The Color of Love

Chapter Six

The dark sky surprised Emily when they stepped outside the front entrance of the hospital. She’d known, rationally, she’d lost the day to anxiety and memories and, most recently, a curiosity she couldn’t shake about the woman beside her, but the black, cloudless night was still unexpected. She glanced at her watch to orient herself—almost seven p.m.—and started toward the line of cabs by the corner. Derian caught her arm, and she slowed.

“Hold on.” Derian glanced at her phone. “Our ride will be here in nineteen seconds.”

Emily laughed. “Uber?”

Derian grinned. “I never like standing in the road waving my arm and hoping a cab will take pity on me.”

“No, I can’t see you wanting to wait on anyone’s pleasure.” Emily stumbled. And hadn’t that come out in just the worst possible way? “And please disregard that comment right now.”

“I will, since it’s totally inaccurate.” Laughing, Derian slid her hand under Emily’s elbow as a black Town Car slid to the curb. “Here we go.”

To cover her embarrassment, Emily forged ahead. She’d never had so much trouble making casual conversation in her life. She didn’t do it often, but she’d never tripped over her own words the way she seemed to do with Derian.

“Watch your step,” Derian said, her hand tightening on Emily’s arm. “He managed to park in a puddle the size of the Mediterranean.”

“Thanks.” Emily avoided the small lake as a tendril of heat snaked down her arm. She still found Derian’s casual physicality a surprise, and her own sliver of pleasure mysterious. She certainly didn’t need assistance walking across the sidewalk, but she liked the way Derian’s body pressed against hers as they moved. The connection was entirely in her mind, of course. Derian did live in Europe, and everyone there touched more, completely casually, and it didn’t mean anything. At least, so she understood.

She’d just have to learn to ignore the enjoyable pulse of electricity that accompanied Derian’s touch. And just to be safe, she slipped her arm free of Derian’s grasp as she slid into the backseat. Derian followed, and the driver pulled away. The vehicle was comfortably warm, but despite her fatigue, Emily wasn’t the least bit tired. An unfamiliar energy suffused her, a sensation she eventually recognized as anticipation. She was doing something out of the ordinary for her—going to dinner with a stranger—even if Derian seemed far from that after the last few hours they’d shared. Beside her, Derian sat relaxed, one arm spread out along the top of the seat, her hand nearly touching Emily’s shoulder. There was still space between them, but the inexplicable sense of somehow being connected persisted.

And she was being frivolous. Frivolous, something she had never been in her entire life. Even when she was much, much younger and life was much, much simpler, she’d never been frivolous. Pam had been the adventurer, the athlete, the daredevil. She’d been logical, studious, goal-directed, private, and driven. She enjoyed things, many things—loved books, films, long walks on the beach—and had some close friends she could be silly with. But she also cherished her private time, her private thoughts, and her private plans for the future. She’d never craved excitement or adventure or the busy social schedule that her parents loved and she tried to avoid. And here she was now, having a very out-of-character adventure with a very attractive woman who interested her in ways no one ever had.

“Where were you?” Emily asked. “Yesterday?”

Derian turned on the seat, studied Emily. The question, a simple one, didn’t seem simple at all when Emily asked it. Emily was completely different than the women she usually spent time with. She was every bit as beautiful, more even, because she didn’t try to be and didn’t seem to notice that she was. Her beauty wasn’t a tool, or in some cases, a weapon. Her beauty was simply what beauty should be, a thing unto itself to be enjoyed.

“I’m sorry, was that too personal?”

“Sorry, no,” Derian murmured. She resisted the impulse to move her hand another four inches and clasp a strand of the silky, gold-laced hair that rested on Emily’s shoulders. She was used to touching women, and being touched by them, in all manner of ways—casually, seductively, in invitation or challenge. She tried never to touch a woman unthinkingly, considering even the most innocent contact an honor, but just the slightest of contact with Emily set her system on high alert. Emily stirred her, a sensation she’d long thought she’d become immune to where women were concerned. With most things, really. “I’m afraid I was distracted. I was just thinking you were very beautiful.”

Emily gave a little start, and in the hazy glow of reflected lights from marquees and streetlights, surprise flashed across her face.

“I can’t possibly be the first person who’s told you that,” Derian said.

“Ah…maybe,” Emily said, her tone pensive and thoughtful. “I think definitely, at least completely out of the blue.”

