derian swallowed the mouthful of coffee she’d just taken and tried not to cough. Somehow, HW always knew what was really going on. She’d known about Derian and Aud getting involved in high school almost before Derian had figured it out, and had merely told them to exercise caution around Martin, who had a remarkable penchant for narrow-mindedness.

“I guess there’s no use in my trying to bluff my way out of this, is there?” Derian said.

“See the bet or fold your cards.”

Derian laughed. “Everything at Winfield’s is fine. I wasn’t lying about that. There have been some…incursions from the enemy camp, but we’re handling that.”

Henrietta tapped her glass with a nail, a thoughtful expression on her face. “Donatella Agnelli.”

“How the hell did you know that?”

Henrietta smiled thinly. “Because Donatella is Martin’s hatchet woman. When he wants something nasty done, quickly and lethally, he sends Donatella. Did she try to gut the place?”

“She might have, but we put a stop to it.”

Henrietta’s eyebrow arched up. “We?”

“Emily and I have kept her out of your office.” Derian grinned, feeling the same thrill she did when she’d just won big on a long shot. “Donatella has been overseeing an audit, but nothing is coming of it. Your books are good, and your bottom line is well within range of other agencies.”