I clutched at the lapels of his jacket and shamelessly ground against him. Teeth scraped along my jaw as my right knee was pushed all the way to the door, peeling me open.
“We need to talk about touching again,” Henry rasped. His entire hand cupped my sex, with just lace as the barrier. A gratified groan shook loose from my fake husband. “Is this okay?”
“Yes,” I whispered.
His index finger slid across my clit, still covered in lace. “And this, wife?”
Oh God, this couldn’t be happening.
I couldn’t even speak—could only nod. When his finger slipped beneath and touched that tight bundle of nerves, I would have screamed if not for his other hand covering my mouth. I was a wild horse, refusing to be tamed—the tighter his hand gripped, the harder he trapped me with his body, the more eager I became.
But he held my eyes, continuing to seek my approval even as I realized this submission was what I desired. Henry caressed my clit with the same reverence I’d seen him exhibit while handling a rare manuscript—like whatever was beneath his fingers was the single most important thing in his universe. Within seconds I was racing toward orgasm, my entire body shaking, eyes locked on Henry’s. He covered my mouth with his, swallowing my cries through a series of breathless, intoxicating kisses.
“Please don’t stop,” I whimpered, shuddering, shivering.
My pussy clenched, seeking more, and Henry read my mind. His fingers slicked between my folds, dipping into my center. Henry finger-fucked with an ease I didn’t think possible, our mouths connected, his hips still thrusting between my legs, mimicking the work of his fingers. It was the single most passionate moment of my life—to be consumed like this, brought to a fast, blinding orgasm in the dark by the sexiest man I’d ever met. He massaged my inner walls, let his palm nudge my clit, and I burst into a thousand rays of light; I was the sun, arcing across the sky, I was waves of undulating pleasure.
And Henry knew what I needed—keeping his fingers working as I rode out a flurry of after-shocks, he pulled me tightly into his chest, let me scream softly against his jacket, let me writhe and pant as he kissed my hair, kissed my cheek. Cherished every inch of me.
“Delilah,” he whispered at my temple, “I think we just had newlywed sex.”
27
Henry
Delilah stared at me with so much astonishment I felt my chest physically tighten. She’d tasted like ripe peaches and ridden my hand like a goddess. In the span of a few minutes, our red-hot fantasy had transformed into a reality I hadn’t realized I craved so very badly.
Would I ever be able to forget the sight of her, coming apart around my fingers?
Could I live without my lips on hers, every moment of the day?
With a grin, I smoothed down her sex-ravaged hair and felt another jolt of tenderness. Arcs of light were spilling across the floor—flashlights. The sound of the hallway guards stormed back into our room almost violently. I stared at the door behind Delilah—and I could feel the spell breaking, a hair-line fracture splintering in our game.
Any second now, we were going to get pulled from this secret place—and then what?
“I need to feel you,” Delilah sighed. Her fingers flew to my belt, making quick work of the material there.
“Delilah, we can’t—”
My zipper came down. The door in the room immediately next to ours was yanked open—the squeal of it like a chainsaw.
“We haven’t checked this one yet, have we?” The guards were literally right outside the fucking door, and the only thing I knew was the incredible sensation of her hand, cupping the length of me.
Even in this impossible situation, I was so fucking hard it hurt. And when she pulsed her fingers up, I exhaled a raw, grateful groan that echoed in the quiet space. Adrenaline and lust made a potent combination, singing in my veins, tempting me toward all kinds of filthy things I couldn’t do.
Like drag Delilah to the ground and fuck her right here, skirt flipped up and stilettos digging into my shoulders.
“Hold on, the doorknob’s a little stuck.” The stranger’s voice sliced through our dark room, knob shaking and turning.
A recognition of danger pierced me. I pulled her to my chest, spun us around so my back faced the guards. Their flashlights illuminated the extremely small storage space we’d been hiding in.
The spell broke.
Delilah was vibrating. I fixed my zipper, straightened my tuxedo jacket, and turned to the guards with a faux sheepish grin. We were panting, hair mussed, clothing wrinkled.
We’d certainly gotten our story straight.
“Newlyweds,” I said with a chuckle. “Are we in trouble?”
It was the two men from before—and they looked both pissed and bemused.
“We’ll see ourselves back to the table,” Delilah stuttered. She made a move to leave, taking my hand, when one of the guards snagged her by the elbow.
