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.”