"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 their waitress came up to the table. "Em, the usual for you, or do you want something different today?"

She shook her head. "No. The usual, Aaron, please."

Aaron ordered the quiche lorraine and salad for Emily, and a mini chicken pot pie for himself. "And a nice large pot of Keemun," he finished the order, looking to his companion questioningly.

Michael Devlin ordered the sirloin and cheddar with Dijon mustard in a tomato wrap. "How big is it?" he asked the waitress.