She stirred, tossing her head. “Just so,” she muttered. “In spite of everything, I still like men. I like romance. And I like lovemaking. I may have forgotten these things for a while, but I still like them and want them. There, I’ve shocked you, I daresay.”
“Not really, no,” he said. “But,” he added, his smile widening, “I suspect you were hoping you would.”
“Maybe a bit,” she admitted, laughing, her usual good humor restored. “But it’s your own fault, you know.”
It was his turn to laugh. “You needle me and tease me and say outrageous things solely in order to provoke me, and that’s my fault?”
“Yes. Teasing you is irresistible. It’s because you’re so… straight, so upstanding and honorable.”
He wondered suddenly how honorable she would think him if she knew his real mission at the Savoy, and he hastened into speech. “My friend Devlin says the same.”
She made a face at the mention of that name, clearly not impressed by the comparison. “Speaking of scoundrels…”
“He’s not. I know you disagree,” he added as she opened her mouth to argue the point. “And your loyalty to your friend Lady Kay does you credit, but I’ve known him for fourteen years, and I know the soundness of his character. I started life with nothing, and I’d probably still have nothing if it weren’t for him. He persuaded me to stake him in a gold-mining venture in Africa, and I put every shilling I could spare into it. It paid off, giving me enough to buy my first hotel when I returned to England.”
“That doesn’t mean your friend isn’t a scoundrel when it comes to women.”
“There’s usually blame on both sides when love affairs go awry. Butplease, Delia, let’s not argue. I enjoyed myself far too much this evening to let an argument spoil it.”
“Did you enjoy yourself?” She blinked as if that was an unexpected admission. “Really?”
He looked into her eyes, his gaze steady. “Yes, really.”
She smiled, a wide, radiant smile of pure pleasure she made no effort to hide, and Simon felt something sharp and sweet pierce his chest, a reminder that he’d best tread carefully. A few more smiles like that from her and his heart might be in jeopardy.
He swallowed hard, hoping to hide it, but despite his efforts, she seemed to sense, at least a little, the thoughts passing through his mind. “You’d better watch out,” she warned, her voice carelessly light. “Too many more nights at the opera together and people will start to think I’m after you to be husband number four. You could be endangering your life.”
It wasn’t his life he was worried about, but before he could think of a way to set her straight without giving himself away, she spoke again. “It’s clear the only safe thing for any poor chap who becomes entangled with me would be a torrid affair.” She heaved a sigh. “I’d only do that if there could be explosions.”
At once, delicious images of her naked in his bed crossed his mind, and arousal hit him square in the groin. Desperate, he curled his hands around the balustrade in front of him, gripping it hard as he fought for control, reminding himself of all the reasons this woman was out of bounds. She might be a thief, for one thing, but he was beginning to appreciate that his masculine nature didn’t care one bit about her morals or lack of them. Hell, if she were caught robbing the Bank of England, he’d probably still want her. She was flirting with him, but he suspected that flirting with men was as natural to her as breathing; it didn’t mean anything. And even if she were genuinelyattracted to him, she’d surely change her tune once the truth came out.
“It’s a good thing,” she added dryly, breaking the silence, “that I’m not holding my breath waiting for those explosions to happen.”
“That,” he said in a harsh whisper, “is probably wise of you.”
“You really are the most vexing man,” she cried. “Any other chap would take these shameless hints I’m throwing his way and start planning a wicked weekend for us in an obscure country cottage somewhere. But of course, you’re far too good and honorable for that sort of thing.”
Exasperation flared up inside him, mixing with his lust. “For God’s sake,” he muttered, letting go of his death grip on the balustrade and turning to face her, “stop talking as if I’m some sort of saint.”
“You mean you’re not?”
“Hardly,” he said. “If I were—”
He broke off, his gaze sliding irresistibly to her mouth. “If I were a saint, I wouldn’t find you such a damnably tempting little morsel, would I?”
“Am I tempting?”
He met her eyes, and the desire he saw in their midnight-blue depths called to the lust within him like a siren song. Lying, he realized, was pointless. “You know you are. I daresay plenty of other men have found you so.”
Her full pink lips took on a rueful curve. “Well, I’d like to think so, but with you, I’m never really sure where I stand, to be honest.”
That was a bit reassuring, but then she moved closer, the heat within him flared even higher, and any sense that he might actually gain the upper hand with her went straight out the window.
“Most of the time,” she murmured, “I feel as if you can’t stand me.”
He swallowed hard. “Indeed?” he managed.
“But then…” She paused, her tongue flicking out to lick her lips,and heat curled in his belly. “But then you look at me the way you’re looking now, and I wonder.”
