His head was swimming, his wits eroding more with every inch his hands went higher. His one, his only coherent thought now was to touch her bare skin, but before he could act on that delicious impulse, he heard Cassie call his name.
“Simon, the carriage is here.”
A sane man would come out of an erotic haze at once upon hearing the sound of his sister’s voice, but Simon proved he’d gone quite off the rails by ignoring it completely. Instead, he eased his hand between Delia’s thighs.
She was damp, ready, and when he slid his fingers into the slit of her drawers, she made a faint keening sound, her hips stirring against his seeking fingers. “Simon,” she wailed softly against his ear, her arms tightening convulsively around his neck.
She was close to orgasm, he knew. So, so close.
“Simon, we have to stop,” Delia gasped, even as her hips worked frantically against his caressing fingertips. “We have to stop. We have to stop.”
Suddenly, her legs tightened around his hand, and her protests ended in a startled gasp of surprise and pleasure as she came in a rush, her arms tightening around his neck. He relished the moment, savoring her orgasm as much as he would have his own. He continued to caress her with his thumb as he slid his index finger deeply inside her. She came again at once, and then again, and then again.
At last, she sagged against him with a sigh of pure feminine satisfaction, and he eased his hand out from between her thighs. His cock was aching, his entire body demanding release, and he moved to unbutton his trousers.
“Simon?” Cassie’s voice came again, more insistent this time.
Not yet, he thought, wanting, hungry with need.Not yet, for the love of God.
“Simon, where the devil are you?”
Her voice was drawing closer, and he gave a groan, knowing he had to stop. He could not let Cassandra catch them in here like this.
Drawing on willpower he didn’t even know he possessed, he jerked Delia’s skirts down and stepped back, withdrawing until she was safely out of his reach, but even then, even when they were no longer touching, he could not bring himself to leave her. He didn’t have enough strength for that.
“I have to go,” he heard himself say.
“Yes,” she agreed.
Neither of them moved.
“Simon?” Cassie’s voice, sounding quite alarmed by now, caused him to take a frantic glance around the column toward the doorway.
“I’m in the library,” he called back, his voice absurdly normal—a miracle, all things considered. “I’ll be along in a minute.”
“The luggage is stowed and Morgan’s already in the carriage, waiting for you.”
“Coming,” he called back. “Tell Morgan I’m coming.”
He returned his attention to Delia. She was staring at him, wide-eyed, disheveled, and delectable, her breasts heaving with her rapid breathing, her lips puffy from his kisses. He might never have the chance to see her this way again, and he drank in the image of her now like the parched desert soil soaked up rain, knowing he would remember it as long as he lived, no matter what happened.
“You said your business was urgent, but—” She broke off, her tongue flicking out to moisten those kiss-tinged lips, driving him mad. “But can’t you postpone it?”
“I can’t.” The words were an agonized whisper. “But—”
He broke off and took a deep breath. “But when it’s over, when it’s all behind us, perhaps—”
“Simon!” Cassie called, her voice frantic, almost strident in its insistence. “The train is in the station. I can see the smoke.”
With an oath, he bent and grabbed his dispatch case, then he straightened, turned away, and started for the door. Behind him, he heard Delia’s voice, breathless and bewildered.
“When what is behind us?”
He didn’t pause until he had stepped safely through the doorway. Then he turned to find her staring after him in bafflement, waiting for an answer he could not give.
“Don’t hate me,” he said. “That’s all I ask, Delia. For God’s sake, don’t hate me.”
He left her then, striding away across the foyer and out the front doors without a backward glance.