The image of some woman murmuring compliments to Emily in an intimate setting jumped into Derian’s head, and she smothered an irrational surge of annoyance that came dangerously close to feeling like jealousy. She had neither the right nor the desire to claim anyone’s full attention, especially not a woman like Emily—who clearly did not play games.

“Well, if you haven’t heard it before, you should have.” Derian watched Emily register the idea, catalog it, tuck it away. She saw the small smile of pleasure flicker for an instant, and satisfaction heated her belly. She liked making her smile. “Monte Carlo.”

“Oh,” Emily said, “that’s right. I read an article—” She broke off, catching her lower lip between her teeth.

“Really? One of those, huh?” Derian laughed. Even in the shadowy light she could tell Emily was blushing. And when was the last time she’d seen that response in a woman? She couldn’t resist the urge to tease her again just to see her tug at her lip, a very sexy little movement. “I can categorically state that ninety percent of whatever it said was not true.”

Far from looking embarrassed again, Emily’s brows rose. “Is that so? So I shouldn’t believe you’re an avid patron of the arts, a major donor to several humanitarian aid missions, and, according to the interviewer, a passionate supporter of international human rights organizations?”

Uncomfortable now herself, Derian tried to shrug off the subtle praise. “Oh, that article. More charitable than most. I think the reporter might have been trying to score points with the Foundation.”

“Maybe, although I recall that article in the World Week also mentioned your devotion to the race car circuit, your uncanny skill at the casinos, and your…hmm, penchant for attracting the attention of starlets and celebrities.”

“The first part was true, the rest perhaps exaggerated.”

Emily grinned, pleased at having turned the tables on Derian for a change, teasing back and watching Derian struggle with the mild praise. Obviously Derian preferred to keep her generosity a secret. Emily understood the desire for privacy. “If that’s what you want everyone to think, I won’t give away your secrets.”

“Thanks,” Derian said with unusual seriousness.

The driver pulled to the curb in front of an ornate, spired building Emily recognized—the Dakota, onetime home to John Lennon, Lauren Bacall, Bono, and many current celebrities. She glanced at Derian. “You live here? I thought the waiting list was years long.”

“My mother had an apartment here from before her marriage, and I’ve inherited it. I keep it for when I’m in the city.”

Emily remembered reading that Derian’s mother, an heiress to an automotive family fortune, had died when Derian was a child, and much of Derian’s wealth had been inherited from her. “I’m sorry.”

Derian opened the door and paused. “About?”

“Your mother.”

“Thanks,” Derian said softly, not thinking it odd that Emily would offer condolences after almost twenty years. The loss never grew any less. She stepped out and waited for Emily to join her before guiding her toward the massive arched entryway to the inner courtyard.

A liveried doorman straightened when he saw them coming. “Ms. Winfield. How good to see you again.”

“Hi, Ralph. Made it through another winter, I see.”

The middle-aged man’s face crinkled in a wide smile. “Never missed a day. It was a cold one too.”

She squeezed his arm. “I wouldn’t know. I spent it in Greece.”

“Always somewhere sunny for you.” He chuckled and escorted them across the brick courtyard to the east entrance. “Do you have bags?”

“I sent them on ahead from the airport.”

“Peter will have gotten them up by now, then.”

He held the door for them and Emily stepped into the wide foyer first. She’d often imagined what it would look like, but she hadn’t really come close to envisioning the grandeur of the sweeping staircases, the gleaming brass fixtures, the stories-high ceiling and ornate, old-world elegance. Beyond the breathtaking beauty, the quiet struck her first. The atmosphere was as hushed as a cathedral. In a way, it was, being one of the most exclusive residences in all of New York City.

“Thanks, Ralph.” When the doorman tipped a finger to his cap and faded back, Derian led the way toward a bank of elevators with scrolled brass doors and inserted a key. Once inside she pushed one of the top floor buttons and the ride up progressed swiftly. As the doors opened, Derian said, “I’m not sure if I’ve anything stocked in the way of refreshments. They weren’t expecting me.”

“How long has it been since you’ve been here?” Emily couldn’t imagine having an apartment in this magnificent building and not actually living in it.

“Almost three years, I think,” Derian said, her expression remote.

“And the rest of the time you travel?”

Derian fit a key into the lock of a paneled wooden door, with a heavy cast-iron number four on it, and pushed it wide. “It depends on the season and the Grand Prix schedule. Sometimes I’ll stay in one place for a few months, but not usually here.”

