The Man Behind the Mask

by Barbara Wallace

  She opened her eyes to find Simon looking down on her, his eyes blown wide with desire. Delilah’s eyes fluttered closed as his caress traveled down her temple and along to her cheekbone before finally coming to a stop on her lips, where they lightly ran back and forth across her Cupid’s bow. This time it was her breath that hitched. Her eyes opened. Simon was still staring at her, the desire in his eyes more inflamed than ever. He seemed to be waiting for permission before moving forward. Delilah parted her lips in answer.

  His kiss was hard and desperate. Delilah clung to his shoulders. Four years of desire sprung free and she kissed him back with every ounce of her being. Pool water dampened her dress, turning the thin material into cream-and-yellow tracing paper, but she didn’t care. Just so long as Simon kept kissing her.

  When they finally broke for air, their ragged breath drowned out all other sounds. Simon looked as dazed as she felt. “Delilah,” he gasped. “I want...”

  “Yes,” she replied. There was no need for him to finish the question. They both wanted. “Yes.”

  Slipping her hand in his, she let him lead her back to the cottage.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “I’M SORRY ABOUT your mother.”

  It was later. Simon sat in an oversized easy chair looking out at the ocean.

  Delilah—curled in his lap—shrugged, her shoulder rubbing against his bare skin. “Me too,” she said. A familiar-sounding resignation laced her words. Sad to think they shared such a sad bond. “She always said my father was her missing piece.”

  “Her what?”

  She tilted her head back revealing a face sleepy and too adorable not to kiss. “Missing piece,” she repeated. “Like a puzzle nine hundred and ninety-nine one-thousandths complete. You need that one thousandth piece to finish the picture.”

  “I see.”

  “Anyway—” her head fell back against his shoulder “—I guess when he died, the hole he left behind felt too big.”

  Simon’s chest hurt. It wasn’t right that she had to deal with such a heavy burden so young. For four years, he saw Delilah as an overwhelmingly competent and reliable employee. Now he knew the source of her reliability. Not to mention that there was a whole lot of passion lurking underneath, he added with a smile.

  Hopefully her mother appreciated having such a strong daughter in her corner. “She’s better now, right?” he asked.

  “Better. Not 100 percent, but better.” With a delicate yawn, she nestled closer. “Though I suppose when you lose your soul mate, you can’t ever go back to 100 percent, can you?”

  “I wouldn’t know. I never lost a soul mate.” Soul mates weren’t a concept he ever considered. With as many pieces as he had missing, he doubted there was anyone who fit.

  “Me neither. But like my mother says, every puzzle has its piece, every pot has a lid. You just have to find it.”

  Her sentence faded in a sleepy slur. Reaching behind him, Simon grabbed the throw off the bed and draped it over their bodies. “Go to sleep,” he whispered. “I’ll tuck you in.”

  The conversation left him with an odd disquiet. He didn’t want to think about pieces or lids or anything else that would kill his mood. Tonight was the first time he could remember feeling peaceful outside the water. He wanted to savor the moment for as long as possible.

  * * *

  Somewhere around dawn, he suspected he’d developed an addiction as he couldn’t get enough. Delilah’s scent, her taste—hell, every little sound she made—might as well have been drugs. Seeing her laid out beneath him, made him feel stronger than he thought possible. An hour couldn’t go by before the need to lose himself inside her gripped him again. He went to pull her warm, willing body to his only to swipe empty sheets.

  What the...? “Delilah?”

  She wasn’t in the room. Rolling on to his back, Simon blinked at the white ceiling. Maybe she went across the hall to try and sleep. Should he go check or would that look too needy? A hollow feeling he couldn’t decipher had lodged itself in his chest. Truncated arousal, probably, or bruised ego. He wasn’t used to a woman who wasn’t there when he reached for her.

