The Color of Love

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.”

“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.”

“That’s great news.” Emily sipped the wine, found it tasteless.

Derian leaned against the counter, drinking wine and looking completely composed, not bothered in the least that she’d soon be leaving. “I don’t think she expected me to understand any of the numbers, but when I made it clear that I did, she pretty much ran out of ammunition. Her slings and arrows bounced off at that point.”

“I owe you a great debt,” Emily said.

Derian shook her head. “No, you don’t. If I’d been in the picture all along, my father probably wouldn’t have tried to take over as soon as Henrietta gave him an opening.”

“Nevertheless, everyone at the agency appreciates everything you’ve done.”

“I’ve enjoyed it. Working with you was a special bonus.” Derian set her glass down. “Henrietta has agreed, at least for now, not to fight her rehab regimen. It’ll be a few weeks before she can even work part-time. I’ll be back—”

“We’ll be fine,” Emily said. “You’ve interrupted your schedule, your life, for all of us, not just Henrietta. You’ve done enough.”

Emily tried to slip by her to hide in the kitchen. Just putting a counter between them would help, but she didn’t make it. Derian pulled her closer until she was almost standing between Derian’s legs. She couldn’t be this close to her and not put her hands on her. She clenched her fists at her sides. Please, she needed a little bit of distance, just so she could think again.

“There’s something else I wanted to talk to you about,” Derian said.

Business, that would be good. If they could just get back to business. “Oh?”

“I think I found a solution to all our problems,” Derian said. “Your visa, keeping Martin away from the agency, and taking care of the long term.”

“It sounds like a miracle cure,” Emily said.

“It might be,” Derian said, laughing. “I think you and I should get married.”

Emily stared, the cold enveloping her completely.

“It’s perfect, really,” Derian said, reaching back for her wineglass. “No one could argue about succession. You’d be a permanent resident, you’d be an insider—family, and you’d be the logical one to take over after Henrietta.”

“And what would you get out of it?” Emily asked, thankfully having recovered her powers of language. Her mind seemed to be working although she’d lost all feeling below her shoulders. She was actually numb. “Besides annoying your father, that is.”

Derian frowned. “My father? What does he have to do with this?”

Emily managed to extract herself and backed up until they were no longer in contact. That helped bring some sensation back into her body, and what followed was anger. No, not anger, fury. “I can’t imagine he’d be very happy to discover that you’d outsmarted him at one of his own games. He’s wanted to dismantle the agency or, at least, take control of it, and since you’d never shown any interest in it, he had the perfect opening. And then you outsmart him by marrying someone who, I imagine, he wouldn’t approve of, and making it impossible for him. You win.”

Derian frowned. “It’s not about winning some game with my father.”

“Isn’t it? Then what is it about? This arrangement you’re suggesting.”

“It’s a sensible solution,” Derian said, caught off guard by Emily’s accusations. She wasn’t trying to get back at her father. “I was trying to help you and Henrietta.”

“Help? By committing yourself to a marriage of convenience.” Emily felt just a little bit crazy. “God, I’ve become a character in one of my manuscripts.”

“Marriage of—no, that’s not what I’m suggesting.”

“Then what are you suggesting, Derian? We’ve had the marriage conversation already, remember? You’re not interested in marriage. It doesn’t fit with your lifestyle. Why would you do this?”

“Because—” Derian stumbled over the swirl of emotions tangled in her head, thrown by Emily’s anger, struggling to sort out feelings she’d never faced before. Trying to see the future she’d never envisioned. “I want you to be able to stay—isn’t that what you want?”

“For Henrietta. For the agency.” Emily nodded, the numbness receding. Only her heart remained frozen. Not for her. Of course, not for her. Derian didn’t love her. She took a deep breath. “I appreciate your offer. It’s very kind of you.”

Derian’s brows drew down. “Kind? It’s not about being kind—”

“Yes, that’s exactly what it is. That, perhaps, and some misplaced guilt about not being here sooner.”

“Guilt.” A muscle in Derian’s jaw tightened. “Because I ran out on my family, you mean. Because I didn’t fulfill the Winfield legacy.”

“Before we say things we might regret,” Emily said very carefully, fighting desperately for solid ground while a tornado of hurt and self-recrimination whirled inside her, “I think we need to reassess exactly what we’re doing.”

“Reassess,” Derian said, her eyes narrowing. “That sounds like a business proposition.”

“Yes, well, we’re talking about business, aren’t we?”

“Not exactl—”

“And I think it would be best if we keep our relationship on professional terms from now on.” There, she’d done it, what she should have done from the beginning—erected some boundaries in her relationship with Derian, for her own self-preservation.

“And if I don’t agree?” Derian’s eyes were molten.

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice.”

“You’re wrong about that,” Derian said on her way out the door. “I’m no longer part of the Winfield Agency as of right now, so our professional relationship, if that’s what you’d like to call what we’ve been doing, is officially over.”

Emily slumped against the counter, staring at the closed door and trying to convince herself she’d just made the only decision she could. She believed that, she really did, but doing the smart thing didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. How far would she have to go to silence the craving for the sound of Derian’s voice and the touch of her hands? She had no clue, but she at least knew where to go first.