Behind the Veil

by Kathryn Nolan

  With a half-roar, Henry twisted my hair and pulled me up.

  And had me facedown on the mattress, legs spread, eyes covered.

  I felt his mouth dip to my ear. “I’m going to fuck you, Delilah.”

  My hands ripped at the sheets. I couldn’t quite see Henry, not yet, which had my body primed in anticipation. His hands slid around my waist, over my ass cheeks, spreading them. His mouth was on the curve of my ass, drifting down my folds to lick his tongue inside me.

  I cried out, bucked against his lips as he tongue-fucked me. One hand slid up my spine to land at the base of my neck, holding me in place. There was the tell-tale sound of a condom—and the head of his cock was pressing right at my entrance. I tilted my hips, allowing him greater access. He pushed inside me, inch by inch. I screamed into the mattress. Henry went deep.

  And then deeper.

  And then so fucking deep I had to bite my hand. He was completely still, letting me get used to his size. I was burning up, already on the edge. He slid all the way out. Then all the way back in.

  Right over my G-spot.

  “Oh my god,” I moaned. “Henry, it’s… Oh my god, do that again.”

  His weight dropped carefully on top of me—my back to his chest. His hands landed on either side of my head, muscles of his forearm bunching as he fucked into me again. A slow, steady rhythm that had me panting.

  “More,” I said. “Henry, more.”

  His mouth landed at my ear again.

  “I’ll give you everything you desire, Delilah,” he rasped.

  He speared his fingers in my hair and pulled. And thrust into me with force.

  “It’s a privilege to bring you pleasure.” He clamped down on the spot between my neck and shoulder, pinning my hips down with his. The angle was deliciously deep as he twisted the strands of my hair.

  Henry kissed my neck, licked along my jaw, and fucked me in all the dirty ways I’d always fantasized about. I turned my forehead to the bed, stretched my arms out farther—feeling that wonderful combination of cherished and debauched again. The sensations building inside of me layered, grew, heated my lower belly. Tears were rolling down my cheeks from the exquisite sensations, Henry’s steady thrusts.

  His arm banded around my waist, and he lifted, sitting me backward on his lap and driving his cock into me. I screamed his name, head lolling back on his chest so he could continue kissing my throat. He reached down and yanked my knees wide, flattening two fingers right against my clit. Our bodies were slick with sweat, our chests heaving.

  “Ride me, Delilah,” Henry commanded in my ear. “Chase it. Take what’s yours.”

  I snapped my hips, taking his cock deep, placed my hand over his as he rubbed my clit. His other hand landed on my breast, where I entwined our fingers—holding Henry, holding me, giving us both what we needed. My final orgasm stole my breath with unabashed speed, blackened my vision, robbed my body of strength.

  I let everything pour out of me—my fears, my anxiety, my nerves, my guilt. Nothing about Henry and me being together could possibly be wrong.

  Henry came with a rough grunt, a grateful moan—tilting my face and kissing me until I was sighing. My tears landed on his fingers. He wiped them away. Kissed my temple, caressed my hair. Our hearts slowed, our breathing slowed. And the sudden realization I’d been avoiding came racing up through my sex-muddled thoughts.

  Henry Finch—sexy librarian, newest coworker, partner, fake husband—was the man I was falling for.

  47

  Henry

  “Chocolate chip or blueberry?” I held up each ingredient to Delilah’s inscrutable expression.

  She rocked her head back and forth. Tapped her chin.

  “Chocolate chip.”

  I gave her a sloppy kiss on the cheek. “My kind of girl.”

  She giggled, swinging her legs on the island. After epic, life-changing sex, I’d dragged her to my kitchen for breakfast. We were starving and in desperate need of coffee. While she prepped the pot, I brought down batter, eggs, homemade maple syrup. Flicked on burners and greased skillets.

