Totally her fault. If she’d been thinking instead of enjoying a second half-glass of champagne, she would’ve realized she was stepping into Derian’s private space when she drifted into the hall. But she’d hardly expected her to be naked. The woman was so unbelievably casual about physical matters, touching effortlessly if respectfully, and treating her own body as if it was nothing special, and it certainly was. Special. Refreshing, exciting.

And best not to think about that too much. Perhaps she’d had a little too much of the very fine champagne after all. That must be it, although she didn’t actually feel disinhibited in the least. After all, she didn’t actually plan to go through with the mini-fantasy she’d had of running her palm over the gentle slope of Derian’s chest and down…

Emily soundly set the unfinished flute of champagne down on an end table and dragged her mind away from dangerous territory. Determined to banish thoughts of Derian, naked or not, she scanned the living room again, finally pinpointing what she’d thought missing. Bookcases. Her much smaller apartment was crammed with bookshelves in every available inch of wall, nook, and cranny. And even then, she didn’t have enough room for everything she wanted to keep and had piles of reads and to-be-reads secreted under tables, nightstands, even the bed. Sure, she was a child of the modern age and had plenty of digital books on several different electronic readers, but she still loved the feel of the physical form and had always been a collector. First editions, odd editions, little-known titles that represented something new and exciting at the time. She loved to keep those, each a piece of history that marked her own life, or milestones in publishing, or changes in the world around her.

Derian had no bookcases, at least none visible in the main part of the apartment, which was unusual given the traditional décor. Somehow, with her being Henrietta’s niece, Emily would’ve expected Derian to be a book lover. She had no idea why she thought that, now. It wasn’t as if a love of literature was genetically inherited. Her parents had certainly instilled in her a love of reading by example—her mother, more than her father, who restricted most of his reading to world news, finance, politics, and other areas that impacted his work. Her mother had been the fanciful one, reading everything from romances, mysteries, fantasy, biographies, to graphic novels. Emily smiled, remembering the first time her mother had shared a grown-up comic book with her. She could still feel the surge of excitement of holding her mother’s copy of the bound book with the gleaming, colorful pages and how special the shared moment had been. So many moments in her life marked by the discovery of a beloved book.

“You can turn around now,” Derian said softly. “I’m presentable.”

Emily turned slowly, thinking Derian had been more than presentable just a few moments before. Finally, she managed to keep at least some embarrassing words to herself and said nothing.

Derian grinned as if she were still reading her mind, which was irksome and appealing all at once. A lot like the woman herself.

“If I didn’t know better,” Emily said, feigning annoyance, “I’d think you did that on purpose.”

“I might have, if I’d known you would have enjoyed it.”

“I didn’t say that.” Emily narrowed her eyes. “Do you actually enjoy shocking people?”

“Were you?” Derian asked quietly, suddenly very close. “Shocked?”

“No,” Emily said, unable to hide the truth. “I was not.”

“What then?”

“Surprised,” Emily whispered, “that’s all.”

“So you don’t really find me shocking?” Derian traced a finger over the top of Emily’s hand.

“No,” Emily said softly, feeling the weight of Derian’s finger pulse in her center. “I find you unexpected.”

Derian’s gaze intensified. “Not like the rumors and gossip columns would have you believe?”

“I might be guilty of enjoying the glitz and glamour of your world,” Emily said, letting Derian search her eyes, “but I can tell reality from fantasy in my own.”

“Can you?” Derian murmured, catching Emily’s fingers in her palm. “How about tonight?”

“What about tonight?” Emily had the oddest sensation she was falling into the undercurrents swirling in Derian’s eyes and wondered if she cared.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like this to be a date?” Derian’s fingers linked with Emily’s. “Because I would.”

“I can’t think of a worse idea.”

Derian didn’t look offended. She looked curious. “Why?”

“Oh, a million reasons,” Emily said lightly, resisting the urge to step back. She couldn’t retreat. She never retreated. And if she did now, Derian would know in an instant she was attracted. She could hardly be blamed for an unconscious and purely automatic response. Derian Winfield was beautiful, intelligent, clever, and surprisingly tender. “You’re Henrietta’s niece, and it’s probably not a good idea for us to have any kind of personal relationship under the best of circumstances, but definitely not these. You’re likely to disappear at any moment, which is fine, really, but there’s no point in pretending that we have anything in common. So I think any kind of relationship between us should be purely friendly and professional.”