  It was a good thing, he decided, her ducking out. Gave him time to clear his head. In the dark, he’d managed to avoid dealing with his humiliating breakdown, but now, without Delilah’s presence to distract him—or sex to distract her from asking further questions—the details came flying back. Lord knew what she thought of him now.

  He closed his eyes and tried to imagine the water, forcing Atlantic navy to replace hypnotic blue eyes. The damage had been done. Best he could do now was to start fresh. Act as though he’d never fallen apart, that he’d never said anything about the boathouse. After all, wasn’t pretending his best skill?

  The door opened, and Delilah walked in carrying two cups of coffee. Simon waited until she set one down on the nightstand before saying good morning.

  “Oh!” She started, coffee sloshing over the rim of her mug. “You’re awake.”

  “And you got dressed.” In black pants and a businesslike blouse to boot. Between the clothes and the coffee, they might as well be back at the office.

  “Um, yes.” Running a hand around her ear, she seemed suddenly fascinated with the contents of her cup. “I didn’t think the Bartletts would want to see me walking around in my nightgown. Or last night’s wrinkled dress,” she added, her eyes disappearing behind her mug. Hard to tell in the sunlight, but Simon thought her skin looked suspiciously pink.

  “Who said you had to walk around at all?” he asked.

  She ignored his not-so-subtle hint, choosing instead to pace toward the back window. “I went to get coffee. You, I mean we, didn’t get much sleep last night...”

  “Is that a complaint?”

  “What? No, not at all. Last night was...wonderful.” This time her skin definitely turned pink. “I just thought you might want some caffeine before your meeting.”

  Meeting? Dammit, that’s right. Bartlett wanted them all to enjoy breakfast together before heading out. “Another round of socializing for dollars.” With a long breath, he fell back against the pillow.

  “Is that going to be a problem?” She headed back to the bed. “I can make some sort of excuse if you’re not feeling up to it.”

  “You don’t need to make up anything. I’m not some fragile creature that needs protecting.”

  “I know that.”

  Did she? Because despite his pretense, his confession apparently loomed large. Last night’s comfort was quickly receding.

  Not ready for reality to return, he held out a hand. “Come here.” When she moved close enough, he took the coffee cup from her before running his fingers down the front of her shirt. “Did I ever tell you how much I hate black pants?”

  “You do?”

  “Yep.” Hooking his finger into her waistband, he tugged her closer. The tiny gasp as she tumbled onto the bed made him hot all over. “Right now, I hate them very, very much.” He buried his head in the crook of her neck, earning himself another sigh.

  “What about the breakfast meeting?”

  “Let them wait. It’ll give Roberto more time to talk himself out of an account. Right now, we have more important things to focus on.” While he was speaking, he slipped the ponytail holder from her hair, letting the strands fall like a brown silk curtain. Fingers twisting in the softness, he sought her mouth.

  “Simon...”

  “Shhh,” he murmured against her lips. He was back in control now. And he was going to make her forget the man she met last night ever existed.

  * * *

  Sixty minutes later, Simon escorted Delilah poolside. Bartlett, it turned out, hadn’t even appeared yet. “Too bad we didn’t look out the window,” he whispered. “We could have lingered a little longer over coffee.”

  “Y
our coffee got cold,” she whispered back.

  “Really? Seemed hot enough to me.” Her mouth made that cute little goldfish movement. Before she could find her words, he slipped his top smile into place. “Good morning,” he greeted Josh, his voice probably more boisterous than necessary. “Everyone up and ready to conquer the day?”

  “Yes,” Josh replied. “Looks like my father’s turned everyone into early risers.”

  “Why not? You can learn a lot about a man by how he handles the morning after a night’s indulgence, right?”

  No sooner did Simon speak than Jim Bartlett came strolling around the main house. Simon swore the man listened and waited for the best entrance moment. “You make me sound so calculating, Cartwright.”

  “Just a man who knows how he wants things done,” Simon replied. “Besides, we’re all businessmen here. After seventy-two hours together, we might as well call a spade a spade, don’t you think?”

