Chapter 33

It took another four days after Tom showed Emily those photos before she finally heard from Priscilla again, following their return from Hawaii.

During that time, Emily did not reach out to her, even after seeing the pictures.

Those photos had awakened an anger in her that she hadn't felt in a long time. However, most of the anger had been directed at herself. The photos had made her feel silly and inexperienced…more like an idiot teenage girl than an experienced woman in her forties. The photos had made her realize that she had started developing true feelings for Priscilla Kroyn, which had been an utterly stupid thing to do. Moreover, the photos had made her realize that a hope had been secretly developing in her heart—a hope that Priscilla, in fact, hadn't been the one to steal The Young Shepherdess, even though Emily knew it to be true, evidence be damned.

She had allowed herself to be dazzled by Priscilla's lifestyle, and seduced by Priscilla's beauty, charm, and sexual prowess—all whilebelieving that perhaps Priscilla wanted her to stick around in her life. After all, hadn't that been the reason for the five-million dollar offer?

So what was going on with Celia Bruce?

Of course, Emily knew the photographs didn't prove that anything was going on between Priscilla and the countess other than two women spending time together.

Two women with a significant age gap, who probably had little in common except being wealthy.

And two women who were seen walking into Priscilla's apartment building one night holding hands.

And so, yes, Emily felt angry with herself. But she was also hurt…and that pissed her off even more.

This was supposed to be an investigation to recover a stolen painting! And although she had been fine using her body to exploit Priscilla's obvious attraction to her in order to get closer to her, she wasn't supposed to let her heart get involved.

Because seeing those photos had really hurt her, and made her believe that she was now paying a penance for mixing business and pleasure so completely. She even wondered if this was perhaps the Universe's way of telling her that she was getting too old for those kinds of antics…that perhaps she ought to keep her body out of her business, and instead devote physical and emotional attention only to women she could have a future with.

In any case, when Priscilla finally reached out to her, it had been to invite her out to dinner. She had even said that she had missed Emily, and needed a night out with her. She had also added an apology for how long it had been; an apology that had sounded sincere, and had made Emily want to believe it.

Having agreed to the dinner, Emily was now sitting next to Priscilla in the back of the Bentley as the car headed north on the I-5. Priscilla had mentioned the name of the restaurant they were going to, but Emily had already forgotten it, so lost in her own thoughts about what to do now that she was with Priscilla again. All that she remembered about the restaurant was that it was up near Carmel Valley.

If Priscilla had noticed how distracted she was, she hadn't said anything. In fact, the redhead was now talking about some upcoming event in L.A. that she had been invited to. Emily was only half listening as she stared out her window at the urban scenery passing by.

"I don't even want to go," Priscilla was saying now. She sighed. "But it is always wise to curry favor with ambassadors, especially from Asia, so I feel obligated to make an appearance. But you know…it occurs to me that the night would be made much more bearable if you were there with me."

Emily said nothing. Instead, she continued staring out her window. But she did upturn the corners of her mouth into a small and rueful smile. Priscilla's invitation just now had been quite charming. After all, what woman doesn't like to hear that an elegant L.A. party, with a guest list that included two ambassadors, and probably a handful of Hollywood stars, would only be bearable if she accompanied the person asking her to it? She ought to be thrilled, and to have said yes embarrassingly fast.

It took her about the length of time for the Bentley to drive a mile to realize that Priscilla hadn't said anything for a spell. She turned her head to the left to find the redhead staring at her, an evaluating look in her eyes.

Emily blinked.

"Um…right…L.A…." she said, trailing off, wondering what else she had missed..

Priscilla cocked an eyebrow.

"I get the impression that you are distracted," she said. She didn't seem angry, just curious. "At least, I hope it's just a distraction. I'd hate to think you've already grown bored with me."

Emily laughed. It felt good. She hadn't laughed at all over the past few days.

"I feel fairly confident in stating that the one thing I would never say about you is that you're boring," she replied. "Although, if I did grow bored with you, I suppose I could just…seek out some variety."

She watched as Priscilla chewed on that statement mentally, knowing that it wouldn't take the other woman long to suss out what she was getting at.

Sure enough, Priscilla chuckled and glanced away.

"Celia," she said. She looked back at Emily. "Your friends at the police department have been following me again…heaven knows why…and they've taken pictures of me with her."

Emily shrugged.

"It's none of my business," she said.

Priscilla gave a hearty laugh in response to that.

"Oh, Emily…" she began. "Women only ever say it's none of our business when we intend to let the other person know that it is our business. Anyway…I've known your friends in blue have been following me since we returned from Hawaii, and, yes, I knew they would manage to get pictures of me with Celia, and, yes, I knew that those pictures would be shown to you."

Emily went back to looking out her window. She shook her head.

"You have all the answers, don't you?" she remarked snidely.

"Only the ones I need to have," Priscilla said. "Except one. Which is why I allowed the police to take pictures of me with Celia, when I could have very easily ensured that didn't happen."

"Oh, you let it happen?" Emily retorted, turning to glare at her.

"Yes!" Priscilla insisted. "Do you want to know why?"

"Not particularly," Emily returned.

"Well, too bad, I'm going to tell you why," Priscilla said.

"I don't care," Emily quickly replied. "I don't want to know. In fact…" She pressed the button on her door to communicate with the driver. "Gordon, could you just drive me back home, please?" she asked.

Priscilla sighed. She then pressed the button on her door to speak with Gordon.

"Gordon, keep driving!" she ordered.

"I want to go home!" Emily snapped at her.

Priscilla opened her mouth as though to say something, but shut it immediately, along with her eyes. She inhaled a deep breath.