  I was making Delilah Barrett breakfast in my warm, sunny kitchen. It felt so marvelous to enjoy each other in the light of day—not in some utility closet or in the shadows of a room. Not secret, hidden, or fake. It gave real credence to whatever was happening between us—the trust, the opening, the passion. We were barefoot in my kitchen, hair mussed, limbs loose and relaxed.

  It wasn’t hard for me to crave this as my reality.

  Delilah had scrubbed her heavy makeup off and tossed on my white tee-shirt. She was naked underneath. I put the skillet down, wrapped my fingers in the shirt, and pulled her toward me.

  “I like you here,” I said against her mouth, kissing her.

  She kissed me back, laughing. “I like being here.”

  I let her go—reluctantly—and went back to work cooking us pancakes. She poured me a cup of coffee before wandering over to the wall of photos I’d framed and hung the first weekend I moved back.

  “What are all of these places?” she asked.

  Without looking, I said, “Oxford, various places in England. Ireland, France, Prague, Spain. There’s a photo of Rome too.”

  “Henry the nomad?”

  “That’s pretty accurate,” I said, dropping chocolate chips into the batter. “The McMasters Library was my longest placement for more than ten years. But before that, I bounced around libraries all through Europe and the United Kingdom. Traveled most weekends for a while.”

  “And this is your family?” I glanced at that one—it was taken at Christmas on one of my rare trips home for the holidays. My parents and I, with Joelle and Jeremiah, were posed in front of a lit-up City Hall.

  “That’s them.”

  Her eyes were scanning each picture with frank interest. “Your siblings look moments away from inciting mischief.”

  “I think after that shot was taken, they had all of us ice skating. We were a mess. But, as usual, they made it fun. I see them now every Sunday at Sabrina’s Cafe for weekly brunch.”

  She hopped back up on the island. “It’s funny the things we miss when we live far away from those we love. Some days, I seriously contemplate driving the five hours to my dads’ house just for Sunday dinner.”

  “I understand that feeling,” I replied. We cooked and sipped in silence for a minute before I said, “Can I ask you something I’ve been wondering this whole time we’ve known each other?”

  “Sure,” she said. “Have at it.”

  “How did a rural tree-climber end up being a Philadelphia police officer?”

  I slid a bowl of blueberries her way. She popped one in her mouth. Thought for a moment.

  “I abhor missing things,” she said. “Almost as much as I abhor the thieves who made them missing. When I was a kid, the few neighbors we had would stop by for local gossip. Toss out that they lost their cat or their keys or their wedding rings. The thought of it made me itchy. Unbalanced. So I started a detective agency when I was ten.”

  I turned at that. “You were like…the Nancy Drew of your small town?”

  Her lips curved. “Yeah. I guess that’s a good comparison. My dads helped me make a sign that had little slips of paper at the bottom with our phone number. It had my school picture in the middle and it said You’ve lost it? I’ll find it.” She was laughing a little at the memory, hair blazing with the morning light from the window. It was like a halo of fire. “We put them up at church, the one diner, my school, the library. I had a decent list of customers until I went off to college.”

  The pancakes sizzled on the griddle as I flipped them. “Give me an example of a case.”

  “Well…” She thought for a second. “My first one was Betsy. She lived on a farm a half mile from the state park. She was constantly losing her keys, so on a whim, she called me. I think she thought it was cute, you know? She’d known me since my dads brought me home, used to babysit me and my siblings from time to time. But I fucking
found them.”

  My brow lifted. “How?”

  “I interviewed the whole family and did an assessment of Betsy’s movements and daily activities. She had a Monday through Friday purse, but also a weekend purse. It was Wednesday, and she’d lost the keys on a Tuesday.” Delilah shrugged. “She never thought to look in that weekend purse.”

  “Brilliant,” I said.

  “Why, thank you.” She gave a mock bow before eating another blueberry. “It piqued my interest in criminal justice, and as soon as I started my classes at Temple, here in the city, I was hooked. Plus it fit very neatly into the way I viewed the world.”

