Until he slowly pushed the door open, letting her touch slip away. “I have a team of city hall consultants coming in less than five minutes expecting brilliance,” he said. “I really need to get those calls made.”
“Go ahead,” she told him. “I’m not going anywhere.”
* * *
He’d botched that conversation rather nicely, hadn’t he?
Did you really think it would go well? Simon ran a hand along the back of his neck. Ninety hours later and he still had the damn headache. Only now a throbbing empty hole in his chest had decided to join in. Being back in New York was supposed to make him feel better. Instead, he felt worse than ever.
And he knew why, too. Nothing like two waves of thought crashing in his head. Now, along with replaying that morning in the boathouse, he had the pleasure of remembering Saturday night, as well. Along with Friday afternoon. And Thursday night. And just about every moment he spent in Delilah’s company. How she tasted, how she smelled. How good he felt holding her in his arms.
I’m not going anywhere. That’s what he was afraid of. Although if she did leave, he didn’t know what he’d do.
Oh, for crying out loud, why couldn’t he simply tell her Saturday was a mistake and get it over with? Once a coward, always a coward, right, Cartwright? Honestly, he’d never had trouble breaking things off with women before. But, as this weekend seemed to hammer home, Delilah wasn’t like other women.
What killed him most of all was that for all these years he’d believed himself to be dead inside as well as broken. Turns out life had one more cruel joke to play. As Saturday night had proved, he was very much alive.
Still, breaking off things was the right thing to do. He needed to cast Delilah loose before she got too attached. Let her go so she could find a man who was worthy.
There was a knock, and Delilah returned carrying a coffee and taunting him with a tight pink skirt. “The people from the mayor’s office are here. Would you like me to stay?”
Talk about a double-edged question. He pretended to study the paper in front of him so she couldn’t see his reaction. “Please.”
* * *
The mayor’s people arrived, and the next eight hours passed in a whirl of politics, brainstorming and more politics. They decided on a combination of subway and bus posters, internet ads and an aggressive social media campaign—a challenge given the tight turnaround, but he assured his mayorship they’d get the job done. Now all that remained was getting copy that all parties agreed on. He was getting a crash course on the grinding wheels of bureaucracy.
“Creative emailed the latest version of the bus ads.” Delilah walked in and dropped a stack of printed pages on his desk.
Picking up the top page, Simon studied it while rubbing the back of his neck. “Did it go to everyone who needs to sign off this time?”
“Every one of them. Fingers crossed that the tenth time’s a charm.”
He dropped the page. “Do not tell me you sent the tenth version. We’re on twelve.”
“Figure of speech,” she snapped.
“My mistake.”
They were both tired and short-tempered. Working shoulder to shoulder all day long didn’t help. Every time she leaned close, his body went on full alert.
Then there was the fact she was behaving exactly as he wanted her to—professional and distant. It made every movement, every look, every nuance worse.
Giving his neck another rub, he made a point of softening his tone. “What’s the deal with the internet copy?”
“Good news there. Everyone at City Hall has signed off. Pending minor changes, that is. They’ve decided to reinsert the comma.”
After taking the mark out two rounds earlier. “Thank God it wasn’t a semicolon or we’d still be arguing.”
“On the plus side...” He practically crumpled the document he held the paper so tight. Delilah had moved around to his side of the desk to mark a page. Her skin smelled of talcum powder, sweet and clean.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
What was wrong is that she was driving him insane.
Pushing his chair back a few inches, he began again. “The mayor’s communications director said she was very impressed with our ability to turn this sucker around. Meaning there’s probably going to be a lot more pro bono projects in our future.”
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
“Depends on how you look at it. If you like dropping everything and dealing with the wheels of bureaucracy, it’s excellent.”
“Guess I should make a note to stock up on pain relievers and antacids,” she replied dryly.
The phone rang. Before Simon could say a word, Delilah answered. “Jim Bartlett,” she said, handing him the phone. “Says he has some good news for you.”
At least something went right this weekend.
* * *
It was an effort not to let their hands touch as she handed him the phone, but Delilah managed to do so. All this closeness was driving her insane. How on earth was she supposed to pretend as though there was nothing between them when every time she brought in a new batch of paperwork, she found herself tempted to touch him?
Naturally, they worked well together. Even in awkwardness, their natural communication rose to the surface. Come to think of it, maybe the exceptional teamwork was causing her frustration. Making love to Simon had opened her eyes to how good they could be outside the office and making her wonder if working together could ever be enough for her again.
Her biggest fear was that Simon might think differently. Until they talked about Saturday night, she wouldn’t know. And thus far, Simon seemed determined not to talk.
A few feet away Simon said his goodbyes. “You can finally say congratulations,” he said upon hanging up. “We have officially been named the agency of record for Bartlett Breweries.”
“Congratulations.” The first genuine smile she’d had all day found its way to her face. She was happy for Simon, and for the agency. “I knew you would impress them.”
He gave her a long, appreciative look that melted her in a way no seductive glance ever could. “You never lost faith, did you?”
