Chapter 9.

Emily came through customs to find Michael Devlin waiting, and her heart skipped a beat. "You're supposed to be at work," she said to him as he kissed her mouth.

"I took the day off," he said with a grin. "Give me your bags. I'm taking you home, angel face. I called Rina yesterday and told her to cancel your car service."

"I'd much rather ride with you," Emily replied with a smile.

"How was the flight?" he asked.

"I slept most of it," she admitted. "Remember, I left at eight their time. Sava and I had tea at Claridge's, and then she took me to the airport. I bought you something at Harrod's. I hope you don't mind," Emily said. "It's just a sweater, but it had your name written all over it."

He helped her into the car. "You don't know my size," he said.

Emily laughed. "I've figured out all of your sizes by this point, Devlin," she teased him. "It's a sweater, for heaven's sake, not a pair of trousers or silk boxers. You don't have to take it, you know. I can give it to my oldest half brother for Christmas."

"I didn't say I didn't want it," he began.

"Oh, shut up and drive," Emily told him. "I've had it with traveling, and I want to go home. We've got two hours ahead of us, given the traffic. My flight was full of business people who want to get into the city for a full working day, and it's rush hour."

"We're going in a different direction," he reminded her, and put the Healy into gear, pulling out of the arrivals parking lot.

They escaped the airport congestion and swung onto the parkway. It was closing in on the end of October, and the leaves were almost at peak. It would be a glorious weekend, and with luck the weather would hold. It had been a perfect day coming in. The sky was a clear blue and the sun bright. It didn't seem possible she had been gone just over a week. They were both quiet as he drove. He seemed to sense her need for it.

Emily brightened, however, as they came off the parkway onto the local country road that meandered into Egret Pointe. The village was decorated for autumn. The tall trees along Main Street where the old-fashioned shops were located were surrounded by cornstalks tied with bright orange ribbons. At their feet were piles of pumpkins and gourds, along with small baskets of apples. A banner was hung across the street announcing the Egret Pointe Harvest Festival, which was being held the coming weekend.

"Wanna come?" she asked him. "We raise money for the hospital at the festival."

"Yes," he replied. "How?"

"The proceeds from it all go to it. We've got booths selling handiwork, jams and jellies, baked goods, knitted goods, bird-houses," she explained. "I even have a table selling my author copies, personally inscribed, of course. And there's a big harvest supper in a tent. And, of course, the Dr. Sam Dunk. That always raises a pretty penny."

"What's the Dr. Sam Dunk?" he asked her, smiling at her enthusiasm. He turned onto Colonial Avenue, and then Founders Way.

"Dr. Sam sits over a tank of Jell-O," she said. "You get three b.a.l.l.s for two bucks. If you hit the mark right, Dr. Sam goes into the Jell-O. At this time of year the gelatin is a bit warmer than water, but he usually gets the sniffles anyway. He's an awfully good sport about it. His great-grandfather started the hospital, you know. There's always been a Dr. Seligmann in Egret Pointe."

He pulled the Healy into her driveway. "You love this town, don't you?"

Emily nodded. "I gain my strength from living here," she said. "When do you have to go back? Not right away, I hope."

"I'll drive in tomorrow morning," he said, leaning over to kiss her. "I missed you, Emily." His big hand cupped her face, and he kissed her again, this time lingeringly, longingly. "I didn't like having you on the other side of the pond."

"I missed you too," she told him. "As nice as it was to be with Sava, I missed you, Devlin. Maybe we shouldn't be apart again."

"Maybe not," he agreed. Then he got out of the car. "I'll get the bags. I hope you bought something outrageous for Essie in London. I think she's expecting it."

"I never forget my friends," Emily told him. "And I bought a lovely teddy bear for her new grandchild, and two sets of old-fashioned wooden soldiers for her grandsons. They don't make tin ones anymore. Something about the lead content. I asked."

He took her bags in and up to her room. Emily wanted a quick nap before lunch, and so Michael Devlin went upstairs to her office in the widow's-walk room to make some calls while she napped. He made a point of saying that was where he would be, for Essie's benefit, and sure enough the housekeeper trudged up at one point to see if he needed anything. He thanked her and said he was just fine, grinning at her retreating form. He knew from having been raised in his own small Irish village that people were probably talking at this point, but no one here-except Rina and Dr. Sam, of course-really knew what was happening between Emily Shanski and her editor from New York.

