The Color of Love

Chapter Nine

Derian slid her hands into her pockets and watched the cab pull away, following its course along the park until it turned and disappeared. She’d escorted more women than she’d ever thought to count to a cab or car in the middle of the night, seeing them off to their other lives, their other lovers. Fortunately, few of her liaisons cared to spend the night, like-having-recognized-like before the assignations had begun. Even when the night gave way to dawn, she couldn’t recall a single instance when she and her bedmate had shared breakfast. Sitting opposite someone over a meal required a level of intimate conversation she usually avoided. Not so with Emily, though. Somehow they had effortlessly traveled into regions Derian rarely traversed, even in her mind. Thoughts of family, lost to time or tragedy, were not landscapes she cared to view, but she’d touched on all of that with Emily. And Emily had ventured there with her too, for a moment, before pulling back from whatever sorrows populated that part of her past. Derian wanted to know, wanted to help ease that grief, but she’d wait until invited, even though waiting was not her usual stance.

The evening with Emily had been a departure in more ways than one. Spending time with Emily was not like spending time with other women. She hadn’t been eager for her to leave—just the opposite. Even now, a hollow ache percolated in her chest, as if Emily had taken some of the energy and excitement of the night with her. Derian wasn’t inured to the company of other women—she appreciated the intimacies they shared, but she’d always been satisfied with the physical. Oh, she was aware of Emily physically, all right. She could envision making love with her. Sitting across from her at the small table, she’d imagined it more than once. Even now, the vibrant images were so clear and insistent, desire surged like a heavy hand squeezing deep inside.

She grimaced, caught off guard and not at all pleased. She’d already mentally cataloged all the reasons why even thinking of Emily in that way was a bad idea, and being reminded that her head did not rule her body only made the unruly physical urges more aggravating. She wasn’t going to be able to sleep until she banished the persistent craving for a woman she didn’t want to want. A walk in the brisk dark and a diversion of a more familiar type might refocus her interest in a safer direction.

Hunching her shoulders inside the light wool blazer she’d tossed on to accompany Emily downstairs, she headed toward Midtown and the metrosexual club she remembered from her last visit. If Cosmos wasn’t there any longer, she could surely find another without any difficulty. New York never slept, after all, and New Yorkers were notoriously adventurous and nonjudgmental, at least where sex was concerned.

As she strode quickly through the still busy streets, dodging puddles and the occasional slush pile left over from the late snow, she contemplated calling the hospital to check on Henrietta. After eleven. Surely if there was some change, some problem, someone would’ve contacted her by now. What the hell. The time didn’t really matter—hospitals ran twenty-four seven. Skirting between cabs crowding across the intersection, she pulled out her cell phone and scrolled to the number she’d saved earlier. After half a dozen rings, the hospital operator answered and sent her through to the intensive care unit.

“ICU, Higgins,” a man said.

“This is Derian Winfield. I was wondering if you could give me an update on my aunt’s condition. Henrietta?”

“Hold on for a second.”

A little more than a second later, a woman came on the line. “Hi, this is Sally, Henrietta’s nurse. Who is this, please?”

“Derian Winfield. Henrietta’s my aunt.”

“Oh, right, Penny mentioned you earlier. She’s fine. All her vital signs are stable, her lab results look good, and she’s resting comfortably.”

Derian wondered how they knew if Henrietta was resting, comfortably or otherwise. If Henrietta had any say in things, she’d be half-awake at all times, just to be sure everyone was keeping on track. “Has she been alert, talking?”

“Every now and then she surfaces for a few seconds—a minute, maybe—and she knows where she is. But it’s not unusual for patients who’ve sustained this kind of physical insult to kind of draw back inside. It’s part of the healing process. It’s perfectly normal.”

“Uh-huh.” Derian would have preferred hearing HW was haranguing the staff and causing a fuss, but she knew it was too soon. Her desire to make the whole damn nightmare go away wasn’t going to be enough to make it so. “Thanks. You’ll be sure someone will call me if there’s any change?”

“I’ll be here all night. If there’s any problem, I’ll call you, and I’ll let her know you were asking for her if she wakes up.”

“That’d be great. Thanks.” Derian disconnected and slid the phone back into her pants pocket. The uneasy sensation of her world being slightly atilt persisted. Trying to set aside her worry over Henrietta, she let her thoughts drift back to Emily. She should be home by now. A phone call would be out of line, but the need to hear her voice made her fingers clench around her phone.

“Goddamn it,” she muttered. Somehow, she’d let Emily escape without getting her phone number. For the best. Maybe her head was in the game after all—only this time it was a game she wasn’t used to playing.

She rarely took a woman’s number or exchanged hers, unless she met someone she’d like to see again—someone whose sense of humor, sharp intelligence, and love for the game matched her own. Then she gave her number and took theirs after they agreed to the ground rules. No promises, no strings, and above all, discretion. But she’d never been driven by some urge deep inside to reconnect, to hold on.

Cosmos was where she remembered it, its sign shimmering in reds and blues. She headed for it, shaking off the uncomfortable sensations and unanswerable questions. A mix of traditional wine bar and dance club, the long rectangular space was jammed from the entrance to the far back reaches. People congregated six deep around the bar, shouting, drinking, laughing. Everyone was young or wanted to be, beautiful and reckless and seeking the next adventure. Music accosted her, a fast, frenetic beat that matched the sexual frenzy of the crowd. Ignoring the glances of women and men, she edged her way to the bar and flagged down one of the two bartenders who shimmied and slipped around each other in the narrow aisle in a mad pantomime of the dancers out on the floor.

