"Not yet. I want you to want it a little more, angel face," he teased her.
"You're going to come all over your office, Devlin, if you don't stop," she said. "Better let me fuck myself now so you can cool off."
"Bitch!" He groaned. She was right. He reached for his handkerchief to contain the spurts of cum he couldn't contain any longer.
"Ahhhhhh! Oh, God, that feels good!" She thrust the dildo back and forth in her vagina until, with a long exhalation of a sigh, she came. "But it's not as good as the real thing, Devlin, is it?" she complained. "I miss you too."
"I talked with Lady P today. She sends kisses," he told her.
"I'll e-mail her later," Emily responded. "And as lovely as this interlude was, I think we both have to get back to work, Devlin."
"Yeah." He sighed. "I've got a lunch date with some sexy new author."
"Think of me when you're with her," Emily told him.
"That's the problem. If I think of you I'll get a hard-on. We wouldn't want another woman getting the wrong idea, now, angel face, would we?"
Emily laughed. "Good-bye, Devlin," she said as she hung up the phone. She hadn't answered his question. She couldn't. But the truth was, she didn't want him with any other woman. Almost eleven weeks ago Michael Devlin had walked into her life. She had lost her virginity and fallen in love for the first time. What an idiot she was. She was in love with a man who owned a house in London, and had women with titles fighting over him. "You have finally gone around the bend, Emily," she said aloud.
She had seduced him in order to experience sex so she could write the kind of novel Stratford wanted her to write now. She had blackmailed him into becoming her lover, and teaching her all those wonderful, delicious, and sensual things she needed to know. He thought of her as business, and nothing more. Oh, pleasant business, to be sure-for both of them, if she were being honest with herself. But she had no business falling in love with a man like Michael Devlin. He was going to break her heart. But until then she was going to enjoy every minute of her time with him. Autumn was coming. The book would be finished by November, the way she was writing. And then it would be over.
Emily started to cry. She didn't want it to be over. She wanted it to go on forever and ever. Her heroines got happy endings. Why couldn't she have a happy ending? Her intercom buzzed. Emily struggled to compose herself. "Yes, Essie, what is it?"
"Rina's here. She says you were to have lunch. You didn't tell me you were having company. I was doing your grandma's silver," Essie grumbled.
"We're going out, Essie. That's why I didn't tell you to fix lunch," Emily replied. "Tell Rina I'll be down in five minutes."
"Oh, that's okay then," Essie said, and the intercom went dead.
Emily sat for a long moment. Then, realizing the dildo was lying on her desk and her sleep shirt was up around her waist, she began to giggle helplessly. Good thing Rina hadn't come up, she thought, and found her with her legs spread open on her antique desk, fucking herself while she talked dirty on the phone with her editor. She wiped the dildo down with water from her water pitcher, and replaced it in the cream-and-gold silk box it had come in before putting it back in her bottom desk drawer, which she locked. Standing, she pulled her sleep shirt down. Then she hurried downstairs to her bathroom to wash her face and hands, get quickly dressed, and run a brush through her tangled strawberry-blond hair.
"You look cute," Rina noted as Emily came down the stairs. "I like the capris."
"Where are we going?" Emily asked her.
"I thought the club," Rina said. "It's quiet there with so many kids still in camp."
"Essie, I'm going now," Emily called to her housekeeper.
They drove to the Egret Pointe Country Club in Rina's Lexus, parked, and went through the bar to the terrace by the pool, seating themselves beneath an umbrella table. The waiter brought them peach iced tea, took their orders, and disappeared. No one was swimming, and there was only one other couple across the pool at a table. Emily recognized Nora Buckley and her employer, Kyle Barrington.
"He is so dishy," she remarked to Rina.
"Isn't he?" Rina chuckled. "But as was said of Lord Byron, mad, bad, and dangerous to know. At least, that's his reputation. I hear he's broken up one marriage and endangered at least two others. And he seems to do it just for the pure sport of it. He really isn't interested at all in the women he screws. I don't know how Nora manages to work for him, but she says he's a good employer, is nice to her, and hasn't hit on her."
"I think Nora's the nice one," Emily remarked. "And so brave, after everything that happened. She's your neighbor, isn't she?"
Rina nodded. "Yes, and she is nice. Ah, here's lunch."
The waiter set down salad plates, each holding a scoop of chicken salad, potato salad, and cole slaw along with a sliced tomato. The two women ate, and Emily was unable to resist dipping into the breadbasket for a miniature blueberry muffin. Sex always increased her appetite.
Rina chuckled as her companion reached for a second muffin. "The work is going well then," she said.
"Yep." Emily nodded, smearing soft butter on the little muffin and popping it into her mouth. "I would never have thought I could write like this, but I can!"
"And having your handsome editor in your bed every weekend hasn't hurt either," Rina murmured softly. She reached for the last little muffin.
"And I'm using the Channel too," Emily admitted. "I was always an observer before, but now I put myself in the heroine's slippers, Rina. The duke looks just like Devlin, but his personality is quite different."
Rina's brown eyes widened. "You're having sex there too?" she practically whispered. "My God! I thought you looked tired lately, but I put it down to the stress of work, and having to change your style so drastically. Emily, I'm not sure you should be doing what you're doing in the Channel. Oh, I know a lot of women take lovers there because they can't be caught or get STDs or get pregnant. And after a while most women need a bit of a change from their spouses. The Channel offers us our fantasies without any of the guilt we would have in our own reality. But I think you're playing a dangerous game, Emily, honey."
Emily shook her head. "Look, Devlin is doing what he's doing with me to help me over the-you'll forgive the analogy- hump and into a new style. He's my editor. It's his job. But once the book is done it will be over. I'll just have the lovers I take in the Channel. I think he might even go back to London."
"He's in love with you," Rina said quietly.
"No, he isn't!" Emily exclaimed. And she sighed wistfully.
"Sweetie, I could be your mother. I know these things. I recognize the signs. I've seen Michael Devlin with you. I've seen both of you in East Harbor at least twice. Once you were having a cozy luncheon in a corner of the Lobster Trap. Sam and I had been antiquing and were going there for lunch when we saw you. We stayed outside on the terrace so that you wouldn't see us and be embarrassed. It was obvious you just wanted to be with each other. Then we saw you another time at the inn when we went out for the anniversary. Oh, Emily! The way he looks at you. He isn't treating you like an editor with a writer. He's treating you like a man in love. Give him a chance, and you'll see."
"It's nothing more than a business arrangement, Rina. You'll see," Emily said softly, and she blinked back the tears that were threatening to well up in her blue eyes.
Rina smiled and shook her head. "No, you'll see I'm right."
"Dessert menu, ladies?" the waiter asked, coming up beside them.
Rina gave him a jaundiced look.
The waiter grinned and handed them the menus.
"I'll take the key lime pie," Rina said quickly.
"I want the three-berry sorbet," Emily decided. "What kinds today?"
"A scoop each, strawberry, raspberry, and blackberry," the waiter answered.