  I held out my hands, mirroring her pose from that night we’d discussed justice at the VIP event. “Good and evil.”

  “Yes.” She smiled. “And you look like you want to say something, husband.”

  I slid warm pancakes from the griddle, glanced over my shoulder at her. “I’m not your husband anymore, Delilah.”

  Her cheeks grew pink. “Oh, that’s right.”

  “I’m teasing you,” I said, giving her a plate of pancakes. “You know I like it.”

  I kissed her again. She tasted like dawn and fresh coffee. “And I was only going to ask if you’d shifted your opinion on that a little?”

  Delilah carefully cut into her breakfast, ate a piece, gave a husky moan that sent my heart racing.

  “Don’t try and distract me.”

  She smirked, ate another piece. “These are delicious.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And, um…” She peered out the window. “Maybe. When we saw Victoria through that painting and Sven told her we were the ones who had broken in to the passageways, I felt guilty.”

  I nodded, drizzled syrup across my plate. “Bernard is probably the world’s greatest book thief, but he was also a great academic. Victoria will buy anything just to buy it, even if it’s stolen. And she’s also donated millions of dollars to improve literacy.”

  “I dated my superior officer, even though I knew it was against the rules,” she said, but without the sadness of last night.

  “And I withheld evidence of Bernard’s crimes because I was blinded by my admiration for him.”

  The weight of all of that gray area hung between us in the kitchen. Delilah sipped her coffee, narrowing her eyes at me over the rim.

  “I’m still thinking about it,” she said. “But—yes, I think…I might be. Did you feel a little guilty when we saw Victoria?”

  I blew out a breath. “There was a moment when she was saying goodbye to us, flitting back into the crowd. I wondered if it was going to be the last time we’d ever see her, and the knowledge of that felt sad and anticlimactic. I realized how much I…”

  “You what?”

  “How much I like that kooky heiress.”

  “I feel that too,” she admitted. “All of this is entirely new for me, by the way.”

  “Why did you feel guilty then?” I asked.

  “We convinced her we were her friends. She shared confidences with me. We built a relationship, however quickly, on mutual trust, and we betrayed it. Even though she’s a criminal. I’ve never felt that way before. I think you’re making me soft.”

  “And I think you’re making me more bloodthirsty,” I admitted. “If we’d had the time, I would have taken those stolen books myself and marched right to the FBI.”

  This is why we make such great partners, I wanted to say. But that would mean bringing up work—the great unknown—and shattering our morning happiness seemed like a travesty.

  “I’ve turned you into a real detective, Henry Finch.” She wiped chocolate from her mouth. Before she could lick it away, I stepped across the floor, grabbed her wrist. Stepped between her spread legs and sucked her finger between my lips. Her eyes danced with mischief.

  “Delicious,” I repeated.

  Delilah hooked her legs around my waist, tugging me close. “Did you want to be a librarian when you were a little kid?”

  “I did,” I said, settling my hands on her hips. “Without books, I would have been a real lonely kid. Joelle and Jeremiah had tons of friends, and you know my parents worked constantly because of their jobs. Books were my escape—to different worlds, different universes. I could be a Viking or an archer, go back in time or see a distant future. And libraries held the key to all of that.” I marveled at the flecks of green shining in her eyes. “If libraries didn’t exist, where would we go to discover all the worlds we haven’t traveled to yet?”

  Delilah fairly beamed at that, until a shadow crossed her face. “I’m sorry Bernard took that from you.”

  I gave her neck an open-mouthed kiss. She shivered. “The more time I spend at Codex, the more time I spend with you, Delilah—the more I realize he can only take what I allow him to take.”

  An understanding flooded her expression at that. She cupped my face and brought our mouths together in a sweet and silly kiss that still left me filled with longing.

  She went to pull away, but I scooped her forward with a low growl, let our mouths open together, our tongues sweep, my fingers splay across her ass. It was a lazy, chocolate morning kiss; it was hot coffee and sunrise and the intimacy of bare feet.