What was happening? Michael Devlin asked himself for the thousandth time. He was in love with her, and he knew now that he had never really been in love before. He was going to have to make a decision sooner rather than later. Was forty too old to get married for the first time? He had never lived with a female except his grandmother, although there had been several invitations over the years from women whom he had dated. But it hadn't felt right to him. They hadn't felt right. This was different, however. Picking Emily up at Virgin Atlantic this morning, driving her home, planning to spend the night, and driving into town in the morning-that felt right. But was he ready for a lifetime of moments like that? Yeah, he finally thought he was, but he'd give it a few more weeks before making a final decision. Forty wasn't the end of the world for a man.

They ate lunch out on the side porch: bowls of Essie's thick corn chowder, home-baked bread and b.u.t.ter, warm apple Betty with heavy cream.

"I'm going to get fat eating like this," he said with a smile.

"No, you aren't," she a.s.sured him. "You're too active. We'll go for a walk after lunch down by the beach."

"I thought we'd take a nap." He leered at her, waggling his bushy black eyebrows.

Emily laughed. "Not until Essie goes home, Devlin. I'd like to keep the town guessing awhile longer, if you don't mind."

He laughed aloud. "Agreed."

Essie came out to collect the dishes. "You want me to get something out of the freezer for supper?" she asked.

"Lamb chops," Emily told her.

"Chops?" Essie c.o.c.ked her head to one side.

"Mr. Devlin is remaining the night. I've been away a week and missed our working weekend, Essie. We have to catch up if the ma.n.u.script is going to be in on time. You know I've never missed a deadline."

"And you ain't ever had an editor working with you on weekends either," Essie observed. "I think you should know people are talking, Miss Emily."

"Oh, I'm sure they are, Essie," Emily agreed, "but no matter the talk, I still have to get my work in on time. This book is a little different, and I needed my editor's help."

"Mrs. Seligmann says it's going to be s.e.xier, like Miss Savannah's books," Essie noted, a faint hint of disapproval in her voice.

"Yes, Essie, it will be s.e.xier," Michael Devlin spoke up. "It's what the reading public wants, and Emily has got to go with the flow if she wants to keep working. But it's nothing like Savannah Banning's novels, I promise you. I edit both women."

Essie nodded, obviously satisfied. "I'll get the chops out," she said, taking the dishes and departing the porch.

"She's very protective of you," he noted.

"She was Gran O'Malley's last housekeeper," Emily replied. "I couldn't do without her. Not with my lifestyle, Devlin. I'm amazed how well Savannah manages, especially with children. She's a wonder."

"She manages because she's Lady Palmer," he said. "She's got a cook who has a kitchen maid, a housekeeper, two maids, a chauffeur, and a nanny for Wills and Selena. She's just like you in that her work is her rationale, and she has the time for it. A lot of writers don't, you know. They have to balance everything in their lives-house, husband, kids, maybe a second job, and their writing. You know as well as I do that to be successful in this business you need a strong work ethic, the luck of the devil, the hide of a rhino, and a devoted and detail-oriented guardian angel."

Emily laughed aloud. "I don't think, Devlin, that I've ever heard it described so aptly. Now I know why you are such a good editor, other than your talent at it. You've put yourself in a writer's shoes. That's pretty terrific."

"Yoo-hoo!" Rina Seligmann came out onto the porch.

"I didn't hear you drive up," Emily said, getting up and hugging the older woman.

"I wanted to make certain you got home all right," Rina said. "h.e.l.lo, Mick. Have you called Aaron? He worries like an old woman." She chuckled, sitting down in a wicker rocker. "I told Essie to bring me an iced tea. It still isn't that cold outside."

"I'll go in and call him right now," Emily answered her. "Then Devlin and I are going for a walk. Want to come?"

Rina Seligmann looked as if Emily had just asked her to take a stroll over a bed of hot coals. "No," she said. "I'll leave the exercise to you two."

Emily grinned and hurried into the house. Essie arrived with the gla.s.s of iced tea and returned inside. Rina Seligmann looked at Michael Devlin.

"So?" she said.

He laughed. "If anything happens I don't doubt you'll be the first to know, Rina," he told her.

"If? So you're thinking about it?" she returned.

Michael Devlin sighed. "Rina, I'm forty."

"Mick, you're scared," she answered him.

"I suppose I am," he agreed.

"Don't you dare hurt her," Rina said.

"How do I avoid it at this point?" he asked her.

