Forbidden Pleasures Read Free Page B

faint hiss, and they descended swiftly without a single stop.
    They walked from Park and up Madison Avenue until they arrived at Felicity’s Tea Company, which served both luncheon and high tea six days a week. It was Emily’s favorite place to eat in the city despite the plethora of elegant restaurants available. She could hear herself think in Felicity’s, and the food was delicious. Felicity herself came forward smiling as they entered, holding out her hands to Emily.
    She was a pretty woman with premature silver hair and dark eyes. She and her waitresses always wore the flowered, low-necked panniered satin gowns of the eighteenth century, and adorable little snow-white caps.
    “When Sandra called to book I was hoping it was you,” she said, kissing Emily on both cheeks. “Your guest is already at the table. Wow! Who is he?”
    “New editor,” Emily replied glumly. “Rachel retired.”
    “Ohh,” Felicity murmured. “I’d love to write with him. He is very hot.”
    Great, Emily thought. Every woman who saw him thought Michael Devlin was hot. Just what she needed: a hot man who was going to help her write sexier. And how was he going to do that? And then she saw him, and stumbled over her own feet like some fool of a schoolgirl. She caught herself up quickly, feeling her cheeks grow warm.
    Michael Devlin stood up as they reached the table. “Aaron, good to see you again,” he said, a small smile touching his lips. He was very tall.
    There it was: the soft, poetic hint of Ireland in his voice. Emily felt her knees weaken. This was worse than she had anticipated. She barely registered that Aaron was introducing them, but managed to stick out her hand nonetheless. Looking at him she had the distinct feeling that she knew him—really knew him—and yet he was a stranger.
    “Ms. Shann, I am delighted to finally meet you,” Michael Devlin murmured, looking down at her. “Rachel has nothing but praise for you.” He drew her chair out and seated her before sitting down again himself. “You have a wonderful feel for eighteenth- and nineteenth-century England. Your research is quite excellent.” Jaysus , he thought. She’s utterly adorable. That fluff of hair, and those big cornflower-blue eyes. I’d like to eat her with a spoon. How the hell am I going to work with something so delicious when what I really want to do is take her to bed? He was astounded by his own thoughts. He’d never had such a strong reaction to a woman before. It was bloody unprofessional.
    “You’ve read my books?” she inquired softly. Her own voice seemed to be coming from a very long way away. He really was gorgeous. He had to stand at least six-foot-three, and he had a lean, elegant body. His face was one of those long, sculpted faces, more angles than planes. His hair was jet-black, and his eyes were deep green. He looked like one of her heroes, for God’s sake. She couldn’t look at him too much, because every time she did, her heart raced. She had never had such a strong reaction to someone like this before.
    “Not all of them,” he admitted, “but I will by the time you finish this next book for us. Would you like to tell me what it’s going to be about? I haven’t seen an outline yet, but I’ll look forward to it.”
    “Emily doesn’t do outlines,” Aaron quickly said. “Well, not exactly. She can tell you what the book is going to be about, but not in detail. She doesn’t like to be held down to an exact story line. The sales department is used to her.”
    “I always know roughly what I’m going to write,” Emily told Michael Devlin, now recovering from the initial shock that her new editor really was hot. “But the story seems to write itself as I go along. I suppose that sounds silly, but that’s how I do it.”
    “I am not a man to argue with success, Ms. Shann,” he told her. He was getting a hard-on. What the hell perfume was she wearing? It smelled like lilacs.
    “Shall we order?” Aaron said as