  Her legs tightened on my waist, and I dragged my palms up her back to gather in her hair. A breathy moan escaped her lips as I kissed along her jawline. Down her neck. Right along her collarbone…

  Delilah’s cell phone rang out in the silence. Without breaking the kiss, she reached across the island and flipped it over.

  “Fuck, it’s Abe,” she said, touching her swollen lips.

  I nodded with a grimace. “Put it on speaker.”

  She did, pulling her legs up and away from me.

  “Hey,” she answered, voice tentative. “Everything okay?”

  “Good morning,” Abe said crisply. “I’ve been trying to reach Henry all morning. Do you happen to know where he is?”

  I rubbed a hand down my face. My phone was probably at the bottom of my bag, ignored since I’d brought Delilah home last night.

  “Um… no,” she said, brow furrowed. “But I can give him a ring. Maybe he’s on a run or something. Is everything okay?”

  I crossed my arms and leaned back against the counter.

  “I need him to verify authenticity of the manuscript this morning. Francisco is so ecstatic about the recovery he’s throwing an intimate VIP event tonight for special guests to get early eyes on the Copernicus.”

  “Oh,” Delilah said. “That’s good…I guess?”

  “And he wants us all there, to celebrate.” There was a long pause. “You’ll be there?” It was more command than question.

  “Of course,” she said. “And I’ll find Henry for you.”

  “Thank you,” Abe said. Then he cut the call.

  She placed the phone down. Cleared her throat awkwardly. “I should probably go so you can head to Codex.”

  Her cagey movements made me nervous. But she flashed me a flirtatious look. “Which is sad, since I had some ideas for that leftover chocolate.” The kiss she gave me was much less sweet and much filthier. “I’ll see you tonight, at this event?”

  Was this how it was going to be now? Seeing Delilah in my kitchen—and then seeing her at work? Pretending we weren’t falling for each other while still going undercover? Something wasn’t sitting right, but Abe’s orders to authenticate the Copernicus demanded my full attention.

  “Of course,” I said, squeezing our fingers together. “I’m already excited to see you there.”

  She blushed again—and it was so damn cute I wanted to press pause on this day, take her back to my bed, enjoy her luscious body for hours on end.

  She slid off my counter.

  “And what are you going to do?”

  She threw a few jabs, bounced on her toes—blush disappearing as quickly as it appeared. “Off to spar at the gym.”

  “Do you need a fighting partner soon?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. I’m really l
ooking for a partner that’s actually a challenge?” She propped her fists on her hips with another smirk.

  “Smart-ass,” I said, nipping at her neck.

  She squealed, danced away from me, as light on her feet as ever.

  “Bring that fighting spirit tonight, newbie,” she said, strolling up my stairs. My eyes lingered on her bare legs until they fully disappeared from view.

  While my heart clamored against my ribcage like a tambourine—rattling around everything I once thought I knew.

  48

  Delilah

  It’d been more than two weeks since the four of us had fled up these stairs, chasing a shared hunch that a book had been stolen. Now we stood in front of the Romanesque columns of the Franklin Museum and stared up at a banner that read: Revolutions of Spheres: Copernicus and the Heliocentric Solar System.

  “The last time a first edition of this book was in the United States was more than thirty-five years ago,” Henry told us. “This exhibit will be spoken of for a long time in the academic community.”

  “Good thing the book didn’t disappear for good,” Abe said briskly.

  He’d been cooler than usual to Henry and me since we’d appeared in front of the steps. I knew his anger would blow over—it always did—but I couldn’t help but feel those twinges of guilt over Victoria blossom into something more urgent when I looked at Abe and Freya. A desire to protect their trust in me at all cost.

  And when I turned and caught Henry’s eye, I knew where that feeling stemmed from. But how could I keep that trust while falling for my partner?