  “Quite right. I appreciate the honesty.” Clapping Simon on the shoulder, he turned his attention to Delilah and Carl. “And I appreciate the two of you getting up early, as well. I trust everyone slept well?”

  Simon suppressed a smile as Delilah grabbed for her cup. “Very well thank you,” she said from behind the rim.

  “Good. Good. I thought I heard a couple people in the pool last night. Was that you and Simon?”

  “I.”

  She looked in Simon’s direction, and he immediately jumped in. “We took a quick swim,” he said, insides tense. He had been so focused on Delilah forgetting his meltdown, he failed to realize others might have also heard. His stomach dropped. “I hope we didn’t make too much noise.”

  Bartlett waved his hand. “If you only knew how many late-night rendezvous have taken place in that pool.”

  “I wouldn’t exactly call it a rendezvous,” Delilah said, coffee-cup-turned-shield firmly in place.

  “Rendezvous, midnight swim. Point is, you didn’t keep me up.”

  “I didn’t hear anything, either,” Roberto added, “but then I was so full from yesterday’s dinner I fell asleep the minute I hit the pillow.”

  His remark turned the conversation back to yesterday’s party. Relieved, Simon sat back, content to let Roberto do most of the talking. His rival had a tendency to go overboard with the compliments. A poor strategy when dealing with a man like Bartlett who, Simon suspected, preferred bluntness. At least when it came to other people.

  A few feet away, Delilah sipped her coffee in similar silence. Every so often, she’d smile or offer a soft laugh. Every time she did, a series of flutter kicks would go off in his stomach. How quickly an impression could change. Seventy-two hours ago he would have stupidly insisted his assistant blended into the scenery. Now he wondered how the rest of the table could concentrate. Simple things like the way her lips curled up mesmerized him. Catching her eye, he winked. For a moment, her smile brightened in his direction.

  She looked so at home in this environment. In his mind’s eye, he could easily see her in a house very much like this one. Sitting by the pool with her coffee. Wearing a discarded shirt from the night before. It made a very pleasing picture.

  A very permanent kind of picture. One fitting a very permanent kind of woman.

  Son-of-a... His coffee cup rattled the glass tabletop. What had he done? In his desperation to forget, he’d slept with the very type of woman he swore he’d never go near—a woman with substance.

  Last night’s pillow talk flooded back in a rush, dragging along all the disquiet he’d been too sated to acknowledge. Soul mates, lids, puzzle pieces. No way would she indulge in a short-term fling. A woman like Delilah expected more. She deserved more.

  What she didn’t deserve was a pretend shell of a man.

  And what did he do? Used her in the worst possible way, tainting the best relationship he would ever have.

  Just when he didn’t think it was possible to loathe his true nature any more, he’d outdone himself.

  * * *

  “Simon, what is it?” Delilah whispered, trying not to attract the attention of anyone else at the table.

  Simon’s face had gone suddenly white. Hating that she couldn’t reach across the table to comfort him, Delilah played back the conversation to remember what might have been said to provoke the change. Nothing. “Are you all right?”

  He flashed a flawless smile. “Don’t be silly. Everything’s fine.”

  The lie made her heart sink. He was performing again. Having seen both sides, she knew the difference better than ever. Last night’s Simon was nowhere in sight. She’d never know he’d been there at all except for her memories. She wanted to blame the added company for the shift. After all, he couldn’t very well canoodle with her over French toast in front of a prospective client and a colleague.

  There was only one problem with her theory—the shift had started before breakfast. There’d been a distance when they’d made love this morning that hadn’t been there last night.

  If she were to be brutally honest, she held part of the blame. Last night had been... She couldn’t come up with words. All these years nursing a fantasy and reality blew those dreams out of the water. Simon and she connected in a way that went far beyond comfort or sex. She knew now what she’d been feeling all those years was mere infatuation. Last night was about love. Deep, lasting love.

