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
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
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