The_Color_of_Love_-_Radclyffe (Рэдклифф) - страница 51

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.