“Hi,” Derian said, her heart beating rapidly for some reason.

“You’re right on time.” Emily greeted her with a bright, easy smile, looking sexy and relaxed in a black shirt with small iridescent flowers scattered over the front, body-hugging jeans, and strappy black shoes with low heels. Her hair was caught back with a plain tie, leaving a thick tail at her nape.

The heavy feeling Derian’d been carrying all afternoon since leaving the hospital fled her chest. “You sound as if you thought I wouldn’t be here.”

Emily laughed. “I did no such thing. If I’d been the slightest bit worried, I wouldn’t have done all this prep.” She gestured to the counter and an array of vegetables and other foods in a line of small, hand-painted ceramic bowls. She resumed expertly slicing vegetables on one of several cutting boards. “Is that the red I see?”

Derian hefted the Château Mouton in its unassuming paper bag. “As promised.”

“Would you open it, and we can have a little while I cook.”

“Excellent idea.” Derian carried the bottle to the counter, removed it from the bag, and opened it with a corkscrew Emily handed her.

Emily raised an eyebrow. “Where did you find that?”

“Ah, I had the wine steward at the Dakota procure it for me. Will it work?”

“Oh, I should think so.” Emily shook her head at the extravagance, secretly flattered by Derian’s efforts toward making the evening special, and went back to chopping.

Derian set the red aside to breathe and settled onto the high-backed stool to watch Emily work. Her hands flashed, the gleaming knife blade a blur, and small piles of colorful vegetables appeared as if by magic. Although the area was small, it was easy to see it had been laid out with care by someone who actually intended to use it. The range was a new compact high-end commercial model. Gleaming pots and pans sat on several burners and hung from a copper rack affixed to the ceiling. She watched as Emily efficiently assembled items into a roasting pan and slid it into the oven. “Looks like you have a calling. Ever considered being a chef?”

“I’ve always loved to cook. But the books captured me first.” Emily nodded toward the wine. “Would it be a sin to try that prematurely?”

“I’d say it’s breathed enough. Besides, there can be no sin in shared indulgence.”

Emily regarded her silently, and Derian held her gaze. She couldn’t be anywhere near Emily without that stirring of excitement, and tonight she didn’t want to avoid it. The last days had been hell. Meeting Emily was the only good thing to come out of the whole nightmare, and for a few hours, she intended to bask in the pleasure. Derian poured wine into the two glasses Emily set on the counter, then lifted hers and held it out. “To Henrietta.”

“To Henrietta.” Emily lightly touched her glass to Derian’s. A high, clear chime of crystal rang out. “Thank you for calling me this afternoon.”

“Not at all.” After Derian had visited Henrietta in the recovery room, she’d called Emily at the agency with an update. Henrietta was stable, but not yet awake. She wouldn’t remember Derian visiting, holding her hand, informing her that all was well. That didn’t matter. She’d been there, as she’d needed to be—for herself as much as Henrietta. “Tomorrow she’ll be more aware and you can visit.”

“I hope so.”

“So,” Derian said as the warm, sharp taste of the wine teased all her senses, “who taught you to cook?”

Emily made a wry face. “I always wanted to spend time in the kitchen when I was young, but my parents thought trailing after the cook was unseemly. They didn’t mind, however, when I took cooking lessons as soon as I was old enough.” She shrugged, her expression distant. “I stole off to the kitchen at the embassy as often as I could when they were entertaining foreign dignitaries, trying to master as many national dishes as I could.”

“You must have quite an eclectic repertoire, then.”

“I don’t get much chance to use it these days.” Emily shook off whatever memory had momentarily clouded her expression. “I hope you like Asian fusion.”

“I enjoy food, but I must admit, after hundreds of meals served in restaurants and hotels, the allure fades.”

“Well, perhaps we can reinvigorate that.”

“Perhaps.” Derian sipped her red. “That and other diminishing pleasures.”

Emily flushed and quickly looked away. Derian smiled inwardly, recognizing she wasn’t the only one feeling the pull of attraction. Ordinarily she wouldn’t resist the draw, especially not when the woman in question obviously shared her desire. This time, though, she needed to proceed a great deal more carefully. Emily was no innocent and certainly not a child, but despite her apparent openness to mild flirtation, she had already weighed in on the subject—and her answer had been no. Still, people were known to change their minds, and Derian enjoyed the gentle chase. And she liked that nothing beyond dinner had been suggested. She didn’t want any of her time with Emily to resemble the empty, and ultimately forgettable, evenings she’d spent with other women. She didn’t want to play games, she didn’t want to forget the night as soon as it had passed. She simply wanted to enjoy the company of a bright, beautiful, exciting woman.

