DISCLAIMER: The Devil Wears Prada and its characters belong to Lauren Weisberger and 20th Century Fox. No infringement intended.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Why yes, it is named after the Tina Turner song. I think the song fits well. The story started to nag me a couple of days ago, so I am taking the time to write it down. There will be a companion piece to this, so don't change the channel. Thanks for reading, as always... Beta/Proofing: pdt & bed.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
What's Love Got To Do With It
By The Raven
"Andrea." Miranda smoothly intoned, her voice an octave below normal speaking level.
Any assistant of hers was always faced with the task of listening carefully enough to hear her. This is just how it was...
Andrea turned towards her in the seat and Miranda saw the expectant look on her face. She looked like she was ready for anything, but was she? Was she ready for Miranda to reveal herself? Would she be able to handle the concept that there was more to The Dragon Lady that what there seemed to be?
As dark eyes gazed at her expectantly, Miranda wondered this.
Over the past while, Andrea had become more than an assistant, more than a friend, more even than a lover. But somehow they seemed to be separated by so much. Was it only Miranda's imagination that suggested this, or was it actually true?
Andrea was still waiting for Miranda to say something, but for another few moments, Miranda contented herself with watching her assistant, with observing her. She could see the pulse at Andrea's throat and longed to kiss it, to feel it under her lips.
What would Andrea do if Miranda were to lean over and do this?
Would she give Miranda what she craved? Or would she recoil and possibly try to leave the vehicle as it stood still in traffic, providing Andrea with an easy escape, should she want it.
Could the possibility exist that Andrea would lean into the touch? Add to it? Want it repeated? Would she touch Miranda in return?
The possibilities were endless, but unless Miranda roused the courage to take the risk, she might never know...
Did she dare risk it?
Miranda suddenly felt hot inside of her clothes. The expensive silk seemed to strangle her and the exquisite wool seemed to smother her as she regarded the curve of Andrea's lips.
They were now set in a soft smile. Miranda wanted to lean forward and taste them, know them. Miranda had no doubts that kissing Andrea would be an experience she would never be able to do just once. No. Miranda was certain if she gave in, she would happily drown in Andrea and not care in the least bit.
How had this happened?
When had it come to pass that Miranda wanted to feel Andrea's hands caress through her hair, down her back, over her breasts? And how could it be that Miranda wanted these things more than she wanted anything else, or could ever remember wanting anything else, ever?
Miranda felt Andrea's eyes seeking her own and looked up. It was her fatal mistake; now she was trapped. The dark pools of madness seemed to beckon to her, tempt her into doom or into salvation. Miranda could feel her own self control slip, falter, fall away.
It was now or never.
Everyone knew that Miranda Priestly was not a woman who tolerated the idea of can't, won't, or never...
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