  The feeling scared her to death. Finally, she understood what her mother felt. What it meant to find the person who filled the empty spot in your soul. Simon just had to whisper her name and she melted. It was all too good to be true. Too much to believe.

  And now she was frightened by the distress in Simon’s eyes. What if he didn’t feel the same? What then? She didn’t want to contemplate the emptiness.

  An eternity later, breakfast finally ended. Delilah said her goodbyes and headed back to the guest cottage. Hopefully once she and Simon were alone, and he let his guard back down, her insecurity would go away.

  Unfortunately, no sooner did they cross the threshold than Jim came jogging across the stone patio.

  “I was wondering if you might hang out a little longer,” he said. “Come up to the main house and chat. There were a couple of topics we touched on last night I’d like to get your input on in greater depth.”

  “Of course,” Simon replied. “I’ll be up shortly.”

  “Take your time,” the older man said. “Maybe walk up in twenty minutes or so?”

  “Isn’t Roberto’s car coming to get him in twenty minutes?” Delilah asked once the door was shut.

  Simon wore a neutral expression, one she’d seen dozens of times, right after he scored a major account victory. “Now that you mention it, Roberto did say something to that effect.”

  Meaning if Bartlett hadn’t chosen CMT, he was pretty darn close. Thrilled for him, Delilah launched herself into his arms. “Congratulations!”

  The return embrace didn’t materialize. “Let’s not celebrate prematurely,” he said, untangling himself. “He could simply have more questions.”

  “Only he said input. That implies he wants your opinion, and if he wants to wait until after the Mediatopia representatives are gone....” It seemed to her the implication was obvious. Any other time, Simon would at least acknowledge the possibility. Why was he so hesitant now?

  “I don’t want to get ahead of myself, is all,” he told her when she asked. “This account is too important. Until Bartlett’s signature is on the contract, I’m not going to make any assumptions.”

  “Fine. You can be cautious. I’ll be optimistic and plan on celebrating on the flight back to New York.”

  “About that...” He rubbed the back of his neck. The hair on Delilah’s prickled. “I was thinking you should go ahead and fly home without me.”

  “You want me to leave?” She tried to ignore her growing
apprehension

  “We don’t know how long this meeting will take. Bartlett could keep me here all afternoon.”

  Me, not we. Until that moment they’d been a team. “I don’t mind staying,” she replied.

  Meanwhile, Simon was making a point of walking around the cottage, studying everything but her.

  “I don’t want you wasting your whole afternoon,” he said, his hand finding its way to his neck again. “I’ve already ruined...” She saw him wince, the expression matching the catch in her chest. “This trip’s already eaten up enough of your weekend,” he started over. “I’m sure you’ve got things you need to do.”

  It couldn’t be. He was giving her the brush-off. She wasn’t any different than Finland Smythe.

  No wonder this morning seemed off. He wasn’t making love to her; he was saying goodbye.

  God, what an idiot. Thinking there’d been some kind of deep, mutual connection. She could kick herself.

  As if the humiliation wasn’t complete, practical matters worked their way into her head. His send-off wasn’t as neat as he’d like it to be. “There’s one problem,” she said, moving so he had to face her. “We drove here together. How are we supposed to go to the airport at different times if we have one car?”

  “You can take the car. I’m sure Jim or Josh will be glad to drive me back.”

  She’d hoped he’d use her point as an excuse to keep her around. She was wrong. “Looks like you’ve thought of everything,” she murmured.

  “Surprising, I know, but every once in a while I manage to function without an assistant doing the work for me.” Cupping the back of her neck, he kissed her, stopping just short of letting the passion build. Delilah clung to his arms in spite of herself.

  “I’ll see you back in New York, okay?” he said, smiling.

  No, it wasn’t okay, she wanted to scream. Because she didn’t want to go. Because she couldn’t have imagined last night’s connection.