“Is something wrong?” Emily asked quietly.

“No,” Derian said quietly. “In fact, everything is surprisingly all right.”


*


They ate at a small round table covered by a snowy white linen cloth in a shallow alcove off the living area. Three tall narrow windows gave a view down onto the park. Emily had opened one of the windows and surprisingly warm evening air wafted in, carrying the sounds of the city.

“It’s nice,” Derian said, “seeing a bit of green.”

“Not exactly the kind of view you’re used to,” Emily commented.

“No,” Derian said, her eyes on Emily. “Actually, far better.”

Emily blushed. “Where were you staying in Monte Carlo?”

Derian grinned briefly at the deft deflection. Emily’s shy blush just made her want to tease her more. “Hôtel de Paris.”

“Ah, yes. That overlooks the racecourse on the plaza.”

“You’ve been there?”

“Only vicariously.”

“You’re very well informed, then.”

Emily laughed. “I don’t travel frequently, but I enjoy reading pretty much everything. And I already confessed to being a celebrity addict.”

“I would imagine for a woman like you, that would not be satisfying for very long.”

Emily poured tea from an ornamental pot into small glazed cups. “Why is that?”

Derian tried the tea. It was surprisingly fragrant but not the least bit cloying. Full and aromatic. “I’ve never been a tea drinker, but I think this might persuade me differently.”

“It’s practically the national drink where I grew up. High tea is one of the customs left over from colonialism that is still embraced in Singapore. I enjoy coffee, but I find it’s only good when taken sparingly. Like so many things.”

“Not necessarily a popular sentiment.”

“And you’re dissembling again.” Emily pointed a finger. “What do you mean, a woman like me?” Emily wasn’t fishing for compliments. She was genuinely curious. Oh, she wanted Derian to be interested. She wasn’t so self-deluding as to deny that. Having the interest of a beautiful woman was not something she could ignore or pretend she didn’t want. But she so rarely wondered how others thought of her, she couldn’t fathom what clues—or what secrets—she’d exposed.

“A woman of substance.”

“Oh,” Emily said with mock horror. “That sounds ghastly. Stodgy and boring and—you make me sound like a stereotypical librarian.”

Grinning, Derian looked around and tilted her chin in the direction of an entire wall of floor-to-ceiling bookcases, every shelf filled and many overfilled with books. “Observe.”

“Of course I love books,” Emily said. “Why on earth would I do what I do if I didn’t?”

Derian took Emily’s hand and gave it a playful shake. “I’ve never in my life known a librarian who looks like you.”

“Nice try, but you obviously haven’t met many librarians. Contrary to the stereotype, many of them are far more attractive and interesting than me.”

“I doubt that,” Derian murmured.

Emily’s playful protests flew from her mind. She’d never known she was so susceptible to flattery, but every time Derian looked at her as if she were seeing someone beautiful and intriguing, Emily was transported into a world of possibility she’d never imagined. She felt sexy and desirable and desirous. She swallowed. “You have a way of making me forget myself.”

Derian played her thumb over Emily’s knuckles. “Is that a bad thing?”

“I really don’t know. It’s unique.”

“Good. I’d hate to be ordinary where you’re concerned.”

“Oh, believe me. You’re anything but that.”

“And to answer your question,” Derian said with unusual seriousness, “I already know you’re strong and independent and determined. I also know you’re kind and loyal and generous. All of those things to me equal substance. You wouldn’t find a steady diet of parties, cocktail conversation, and the constant striving for greater and greater thrills very interesting.”

“And is that what your life is like?”

Derian sighed, glancing out the window as twilight crept across the park, blurring the shadows of pedestrians into formless shapes. “My life passes by so quickly, I don’t really notice.”

“I imagine a steady diet of excitement and adventure would be like that,” Emily mused, not sounding critical but more contemplative. “I think it must be tiring, never to have a moment to reflect.”

“I think that’s exactly the point.”

“And yet you’re here,” Emily said. “You left all that behind without hesitation. I can tell you’re not happy to be here, but you came despite that. Out of loyalty and love. To me, that’s substance.”