Rina nodded. "Maybe you shouldn't have let it get this far, Mick. But then again, maybe you should have. I can see you love her, and I know she loves you."

"She hasn't said it," he remarked.

Rina Seligmann laughed helplessly. "Mick, women usually don't say 'I love you' first. They wait until the man has said it. They don't want to be rejected or act too soon or feel they've made fools of themselves." She sighed. "Same thing with men, I suppose. Well, what's going to happen is going to happen, as my Russian grandmother said when the Cossacks razed her village. Just keep in mind you love her, and she loves you, Mick. It would be a shame to waste all that love because of pride."

Emily came back onto the porch. She was practically bouncing. "I spoke to Aaron, and wow! J. P. Woods must really think The Defiant d.u.c.h.ess is going to be good. She's made us a marvelous offer. She wants to read the ma.n.u.script, though, before anyone signs on the dotted line."

Michael Devlin nodded. "That's fair," he agreed. "How about if you print me out what you've got tonight, and then I'll bring it in with me in the morning?"

"No," Emily said. "I've got two more chapters to write, and I never allow a partial ma.n.u.script to be read. Most people don't have the imagination to know what's coming next, Devlin. They get ideas in their heads, and then when it doesn't turn out the way they thought it would, they don't like what you've done. No. Whole ma.n.u.script or nothing. I can have it done by Thanksgiving. You're coming for dinner, aren't you?"

"Am I invited?" he teased her with a smile.

"Uh-huh," she said with a smile.

"If you two are going to take a walk," Rina remarked, "you'd better get going. Sun sets early this time of year. I've gotta get home myself." She stood up. "I'll take my own gla.s.s in to Essie. Go on now."

Hand in hand they followed the trail beyond Emily's back lawn and through the woods down to the beach. The trees above them were ablaze with color, but unlike New England hues these had the muted tone of a Degas canvas. The reds had an almost pink shading to them, the yellows were clear, and the gold more of a tobacco hue. Squirrels rummaged over the woodland floor, seeking out nuts. At one point she and Devlin spotted a red fox going about his business. Reaching the beach, they walked for a short distance. The beach plums had been pretty much picked clean by those with a preference for jam, or by the deer and racc.o.o.ns. The waters of the bay lapped gently against the sand. They spoke little, just enjoying the beauty of the late afternoon, and each other's company. Finally they turned back and, reaching the house, found Essie preparing to depart for the day. She waved at them as she trotted off down the sidewalk.

Inside the house they found a fire going in the den next to the kitchen. The chops were defrosted, and set neatly upon the broiling pan. From the smell the baking potatoes were already in the oven. The remainder of the apple Betty was covered and on the counter. Emily opened the fridge and saw a bowl of salad waiting.

"When the potatoes are almost cooked I'll do the chops," she said.

"Come and sit down," he called to her from the den, and she joined him, crawling onto his lap and kissing him gently. His arms slipped about her, and she laid her head on his shoulder happily. This was where she belonged. In her house. In Egret Pointe. In Devlin's embrace. It was a perfect moment. Air travel was always so amazing, she thought. This time yesterday she and Sava had been having tea at Claridge's in London.

"I like today's now better than yesterday's now," she told him.

His heart beat a little faster. "Do you? What were you doing yesterday?"

Emily told him, including seeing Reg with Gillian Brecknock, and what Sava had told her about the woman. "I can tell she's a perfect b.i.t.c.h," Emily remarked. "But do you think there's enough there for a book, Devlin? Born in Liverpool poverty, claws her way up to be a film and stage actress, now a dominatrix to the rich and discreet."

He chuckled. "Possibly. I'll Google her and see what else there is, and if it's worth making an offer. I'd probably have to go to London myself to do it," he teased Emily. "Do you think she'd dominate me if I asked nicely?"

Emily b.u.t.ted her head into his shoulder. "Villain!" she accused. "If you want your bottom smacked I'll be happy to oblige."

He burst out laughing. "Would you now?" he said. "Do you want to make me your s.e.x slave with a leather collar and leash, angel face?"

Suddenly the memory of Sir William, and the bordello came into Emily's head, and she felt her cheeks growing warm. "No," she said. "I think I can make you behave without resorting to that, Devlin." Lord! Was it only three nights back that she and Sava had been Pretty Polly and Miss Molly? It would show up in one of Savannah's books eventually, she knew, and she giggled into his shoulder.

