“But nothing like what your father would like to see.”

Derian lifted a shoulder. “It’s not Martin’s business, is it.”

“No, but he’d like it to be. Actually, he’d like to destroy it just for spite, because it was what I always wanted and something our father valued.” Henrietta sighed. “What Martin can’t control, he seeks to destroy.”

“The agency is safe. I promise.”

“And what about you? How are you holding up under Martin’s guns?”

“He didn’t draw much blood this time.”

“I’m sorry. He’s a fool.”

“I’m learning not to expect him to change.” Derian realized the most powerful antidote to her father’s criticism was her own sense of accomplishment. For the first time, the sting of his disregard no longer made her want to grab the first plane to anywhere else. “And I’m okay with that.”

Henrietta squeezed her hand. “Then you truly have won.”

Derian wasn’t sure about that, but she figured she might be on the right track at last. And right now all she really wanted to think about was her dinner date with Emily.


*


Emily wiped her hands on a dish towel and hurried to the door. She checked the peephole and quickly pulled the door open. “Hi! You’re early.”

“Your downstairs neighbor let me in. I assured her I wasn’t a burglar.”

“You do have the look of a scoundrel about you,” Emily said, leaning up to kiss Derian quickly but firmly. “Come in.”

“I’m a little early, but I was just hanging around the office, and I thought I’d much rather be hanging around here.” Derian lifted the bottle of wine she had tucked under her arm. “In case the other one didn’t survive.”

“Thanks. I’m afraid I’m still in the prep stage, and”—Emily frowned, indicating her jeans and T-shirt—“I’m not dressed.”

“I was kind of hoping for the bunny slippers.” Derian set the wine on a nearby table and pulled Emily close. She kissed her, one hand settling low on her back, her fingers dipping beneath the waistband of Emily’s jeans. She loved the feel of that little dip at the base of her spine, so soft and sensuous. “You look terrific. Don’t change a thing.”

Emily wriggled closer. “I’m not having dinner with you wearing a Star Wars T-shirt.”

Derian grinned. “I like it, but I would’ve put you in the Star Trek camp.”

“I’m one of those rare individuals who’s never chosen sides. I think they’re both incredible for different reasons.” Leaning back, Emily spread her palms over Derian’s chest, flicking open the top button of her shirt to kiss the hollow of her throat. “You, now, you’re definitely Star Wars. Speed and derring-do, a raider in the sky.”

Derian laughed and walked Emily over to the sofa. “Do you have anything on the stove?”

“Not yet, I was still chopping—” Emily gave a little squeak when Derian dumped her onto the couch and then lost her voice when Derian stretched out over her. Somehow they managed to wrap themselves around each other on the narrow space and then Derian was kissing her and Emily was grabbing on to every part of her, desperate to touch every inch, to pull her inside, as deep inside her as she could.

“I missed you,” Derian growled against her throat, one hand sliding under her T-shirt, stroking down her belly, and fumbling at the button of her jeans.

“Let me help,” Emily gasped, suddenly desperate to be naked, to have nothing between her and Derian’s hands. She tore open her jeans and pushed them down her legs, kicking them off while trying to keep Derian on top of her, not caring how ungraceful she looked as long as Derian never moved. Derian’s mouth was on her throat, her teeth lightly scraping, sending shivers of heat down her spine and fireworks bursting between her thighs.

“Oh my God.” Blindly, Emily found Derian’s hand and pressed it between her thighs. “Inside. I want you inside.”

Derian knelt between Emily’s thighs, stroking her breasts and her belly and finally filling her. Her eyes burned, feral and magnificent, stark and famished. For her. For her.

“Hurry.” Emily gripped Derian’s wrist and lifted to take her deeper. When Derian leaned down and kissed her, she exploded.

“Okay, so fast is good too,” Emily murmured into Derian’s neck.

“Fast is pretty fantastic.”

Emily squinted, focused finally. Derian lay beside her, holding her. “You still have all your clothes on.”

“You have a Star Wars T-shirt. I’m underdressed.”

Emily laughed, a little wildly, still trying to put the pieces of her sanity back together. “I never wanted anything the way I want you.”

“I can’t seem to stop touching you.”

Emily stretched and murmured contentedly. “That’s very good, then. I would like it, though, if we took your clothes off now so I can feel your skin. Love your skin. It’s so hot.”

Derian grinned against Emily’s rumpled hair. Hot skin. Why did she think that was the most exciting thing she’d ever heard? “I missed you all afternoon. Why did you have to have meetings scheduled back to back?”