Eventually, she said, "If you want to go home, I will have you taken home. But first, give me five minutes! Five minutes! After that, if you want to go back, I won't argue."

Emily let out a dry chuckle.

"Well, good to know I'm not being kidnapped," she said. She met Priscilla's gaze. "Five minutes, or so help me God I will—"

"Fine!" Priscilla said, holding up a hand. She inhaled another deep breath. "To begin with, I had legitimate business with Celia, and we had met to discuss that."

"Over a romantic dinner?" Emily prodded.

"What made that dinner romantic?" Priscilla asked. "The fact that there was a candle on the table? If that's the case then every dinner before the invention of the lightbulb was a romantic dinner."

"And I suppose your business meeting with Countess Celia just had to be continued in your penthouse one night, huh?" Emily asked. "And you were both in such intense negotiations that you just had to hold hands as you walked into the building?"

"Celia and I are old friends…" Priscilla said patiently.

Emily scoffed.

"I don't think the word old could be applied to her," she snapped. "What is she…seventeen?"

"She's twenty-eight," Priscilla corrected. "I've known her all her life. As a teenager, I was with my parents at her christening. And yes, she's spent the night at my penthouse before. She has a standing invitation to do so." She paused. "In the guest bedroom. And yes, we hold hands from time to time, the way I do with all of my close friends. We're women, Emily. We're not as emotionally closed off as men, and we appreciate innocuous physical contact with one another—especially in a world where we have to deal with men!"

Emily laughed dryly.

"That's very cute," she said. "Very well said. But then again, you always have exactly the right thing to say, don't you?"

Priscilla sighed.

"Everything I've said just now is true," she remarked. "What else is true is that I knew the police would take photos of her and I, and I knew they would get back to you, because I wanted you to be pissed off about them!"

Emily barked a choked laugh.

"Oh, so you get turned on by sadistically upsetting me?" she asked. "Fuck you!"

"I wanted you to be pissed off because I need to know!" Priscilla said in an urgent tone.

"Need to know what?" Emily spat back.

"I need to know if all you're still interested in is the painting," was Priscilla's reply.

Emily's mouth dropped open and her brow furrowed as she looked at the woman sitting next to her.

"I needed to know if there was a…chance," Priscilla went on. "A chance that you had managed to look past the painting. I couldn't think of any other way to do it."

Emily continued staring at her.

What is she saying?

But she knew what Priscilla was saying. The real question was, How does she expect me to respond to something like that?

"So…you're telling me that I'm what you want?" she asked. "I want to hear you say that."

Emily's hands were in her lap, and Priscilla placed her hand atop them.

"You are what I want!" Priscilla said earnestly. "And for the first time in my life I don't need to analyze something six ways to Sunday, or have a battalion of lawyers examine it word for word."

In any other setting, in any other circumstance, that would have been incredibly romantic, Emily considered. Even now—in this setting and in this circumstance—it was making her feel weak with desire. Not sexual desire, but emotional desire. A desire to be with this woman and discover what the possibilities could be to build something with her.

"We could do this," Priscilla said.

Emily rolled her eyes.

"As if it would stop!" she exclaimed. "Do you realize what would happen if you and I rode off together in the sunset, hand in hand? That would only give them cause to come after us even more! The police! Geneva Excess! They would know something was fishy then!"

"Who cares?" Priscilla asked. "We're women of means! We have the resources to keep anyone at bay."

Of course, what Priscilla was saying was true, Emily realized. Even alone, she could protect herself—especially since she hadn't done anything wrong. The worst that could happen was that she'd lose her job with Geneva Excess and most likely be blacklisted and never work in the world of art again. The Swiss would see to it that her association with Priscilla—whose name of course they would ensure was whispered as the suspected thief of The Young Shepherdess—kept her tarnished and labeled as untrustworthy.

But that wouldn't hurt her too much. She had money and investments…she was fine. In a few years—ten, at most—she might be able to open her own gallery in a city like Berlin or New York, and her notoriety because of her connection to The Young Shepherdess case would probably help make it a success.

But could she have a life with Priscilla knowing what she knew? That Priscilla did steal the painting?

"You're never going to tell me if you did it, are you?" she asked softly now. "And you're never going to show it to me."

Priscilla said nothing. She only stared at her.

"That's a big secret for one woman to keep from another," Emily said. "Especially for the kind of life you're suggesting we have."

"It occurs to me," Priscilla began slowly, "that if the painting reappeared where it belonged, you could stop using that as an excuse."

Emily actually stopped breathing, but only for a few heart beats.

"Yes," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "I suppose you're right."

What did Priscilla mean by that, she wondered.

Good lord, what is she going to do now?

Priscilla leaned closer.

"Spend the weekend with me," she said. "Please."

"I need time to think," Emily stated firmly.

Priscilla shook her head.

"Don't think, just feel," she said. "I've missed you, and I want to spend time with you. Now, I've told you that Celia is not a threat to you, so there's no need for you to continue being upset with that. And if you need time to think…then at least do that thinking under the same roof as me. I'll give you the space you need…I just want to be with you."

Emily started experiencing that familiar feeling of helplessness when Priscilla became insistent. An entire weekend with her sounded wonderful and, really, if the thing with Celia wasn't really a thing, then why shouldn't she give in to her wants and let Priscilla take her home? She had missed her…and she needed her. She had been so angry over the past few days that she hadn't taken care of herself between her legs, and released all of that pent-up tension.

Fuck it! I need this!

She hated feeling weak, but at the same time it was rather liberating to just give in…