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.”
“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.