The_Color_of_Love_-_Radclyffe (Рэдклифф) - страница 41

“Why did you do that?”

Derian shrugged, looking not the least bit perturbed by the annoyance in Emily’s tone. “Because I’ve been thinking about it since I stepped into the shower. And because you have an incredibly attractive mouth.”

“But I just said—”

“I know,” Derian said easily. “I heard. But if it’s all right with you, I’m going to disagree.”

“With what?” Emily folded her arms, watching Derian light candles at each end of a dining table set into an alcove with floor-to-ceiling windows and a spectacular view of the park.

“The purely professional part. I’m good with friendly, though.” Derian tapped a console on the wall and quiet strains of music filled the room.

Feeling began to return to Emily’s hands and feet. She hadn’t realized she couldn’t feel them until then. She concentrated on keeping her voice steady. “I should go.”

“We’re having dinner, remember?” Derian smiled. “I’m sorry if I offended you. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Emily sighed. “You didn’t. I’m not offended by a beautiful woman kissing me.”

Derian’s smile turned to surprise. “Thank you.”

“Surely you’ve heard that before,” Emily said, echoing Derian earlier.

“Not when I actually believed it.” Derian shook her head, as if chasing away an unwanted thought. “I called the hospital while I was getting dressed. No change.”

“I guess that’s good.” Emily was glad for the abrupt shift in subject. Jousting with Derian over the subject of kisses and dates was far too dangerous.

“I think so.” Derian gestured to the table. “I also called Ralph. Dinner should be here momentarily. I did promise you no more than a forty-five-minute wait.”

“I thought we were going out.”

“I don’t know about you, but I’m beat.” Derian pulled out a chair, held it as she watched Emily. “I thought this might be quieter and more relaxing. Do you mind?”

“It’s really not necessary. I can grab a cab—”

A knock sounded at the door.

“Stay, Emily,” Derian said softly. “Please.”

Emily sat.

Chapter Eight


“Thanks, Peter,” Derian said to the porter who delivered the large food trolley covered with gleaming stainless-steel chafing dishes. “I’ll take it from here.”

His face registered the slightest surprise before he quickly nodded. “I’m happy to serve you and your guest, Ms. Winfield.”

“I can handle it, but thanks.” Derian stepped aside so Peter could slide the cart into the room and closed the door behind him. She didn’t want company. She wanted to be alone with Emily May, and setting up the table would give her a few moments to get her game in order. She hadn’t intended to kiss her. The thought had crossed her mind, that was true. She’d wanted to kiss her from the moment she’d found her nearly asleep, waiting for her outside the intensive care unit. Emily had looked vulnerable and delicate, but Derian’d known better than to think she needed rescuing. She’d seen Emily’s strength as well as the shadows of some past pain when she’d stood by Henrietta’s bedside and declared her certainty that Henrietta would be all right. Daring the Fates to disagree. Emily was anything but fragile, which made her all the more desirable.