Emily tilted her head and kissed Derian’s chin. “Oh, you know. Business? You remember the agency.”

“Oh. That. Vaguely.”

“I did have a very hard time thinking about work.” Emily opened the buttons on Derian’s shirt. Finding the skin she’d been hungering for, she ran her tongue in circles around Derian’s nipple. Derian’s fingers threaded into her hair and pressed her face closer to her breast.

“I like it when you do that,” Derian whispered, her limbs shifting restlessly.

Emily intended never to stop, but first she needed more. She slipped off the couch and knelt beside it, opening Derian’s belt and trousers. “Sit up.”

“Emily,” Derian groaned, swinging her legs to the floor. “I—”

“Off.” Emily gripped Derian’s trousers and tugged, pulling them down and away. She knelt between Derian’s legs and kissed Derian’s inner thighs, slowly working her way higher until Derian’s thighs tightened and her hips lifted from the couch.

“Emily,” Derian warned, “I’m close.”

Emily splayed her fingers over Derian’s tense stomach and took what she’d been aching for all day. The sweet heat of Derian’s surrender pierced her, impaling her with awe. She stroked and caressed and drew her deeper until she felt the telltale tightening everywhere. At the last second, she slipped inside her and Derian convulsed, a hoarse cry of surprise and pleasure torn from her throat.

“So beautiful,” Emily whispered, her cheek pressed to Derian’s thigh. Derian’s fingers played in her hair, her breathing harsh and unsteady.

“I never had anyone own me the way you do,” Derian said.

Smiling, Emily kissed her stomach and climbed up beside her on the sofa. She pulled Derian down, and they tangled together again.

“I never knew I had so much craving inside me,” Emily said. “It’s a little maddening.”

“I know.” Derian kissed her. “Maddening and amazing and something I never get enough of.”

Emily tapped her fingers on Derian’s hip. “Although if we keep putting off dinner, we might die of starvation.”

“Never.” Derian wrapped a hand around Emily’s nape, holding her close. She wasn’t ready to let her go. She couldn’t think of anything she wanted beyond lying right where she was. She sighed.

“What?” Emily asked, in no hurry to get up. Derian had a way of making her forget everything she needed to do.

“I got a call this afternoon from some nervous investors. I need to show up before the race in Rio. Sponsor-type stuff.”

Icy tentacles slithered through Emily’s chest. “Oh. When?”

“The day after tomorrow. I tried to put it off, but—”

“No, of course you can’t. You’ve been away for quite a while now,” Emily said, starting to sit up. She couldn’t be this close to her and know that she was leaving. She was more than half-naked, she was exposed and feeling incredibly vulnerable, as if her skin were peeling away. At any moment she was afraid she might start bleeding. She had to gather her strength, somehow re-erect her shields. She ran both hands through her hair and tugged as she untangled her curls, the tiny spears of pain clearing the fog of sex and false security. Jumping up, she searched on the floor for her jeans. She couldn’t be naked any longer. “I should do something about dinner.”

“I know I might be leaving you in the lurch at the agency, but I took care of one problem.” Derian got up, grabbed her pants, and shook out the wrinkles in a quick, automatic move.

“Oh?” Emily said, trying to think of what to do with her hands. She couldn’t touch her right now. She couldn’t bear to touch her and want her and know that she’d be leaving soon. Of course she’d always known that, expected it, but hadn’t let herself think about it. Just the night, just the now. She’d made that deal with herself, hadn’t she? She couldn’t go back on it now. She couldn’t expect it to be any different than what it was. She’d never lied to herself. She wouldn’t start now. She backed up.

“I got rid of Donatella. As of tomorrow, she’s gone.” Derian pulled on her trousers but didn’t bother to button her shirt.

Derian was so damn casual about her body, about everything, and Emily had always known that too, hadn’t she? Sex was just another form of conversation for Derian. Nothing wrong with that at all. And she’d given Emily something precious, something far beyond pleasure. Derian had given her the knowledge of what she’d been living without, and what she refused to do without someday. Someday, when she could bear the hunger again.

“How did she take it?” Emily asked, amazed at how easily she could talk about something that mattered not at all while everything that did slipped away.

Derian grinned and poured wine from the open bottle on Emily’s kitchen island into the glasses Emily’d left on the counter. She handed one to Emily. “I told her she’d had enough time with the numbers. I’d gone over the books myself in the last couple of days, and there was nothing there to find. Winfield’s bottom line was far more than acceptable.”