He turned her so he could kiss her, and one kiss blended into another as he cradled her in his arms. Oh, she had missed him! She wanted him here every night. Snuggling in his embrace while the smell of potatoes baking filled the air was hardly the most romantic picture in the world, but recently thoughts of domesticity with Michael Devlin were overwhelming her. Why wouldn't he say he loved her? Rina said he did; she sensed he did. And yet what if Rina was just a romantic, and Emily's instincts just wishful thinking? She didn't want to ruin a good author-editor relationship and get stuck with some bright-eyed, eager twenty-something for an editor. She was beginning to understand why this kind of a relationship was forbidden. Emily pulled away from her lover. "The potatoes are almost done," she said. "I've got to get the chops on. Do you mind if we eat in here on trays with the fire?"

"No. What can I do?"

"You can toss the salad, fetch and carry," she told him.

When the lamb chops were done Emily turned off the oven and slipped the apple Betty in to warm. Together they carried the food and a bottle of wine into the den and ate while Frank Sinatra played on a CD Devlin put into the player. The fire crackled, and it was all very cozy. And after dinner they put a DVD in and watched Casablanca. Emily cried when Bogart intoned, "Here's looking at you, kid," and sent Ingrid Bergman off with Paul Henreid. Devlin chuckled as Bogart and Claude Raines, who played the French police inspector, strolled off together into the mist, planning their own war against the n.a.z.is.

"Time for bed, Devlin," Emily said, stretching as she stood up. "If you're going to be a commuter tomorrow you'll need to start early."

"How early?" he asked her.

"You should probably roll out of here no later than seven. I know you don't have to be in at nine on the dot," Emily told him. "I'm going to take a bath before I go to bed."

"Can I join you?" he asked softly, a single finger running down the bridge of her nose. "Then I won't have to shower in the morning."

"Yes, you will," she told him with a smile. "And yes, you can join me."

He scrubbed her back with a large sponge as they sat together in a tub filled with bubbles. They lay back together, his hands cupping her b.r.e.a.s.t.s as he murmured lascivious suggestions into her ear and kissed the side of her neck, which suddenly smelled of lilacs. He sniffed. He smelled of lilacs. Michael Devlin began to laugh. "Did you put scent in this water?" he asked her.

"Bubble bath doesn't come unscented," she told him dryly. She could suddenly feel his p.e.n.i.s beneath her, and she drew a slow, deep breath, turning herself about so that she was now facing him. The palms of her hands slid up his smooth chest to rest lightly on his broad shoulders. "I like it when you smell like a flower, Devlin," she said, her mouth brushing teasingly over his.

"Do you now?" he answered softly, his green eyes narrowing, his hands slipping about her waist.

"It but adds to your charm," Emily said. "Oh, yes, Devlin! Yes!"

He was lifting her up and then lowering her onto his p.e.n.i.s. He leaned forward, pressing her against one of the curved ends of the large oval tub. Her legs came up and fastened about his torso. He f.u.c.ked her slowly, deliberately, in a leisurely manner, until her eyes were closed and she was moaning with her pleasure, her nails digging into his back. When she had attained a small o.r.g.a.s.m he pulled away from her, and, in answer to her puzzled look, he said, "I want to have enough left for when we get into bed."

They got out of the bathtub, drying each other off with thick towels. His erection remained, and Emily found she was almost weak with her antic.i.p.ation, she wanted him inside her again so badly. What was the matter with her? Was she turning into one of those s.e.x addicts the gossip shows were always promoting? He didn't ask if she wanted to go to his room. He just led her to her own bed and they got into it.

He kissed her slowly, and Emily sighed with happiness as she kissed him back. She loved the feel of his mouth on hers. His tongue ran teasingly along her lips, and then slipped into her mouth. She played with it, her own tongue brushing against his. Her hands caressed his lean, hard body. His fingers brushed over her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and then his tongue was tracing the outline of her nipples and dipping into the valley between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. His dark head rested on her as he began to suckle on one of her nipples.

Emily made little murmuring noises of obvious contentment. One of his hands slipped between her thighs, playing with her pubic curls, fingers pressing between her nether lips to find her c.l.i.toris, which was already swelling with rising excitement. He teased her until she was squirming with her eagerness, and he was satisfied she was moist enough to take him easily. Then he mounted her and slid his thick p.e.n.i.s into her wet v.a.g.i.n.a.

"Oh, G.o.d, yes!" Emily cried out unabashedly. "Oh, Devlin, that feels so good."