“I’ve seen you in action, remember?”
“Right, my charming self.”
The conversation was veering a little too close to the one they weren’t supposed to be having. Much as she longed to stay on the track, Delilah allowed him to escape by changing the topic. She smiled her second real smile. “You don’t seem very excited for a man who got good news,” she told him.
“I’m tired is all. Plus, in the end, it’s really just another account, albeit a vital one. Don’t tell Bartlett I said that though.”
“My lips are sealed. You going to tell the board the good news?”
“Later. Once this project is over. I don’t have time for them right now.”
His response brought her third real smile of the day. “You’re making them wait because they dumped this project on us last-minute, aren’t you?”
“Damn straight.”
At some point during their conversation, he’d pulled his chair back to its original position. Their bodies were practically touching. Less than an inch separated her knee from his hand. Simon must have noticed too because he’d gone back to studying the paper he crumpled earlier.
Studying him, Delilah saw the bone-deep fatigue lining his face. It took willpower, but she kept herself from brushing his cheek, even though her heart wanted to do nothing more. “No offense,” she said, “but you look terrible.”
“Headaches will do that to you.”
“You’ve had a lot of headaches the past four days.”
“It’s been a long four days.”
“So it has,” she agreed sadly.
He looked up, and once
again appreciation shone in his eyes. “Turns out I owe you an apology.”
“For what?”
“Sniping at you about the boat ride. You were right, Tom’s and Louisa’s opinions do carry a ton of weight, and they adored you. Made my job a whole lot easier, that’s for certain.”
“Well, my job is to make your job easier. Or did you forget our conversation?”
“I remember,” he answered. Heat flashed behind the blue. “I remember everything about Sunday morning.”
His voice dropped. “I remember the whole weekend.”
“So do I,” Delilah replied. The desire she caught in his stare gave her hope. He wanted her. That had to mean something, didn’t it?
To hell with it. She was done pretending. Playing as though she didn’t feel the emotions churning inside her. Either Simon wanted her or didn’t want her. She needed to know.
He was doing everything he could to avoid looking at her. Refusing to look away, she brushed his cheek. The shadowed, rough skin scraped her fingertips. “Simon,” she started.
“Delilah, please...”
His argument weakened when he let the sentence fade into nothingness. Cupping his cheek, she lifted his face until she could see his eyes. Dear Lord, but they were so blue and so filled with hunger.
Yeah, he wanted her.
She leaned in and kissed him.
In a flash, Simon’s arms were around her. I knew it! She silently cheered. She knew she hadn’t imagined the connection tying them together. She felt the evidence in every kiss, received confirmation from every touch.
His hands pulled her closer.
Despite his conscience screaming at him, any sense of resolve Simon had disappeared the second Delilah’s lips touched his. This afternoon’s torture had gone on too long. When she touched his cheek, he was lost. Cupping her neck he pulled her close, moaning at how easily she tumbled into him.
Knowing the passion they were capable of sharing, he didn’t waste time with gentle coaxing or seduction. His hands demanded, traveling curves and slopes until somehow he found himself on his feet walking her toward the desk. The hands clutching at his shoulders spurred him forward until he pinned her against the edge. At that point, her hips molded to his, and there was no turning back.
Afterward, behind the closed doors of his office, he sat in his chair cradling a disheveled Delilah in a mirror image of Saturday night. Only where on Saturday night his soul had felt peace, all he felt now was guilt. Guilt and more self-loathing than he thought possible. She offered and he took and took and took, knowing he could never give her the commitment she wanted.
Groaning, he jammed his fingers in his hair, tugging hard to ground himself. The action shifted his position, disturbing Delilah from her daze. She made a purring noise against the crook of his neck, the sound reverberating all the way to his core.
“Graphics must be wondering where the final copy is,” he said. His voice was as dull and dead as he felt inside.
Delilah whimpered and nuzzled closer. “Who’s the clear head this time?”
Certainly not him, or they wouldn’t be here. “Mayor’s waiting.”
“S’pose you’re right.” Giving a little stretch, she sat up. The sight of her with her shirt half-unbuttoned was almost enough for him to weaken again. Almost.
“Work first, pleasure later. And then later again.” She leaned in to kiss him, only to pull back when his spine stiffened. “What’s wrong?”
It was time to man up and pay for what he’d done. “This is wrong,” he told her.
After his symphony of mixed signals, he couldn’t blame her for looking confused. “What’s wrong? Making love in the office? Neither of us planned—”
“Having sex period,” he replied. Purposely using the coarser word to make his point.
“I see.” Her face crumbled with understanding. “Well then, I better get those copy edits down to graphics.”
Climbing off his lap, she straightened her clothing. Despicable as he felt, Simon couldn’t help his burst of admiration at the way she pushed her hurt and confusion aside with a tuck of her hair. Then he thought of her history, and regretted having to make her play strong yet again.
He was about to apologize when the phone on his desk jangled, breaking the unsettled atmosphere. “That’s probably the art department now. You should answer. We wouldn’t want to keep them waiting.”