“I’m being nosy, aren’t I. I apologize.” Emily followed Derian inside and caught her breath. Archways connected the spacious main rooms, with the windows in the living area facing Central Park. Streetlights on the labyrinth of the roads cutting through the park glowed, replacing the stars that rarely shone above the city haze. Twin high-back sofas, their fabric surfaces subtly patterned, faced one another with a huge coffee table larger than her dining table between them. Tiffany lamps, plush Oriental carpets, high sideboards in gleaming woods. She wasn’t sure what she had expected, but the richness, not in money, but in detail and workmanship, astounded her.

“Did you expect glass and steel?”

Emily laughed. “You’re reading my mind again.”

“Am I?” Derian asked softly. “I didn’t realize I was.”

Emily colored. “It seems you hear what I’m saying when I’m talking in my head.”

“I apologize if I’m intruding, then.”

“No,” Emily said quickly. “You’re not. I…it’s just unanticipated, that’s all. Probably my imagination.”

“And tell me,” Derian said, still standing beside her, her topcoat open, her sleek frame somehow eclipsing the surrounding opulence, “what did you expect?”

Suddenly very warm, Emily shrugged out of her coat and folded it over her arm.

“Forgive me, I’m being a poor host,” Derian said into the silence, taking the coat from her and hanging it in a spacious closet next to the door. She shrugged out of her topcoat and stored it next to Emily’s. Her blazer she tossed carelessly over the arm of the sofa as she glanced back at Emily. “Well? What did you imagine?”

“I suppose I did expect something very modern and…” Emily, usually so good with words, always finding just the right one to shade any meaning, searched for a phrase that didn’t sound shallow or deprecating.

Derian laughed. “Glitzy? Over-the-top? Flamboyant?”

“No,” Emily protested, laughing. “I’m trying to think of how one would describe a race car. I guess that’s what I expected—efficient, beautiful in a high-tech kind of way, but not so…personal. So intimate.”

“Intimate.” Derian glanced around the room as if she’d never seem it before. “You’re right, about the cars. I do think they’re beautiful, a perfect blend of form and function. But I wouldn’t want to surround myself with them.” She gestured to the marble fireplace, the carved wainscoting, the complex ceiling moldings. “I think this is probably Henrietta’s influence. I spent a lot of time with her when I was younger, and she instilled an appreciation in me for the beauty of craftsmanship, the care of creating something that will last.”

“I know,” Emily said softly. “That’s how I feel about the books we represent at the agency.”

“Even today? Hasn’t the art of publishing given way to the allure of big business? Haven’t you all gone to a best-seller model? Here today, gone tomorrow?”

“You’re not entirely wrong,” Emily said, impressed that Derian even thought about what the world of publishing was like. She never appeared at the agency, never attended any of the business meetings, but she clearly knew the direction of change in recent years. “That’s what I love about our agency. We don’t just look for the kinds of works that will sell the most. We look for the kinds of works that will live on, that will add something to the understanding of our times or provoke thought, or simply be a beautiful example of the art.”

Derian smiled. “I can see that Henrietta has had an influence on you too, or perhaps it’s the other way around. Perhaps she chose you because you’re a kindred soul.”

“If that were true, I would be incredibly honored.”

Derian walked to the far end of the big room, skirted behind a waist-high bar, and opened a tall mahogany cabinet to reveal a hidden refrigerator. She chuckled. “When I sent my luggage ahead, someone decided to stock in some supplies.” She took out a platter of cheese and other appetizers and set a bottle of champagne next to it. “Help yourself while I shower. I did promise you dinner and no more than a fifteen-minute wait.”

As she spoke, Derian opened the bottle of champagne, pulled two fluted glasses from a glass-fronted cabinet over the counter, and poured the frothing wine. She picked up hers and held the other out to Emily. “Do you drink?”

“On occasion.” And never anything with a label like that. Emily took the glass and sipped. The bubbles played across her tongue like sunshine. “Oh. That’s…nice.”

Derian grinned. “I’ll be right back.”

“Take your time,” Emily said, watching Derian move with smooth grace toward the hall. “I don’t have anywhere to be tonight.”

Derian glanced back over her shoulder, a dark glint in her eyes. “Good. Neither do I, and I’m enjoying the company.”