“What’ll you have?” A sloe-eyed redhead in a white open-collared shirt and tight black pants slid a cardboard coaster toward her.

“Whatever dark brew you’ve got on tap,” Derian said.

The pretty bartender nodded, pulled a draft, and passed it across the bar. Derian pushed a twenty back, waved off the change, and turned to survey the bacchanal. Bodies writhed on the dance floor, heads bent close over small tables, and figures shifted stealthily in the shadows, surreptitiously initiating the dance they would play out before the evening ended.

Derian pointedly did not encourage the appraising glances that came her way, avoiding eye contact, a slight nod, or a tilt of her glass that would signal she was ready to play. She wasn’t interested in a hookup. The impersonalness of casual sex with a stranger never held much appeal—especially when sex was just a desperate attempt to ward off loneliness. She’d rather replay the evening with Emily than settle for a poor substitute. And she wouldn’t even be thinking about Emily if she hadn’t been so damn tired and worried over Henrietta. She needed some sleep, not a few hours of physical forgetfulness, and she’d be herself again.

She stayed long enough for a second beer and when the alcohol finally seeped into her muscles and she knew she’d be able to sleep, she headed out into the night alone. Fifteen minutes later she was back in her apartment, stripping off her clothes by the side of the bed she hadn’t slept in in three years. As she pulled back the covers and slipped nude beneath, she thought back to the fleeting kiss she’d stolen from Emily.

She smiled to herself. Stolen kisses. Something she hadn’t done since she was a teenager. She hadn’t had to steal kisses after that. Willing women were always quite willing to give them. The unanticipated desire for Emily’s was as fresh and innocent as anything she’d experienced during those first youthful couplings, and that realization was as troubling as it was impossible to forget.

*

“How much is that?” Emily asked when the cabbie double-parked in front of her apartment building.

“The other miss took care of it,” the driver said, turning in his seat with a wide smile. “Very generous.”

“Oh, thank you, then.” Of course Derian had taken care of it. Derian was obviously very used to looking after women. Her confidence and easy way of taking control did not strike Emily as overbearing, but merely customary. And, she had to admit as she fit her key into the foyer door and made her way up to her apartment, she’d enjoyed being pampered.

She’d grown up wanting for nothing—she’d gone to good schools, had all the clothes she’d needed, had the advantages of her father’s station and her family’s position, and never given much thought to her wants. As a child and young teen, her needs had always been met. Life had changed after the accident, but then she’d been too focused on what she must do to be concerned about luxuries, physical or otherwise. All she’d wanted was to succeed. She was doing that. She wasn’t there yet—she still had goals, things she wanted to accomplish at the agency. And she was still far from securing Pam’s future.

She was so used to every day being another step toward achieving all that, the evening with Derian had unexpectedly awakened her appreciation for things she had put aside. Simple things like enjoying a woman’s attention—and Derian was a master at that. She had friends she talked with, socialized with, but none of them gazed at her with the intense focus that Derian had all evening. Derian’s attention was so absolute, Emily could easily have believed she was the only thing in Derian’s world that mattered. For a few hours, she’d let herself enjoy the feeling, knowing all the while it couldn’t be true.

She laughed at her silliness as she put her coat away and headed straight for the bathroom and a shower. As enjoyable as the evening with Derian had been, it wasn’t likely to be repeated. Once Henrietta was on the mend, Derian would disappear, returning to a life so far from Emily’s as to be unimaginable. Constantly traveling, searching for the next excitement—the next exciting woman. Emily was definitely not one of those. The most excitement she usually ran into during the course of a day was a fascinating new manuscript culled from the slush pile.

When she closed her eyes to lather her hair, an image of Derian’s face formed beneath her eyelids. Deep gaze boring into hers, drawing closer and closer until soft heat glided across her mouth. The kiss. Eyes still closed, steam rising around her, enclosing her in a warm cloud, she let herself drift on the memory for just a few more minutes. Fingertips to her lips, she could still feel the electricity. She’d never in her life been kissed when she hadn’t expected it, when she hadn’t somehow known it was coming. When she’d spent an evening with someone whose company she enjoyed, who she found attractive and knew was attracted to her, a kiss had been the next logical step, or the last. Usually the last. Some had gone further than that. She wasn’t a nun, after all. But truthfully, the few pleasant hours in bed hadn’t been enough to drive her to repeat the encounters. She knew herself too well to think she could have a sexual relationship with someone merely for the sake of the physical, and she hadn’t felt anything deep enough to offer anything else. She would never misrepresent herself to anyone. To her, lies were about far more than spoken words. Actions were truth.

She stepped out into the small mist-filled room, leaving only the light in the shower on. She wrapped a towel around her hair and dried off with another, deciding the evening was a moment out of time for both her and Derian. They both loved Henrietta, and her illness had shaken them. Their shared affection was a bond that had drawn them together in a moment of fear and uncertainty. Derian was fascinating, but she was anything but. She couldn’t imagine a single reason why Derian would seek her out again.

As she slipped into bed, she accepted the evening for what it had been, a fleeting intersection of very different lives, not to be repeated. As she turned on her side and drew the covers around her, she pressed her fingers to her lips again. The memory of the kiss remained.