The corner of Derian’s mouth worked as if she were trying not to laugh. Emily frowned. “What?”

“Friendly and professional. Right.” Derian leaned forward, kissed Emily softly on the mouth. “Okay.”

Emily’s lips parted as Derian released her hand. Her heart thundered in her ears and a twisting sensation coiled inside her. She wasn’t sure if it was the kiss or Derian’s audacity that disoriented her, but for an instant, she forgot everything except the smooth heat of Derian Winfield’s mouth. The kiss was barely a kiss, just a fleeting touch, silky soft. Just enough to make her lips tingle. She tugged at her lower lip for a second, willing the sensation to disappear. There. Much better. She stared at Derian, found her watching her with a dark, penetrating expression that made her shiver.

“Why did you do that?”

Derian shrugged, looking not the least bit perturbed by the annoyance in Emily’s tone. “Because I’ve been thinking about it since I stepped into the shower. And because you have an incredibly attractive mouth.”

“But I just said—”

“I know,” Derian said easily. “I heard. But if it’s all right with you, I’m going to disagree.”

“With what?” Emily folded her arms, watching Derian light candles at each end of a dining table set into an alcove with floor-to-ceiling windows and a spectacular view of the park.

“The purely professional part. I’m good with friendly, though.” Derian tapped a console on the wall and quiet strains of music filled the room.

Feeling began to return to Emily’s hands and feet. She hadn’t realized she couldn’t feel them until then. She concentrated on keeping her voice steady. “I should go.”

“We’re having dinner, remember?” Derian smiled. “I’m sorry if I offended you. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Emily sighed. “You didn’t. I’m not offended by a beautiful woman kissing me.”

Derian’s smile turned to surprise. “Thank you.”

“Surely you’ve heard that before,” Emily said, echoing Derian earlier.

“Not when I actually believed it.” Derian shook her head, as if chasing away an unwanted thought. “I called the hospital while I was getting dressed. No change.”

“I guess that’s good.” Emily was glad for the abrupt shift in subject. Jousting with Derian over the subject of kisses and dates was far too dangerous.

“I think so.” Derian gestured to the table. “I also called Ralph. Dinner should be here momentarily. I did promise you no more than a forty-five-minute wait.”

“I thought we were going out.”

“I don’t know about you, but I’m beat.” Derian pulled out a chair, held it as she watched Emily. “I thought this might be quieter and more relaxing. Do you mind?”

“It’s really not necessary. I can grab a cab—”

A knock sounded at the door.

“Stay, Emily,” Derian said softly. “Please.”

Emily sat.

Chapter Eight

“Thanks, Peter,” Derian said to the porter who delivered the large food trolley covered with gleaming stainless-steel chafing dishes. “I’ll take it from here.”

His face registered the slightest surprise before he quickly nodded. “I’m happy to serve you and your guest, Ms. Winfield.”

“I can handle it, but thanks.” Derian stepped aside so Peter could slide the cart into the room and closed the door behind him. She didn’t want company. She wanted to be alone with Emily May, and setting up the table would give her a few moments to get her game in order. She hadn’t intended to kiss her. The thought had crossed her mind, that was true. She’d wanted to kiss her from the moment she’d found her nearly asleep, waiting for her outside the intensive care unit. Emily had looked vulnerable and delicate, but Derian’d known better than to think she needed rescuing. She’d seen Emily’s strength as well as the shadows of some past pain when she’d stood by Henrietta’s bedside and declared her certainty that Henrietta would be all right. Daring the Fates to disagree. Emily was anything but fragile, which made her all the more desirable.

But an inexplicable urge to shield her from whatever plagued her and a primitive instinct to claim her attention were no excuse for kissing her. She knew better than to toy with women who weren’t open to being toyed with, and Emily was one of those. She didn’t give off a single player vibe, nor had she given any indication she wanted to be kissed. Derian was good at ferreting out signals, at reading seduction in apparent disinterest that merely invited her to the chase, and she never pressed where she wasn’t wanted. She hadn’t been thinking about sex when she’d given in to the impulse to taste, she’d only been thinking about another touch—another incendiary instant of contact that shook her more than the most abandoned encounter. This time, she’d been the one pressed by desire, driven to break her own rules by an unfamiliar need to stir in Emily the same kind of yearning that stirred in her.