He was an idiot.
And yet, had he taken what she’d so temptingly offered, had he gone to her room and done what he’d been imagining for weeks, he’d still be lying here afterward, wide awake, cursing himself—not for being an idiot, no, but for being a dishonorable bastard who let his cock do his thinking for him.
A no-win situation if ever there was one.
It was a good thing indeed that he was leaving for the country today. Perhaps he ought to stay in Berkshire longer than a few days. It could easily be managed. Ross would be here to deal with anything that might come up in his absence, and he would only be a few hours away by train if anything happened at the hotel that required his return. He hadn’t had a holiday in ages, and Cassie could certainly do with the company.
All those reasons made perfect sense, and yet, he knew his real motive for wanting to linger in the country had nothing to do with being sensible. He needed to get clear of Delia. He needed time and distance so that he could regain his perspective, put his priorities back in order, and cool the desire for her that ran through his blood.
He heard the clock on the mantel chime the hour. Six o’clock. With an oath, he tossed back the sheets, giving up any idea of sleep, and got out of bed. He slid on a dressing robe, fetched a towel and a cake of soap, and went to take a cold bath.
An hour later, he was in his office with a stack of financial reports and correspondence in front of him. Given the early hour, and thefact that it was Sunday, this part of the hotel was quiet as a tomb, but if Simon thought he could get clear of Delia by immersing himself in work, he was very much mistaken.
The door to her office was open, and every time he looked up at the darkened room next door, he remembered the first time she’d awakened his arousal with her attempts to call a truce. Though she was not here, he seemed to catch the scent of her perfume with every breath he took, and in the quiet of a Sunday morning, he could hear her whispered words of a few hours ago.
Come to my room.
His body responded at once, heat curling in his groin, temptation beckoning.
I want you and I know that you want me.
Want? God, he ached with wanting.
Tossing the pencil aside, Simon closed the accounting ledger in front of him, plunked his elbows on the desk, and rested his head in his hands with an aggravated sigh. He had no one to blame for this mess but himself.
The question now was what to do about it.
The most agreeable answer was obvious, but not one he could act upon. But perhaps when this mess with the Savoy was over, and Ritz was gone—
He cut off that hopeful possibility at once. Guilty or innocent, there was no way in hell she’d ever make him that delectable offer again. If she was guilty, she’d be fired along with the rest, and blame him for it. If she was innocent, she would only hear what had happened from Ritz, for Simon had signed confidentiality agreements upon his appointment, and he could not break his word to give her the true facts.
The idea that he even wanted her at all was baffling to him. Morality and honest dealing were not just words to him, they were a way oflife, and wanting a woman like her, a woman who, at best, played fast and loose with the rules, was an aggravating thing indeed. At worst, she was a thief, but even if the evidence proved her so, he feared it would not be enough to dampen his desire for her.
“Ah, so here you are!”
The sound of a strident feminine voice broke into his thoughts. He looked up to find Helen in the doorway, and the look on her face told him Delia was not the only female giving him grief today.
“Helen.” He stood up. “What brings you out so early on a Sunday?”
“That you can even ask that question amazes me. What in God’s name are you thinking?”
He had no idea what she was referring to, but the question almost made him want to laugh just the same, for he’d been asking himself that exact question for the past six hours with no answer in sight. Still, given her anger, laughing at this moment, even if that laugh was an ironic one, probably wasn’t a good idea. “I beg your pardon?”
She crossed the small office in three quick strides. “Don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean,” she said, halting before his desk. “I saw you.”
“What?” He stared at her, dismayed and appalled, and those torrid moments on the roof with Delia came roaring back. How the hell could Helen have seen them? The steel lattice doors of the lift, when opened, rattled loud enough to wake the dead. Surely he’d have heard. The moment that thought went through his mind, however, he grimaced, remembering the state of arousal he’d been in at the time, and he appreciated that a herd of water buffalo could very well have rumbled across the rooftop without gaining his attention.
“Really, Simon,” she went on, her voice vibrating with the force of her fury, “sitting in that woman’s box at the opera? Are you mad?”
“The opera?” he echoed, relief beginning to displace his dismay as comprehension dawned. “Oh, theopera.”
“Yes, the opera! What did you think I meant?”
Guiltily, he looked away. “Well,” he began, but she spoke again before he could articulate some sort of answer to that question.
“I was there, Simon. I saw you sitting in her box, plain as day. I daresay half of London saw you!”
He took a deep breath and got firm hold of his scattered wits. “My sister is in town, and I wanted to take her out for the evening. Lady Stratham kindly invited us to share her box at Covent Garden.”