Simon grabbed her wrist. “Don’t go yet,” he said. “Not this way.”
He held fast while barking orders to the employee on the other end of the line. He’d apologize for being abrupt tomorrow. The only thing that mattered at the moment was Delilah. Touching her might have been a mistake; his arm itched to tug her close. But what end would that serve? She deserved intimacy and like he said, all he could ever give her was sex.
As soon as he hung up, she tried to pull free. “You can let go now. I stayed.”
He didn’t want to release her—it could be the last time he touched her—but he had no choice. “I didn’t want you walking out thinking you did something wrong,” he told her.
“Nice of you, seeing as how I didn’t think I had.”
He winced, the sharpness deserved. “What I meant was, I didn’t want you thinking I regretted what just happened.”
Again, his words were failing him. Her eyes narrowed. “Funny but the phrase ‘this was wrong’ sure seems regretful.”
“Please, Delilah, you have to know my regrets have nothing to do with what we’ve done together. This weekend or today.”
“Go on.” She folded her arms across her chest. Still glaring, but she was listening.
Now the hard part. To explain. He turned to the window. If he couldn’t see her eyes, speaking would be easier. “I thought I’d be fine going back to Boston,” he said, looking out. “For crying out loud, the...hazing...was fifteen years ago. I’d filed it away. Only when we landed did it come flooding back. Every time I turned around someone was saying something or there was a reminder.”
“Like Jim’s comment at the University Club.”
“That started everything unraveling. It was all I could do to keep the memories at bay. Then I looked in your eyes on the dock and for a moment I felt calm. You were a human lifeline and I grabbed.”
He knew she was thinking of how close they came to kissing that night. “Glad I could be of service,” she drawled.
Against his better judgment, he looked over his shoulder. Delilah stood where he had left her, her arms tight across her chest. Her face was a stony mask. It killed him to see how easily he’d erased the loving, gentle woman he’d held moments earlier.
“That’s the point. I knew immediately what I was doing was wrong. I had no business being attracted to you. Not—” he held up a hand “—because of who you are, but because of who I am. You were a walking, talking reminder of what I don’t deserve.”
She sighed. “You’re talking about the hazing again.”
“I’m talking about you. The kind of woman you are.”
“What kind is that?”
He had to turn back to the window. Outside, the sky had grown gray; the sun gone from view. “Spectacular,” he said in a reverent voice. “Hit me like a ton of bricks Sunday morning.” He could still remember the way his stomach clenched when he woke to find her smiling next to the bed.
“Wait a minute. Sunday morning? You sent me home Sunday morning. I spent an entire day trying to figure out why you shut down.”
“That was a mistake,” he admitted. “At the time I wasn’t sure what else to do.”
“Here’s a clue. You could have talked to me.” Suddenly she was in his view, her eyes hot with anger. “You could have told me what you were thinking.”
“I didn’t know what to say. I figured it would be better to buy some time until I could
sort out the words.”
“Is that so? Twenty-four hours of putting me through hell and the best you came up with was ‘this is wrong’ after we made love?”
Why did she keep using that word? “We didn’t make—”
“Yes, we did!” she spat. “I did.”
“Which is exactly why I had to back away!” Her declaration struck like a fist. Couldn’t she see he backed away to avoid those words, to save her from saying them? “For God’s sake, Delilah, you believe in soul mates and missing puzzle pieces. You want a relationship that promises happily ever after. I can’t give you those things. I can’t be anyone’s soul mate.”
He watched as his words struck her and prayed she would someday understand he was doing this for her. “The part of me worthy of that right doesn’t exist anymore,” he said. “There’s too much damage.”
“Oh, for crying out loud, Simon, when are you going to realize the past doesn’t matter to me?”
“I am my past!” he roared. “Don’t you get it?” Hands balling to fists, he broke away before he struck the wall. “When those guys... When I let those guys... I killed the real Simon Cartwright. He stopped existing and all that was left was this person pretending to be human. You slept with a shell, Delilah. A really charming, pathetic coward.”
“Damn you,” Delilah replied. How dare he stand there hurling the same words he hurled at the beach when not a single one of them was true. “You were not a coward that day. You were a scared child.”
He shook his head. Without looking at his face, she knew he’d shut his eyes and his ears to what she was trying to say. It only made her angrier. “You had no right to shut me out of this relationship.”
“I just want you to have what you deserve.”
“What I—” She shook her head. “Who are you to decide what I do and do not deserve? That is my call to make. Do you understand that? I decide who I want to be with and I decide which Simon Cartwright is the one I love. Do you understand me? Not you, not those bastards who raped you in the ninth grade. Me.”
Simon sucked in his breath.
The word just flew out. As soon as she heard the noise, she knew she’d crossed the line. Angry as she was, Delilah could kick herself. Simon could barely say the word hazing, he was nowhere near hearing the ugly truth. She’d just been so damn mad. Why couldn’t the stubborn fool see that he was so much more than what happened that day?
The Man Behind the Mask Page 13