“Today, my lord?” The secretary pulled out his watch. “It’s past noon already.”
“Go to the front desk and use the telephone there. If Helen feels it’s urgent that we meet, then I want that meeting as soon as possible.”
“Very good, my lord.”
The secretary bustled out of their office to follow instructions, and as Simon watched him go, he could only hope that whatever news Helen had for him would establish the guilt or innocence of a certain provoking, curvaceous, blue-eyed devil.
Five minutes of being friends with that woman had been enough to light him on fire, and he didn’t know how much more of her friendship he could take before she burned him to a crisp.
7
Delia scowled at the closed door, almost wishing she had lived up to that impossible man’s expectations and dosed his breakfast. Not with arsenic, of course, but would a harmless little emetic in his coffee have been so bad? That, she couldn’t help but feel, would have been poetic justice.
Still, playing such a trick, as satisfying as it might be in her imagination, would not be quite so satisfying in reality, since it would also get her fired. And it certainly wouldn’t solve the problem at hand.
She heaved an exasperated sigh, circled her desk, and plopped down in her chair, knowing she needed to come up with a more practical course of action than making Lord Calderon throw up.
She’d offered peace in the hope it would enable them to get along, help him see her point of view, and generally make things easier for everyone, but she’d clearly muffed it. So now what?
Going to Sharpe was out of the question. She wouldn’t give that scoundrel the time of day, and besides, it probably wouldn’t do any good. He knew Kay was her friend. And Simon would regale the other man with twisted stories about her motives as soon as he possibly could, warning the other man not to trust a single thing she said.
Nor could she go to Kay. After all her friend had suffered at Devlin Sharpe’s hands, Delia would not heap more pain and worry on her, especially not now, when she finally had the chance for some happiness.
And talking to Calderon, trying again to persuade him to see her point of view, was also out the window. Having had three husbands, Delia knew quite well when a man could be persuaded to a certain course and when he couldn’t. This man was definitely in the latter category.
The reason for that, of course, was that he was stubborn, unreasonable, and quite possibly off his onion. He not only disliked her for the most unjust reasons, but he now thought her some kind of scheming seductress as well.
What an insufferable presumption. As she’d tried to explain, all she’d been thinking to do was be nice, forge a truce, and become friends, and she’d gotten soundly snubbed and insulted for her trouble.
And why was that? she wondered in baffled irritation. What the devil was wrong with her? Most peoplelikedher, damn it all. So why didn’t he?
Not that it mattered, of course. She didn’t, she reminded herself sternly, care two straws for his opinion of her. As for seducing him, the thought had never even occurred to her. Why would she ever want to seduce a cold fish like him?
Suddenly, the image of his face came into her mind. The lean planes of his cheekbones, the straight Roman nose, the hard line of his mouth so close to hers, the spark of heat in those cool green eyes as they had homed in on her mouth.
She was no green girl. She knew what a look like thatusuallymeant. And when she’d seen it in Simon’s eyes, her body had responded at once, her pulses quickening with a faint, answering thrill.
The heated look she’d seen in his eyes must—must—have been her imagination, or a trick of the light. But what if it hadn’t been?
With that tantalizing question, Delia leaned forward, resting her elbow on her desk and her chin in her hand. What if the man she’d deemed such a cold fish wasn’t so cold after all? If he had kissed her, what then? What would it have been like, to have his arms around her and his lips on hers?
Again, she felt that thrill of excitement, that heated longing in her blood. It had been years since she’d felt such a thing, and it was wonderful. Quixotic, exciting, and wonderful.
It was also absurd. Simon wanting to kiss her? Not bloody likely.
I will strip naked and dance a jig on the Savoy rooftop before that happens.
For some reason, an image of him standing naked before her flashed through Delia’s mind—his wide shoulders, his narrow hips, his—
Appalled by the wayward direction her thoughts had taken, Delia veered her mind firmly away from carnal imaginings of Calderon’s manly attributes. She didn’t know which was more unlikely: being kissed by him or watching him dance naked on the hotel roof. But either way, such speculations were hardly helpful. Unless—
Suddenly, without any warning, a possible solution to her current problem flashed through her mind. She jerked upright in her chair, jolted by a shot of renewed hope.
It was a wild idea, she told herself. A wild, extravagant, perhaps even mad idea. But wasn’t the Savoy known the world over for its wild, extravagant, mad ideas? And if she could pull it off, Kay would have a wedding banquet so unique, people would talk about it for years to come.
There was only one problem: how to get Simon to agree. After thismorning, she doubted she could get him to agree with her about the color of an orange.
Once again, his face came before her eyes, and her own question echoed through her mind again.