Whatever look she gave stunned him for a moment.
“Delilah,” I cautioned.
She blinked and transformed back into her undercover role.
But she still yanked her arm away.
“Not gonna happen,” the guy said. “Head of security needs to speak with you. Now.”
Delilah and I exchanged a panicked look. The sheer magnitude of what happened between us felt life-altering. And now we were being led back into the gala, keeping to the sides, so the guards could escort us to their boss. Delilah was chanting a steady stream of “fuck fuck fuck,” and I was scanning the crowd for Victoria.
She wasn’t there. Although Sven was.
There was movement in the far corner of the room—a flash of Victoria’s white hair. I felt Delilah catch it too—she straightened from head to toe. Push-pulled me in front of her as we sidled through the crowd.
“I’m going after Victoria,” she murmured. “Cover for me.”
Before I could say a word - Delilah dashed toward her, stopping to scoop a martini up from a passing waiter.
“Was that your wife running away from us?” Guard #2 snarled. He moved to go after her.
“She’ll cause a scene, you know,” I said—the first idea that flew into my head. “Screaming, plates crashing, the whole ordeal. She just saw a friend, that’s all. I don’t want her to ruin the gala because of your actions.”
“You’re still in fucking trouble.”
“I know,” I said, feigning sheepishness. “Take me away.”
I turned around and Delilah was gone—racing into the Medieval and Byzantine Era wing of the museum. I saw her black hair, the long train of her beaded gown.
And then I was being led away by the guards to some uncertain punishment.
28
Delilah
Tailing Victoria Whitney through a wing of Medieval architecture had an intense cooling effect on my nerves. I couldn’t think about Henry, or the storage space, or whatever erotic magnificence had transpired between us.
I only saw our target.
She’d already willingly accepted a book we told her had been stolen last week—and had barely batted an eyelash. If Abe believed Bernard Allerton had been instigating large-scale manuscript theft for twenty years—and she’d known Bernard for half of that time—who was to say Victoria wasn’t more heavily involved?
I followed her through a hallway filled with battle axes and swords forged from steel. It evoked memories of brutality and violent history, plagues and famine—and Victoria was strolling through it like a springtime rose garden. She wove discreetly through the Christian art and Byzantine architecture, and for one terrifying second, I thought I’d lost her.
I turned down a hallway into the cloisters.
There she was.
Cloisters were the courtyards in the center of medieval monasteries, carved in stone and filled with fountains and gardens. The museum had one from the thirteenth century, and the sculptures seemed to contain the peaceful spirit of the monks who once strolled here in the sunshine.
> They were eerily quiet, with no visitors except Victoria. She sat in front of a trickling fountain. Alone. There was something about the slump of her shoulders that I recognized.
Victoria Whitney—Philadelphia royalty, wealthy heiress, media darling—was crying.
I approached her like a hunter with a skittish animal—feet soft, voice low. “Are you alright?”
She was sitting on the bench and staring at the fountain with tears on her cheeks. I thought she hadn’t heard me, so I sat down next to her, smoothing the long train of my gown off to the right.
“Victoria?”
“Oh, sweet girl,” she said, patting my hand. “How did you find me here?”
“This is Henry’s favorite section of the museum. He loves to stare at the medieval stained-glass windows.”
“Well, your husband is a man that truly appreciates the weight of history.” Her smile was watery. I reached into my clutch and found a packet of tissues.
“You and your gifts,” she said, taking one gratefully.
“These are neither rare nor signed.”
“And yet it’s still greatly appreciated.”
We sat in silence for a minute. The trickling sounds of the fountain was a balm to my jangling nerves.
“Sometimes being in the presence of great love sends me to hysterics.”
“I’m sorry?” I asked.
“You and Henry.”
“Oh…oh, Victoria,” I started, surprised at her honesty.
And equally surprised at the sympathy that rose in me.
“There is nothing you need to apologize for. It’s a compliment, trust me. I know at dinner I was making light of my many engagements. But I’ve had quite the rollercoaster in my life when it comes to love.”
I went to lay a hand on her shoulder—but pulled away at the last second.
“Henry’s your great love, isn’t he?”
Her blue eyes pierced mine like an arrow.
“Yes, he is,” I said without even a pause. I crossed my legs, smoothed down my dress, aware that my limbs were still shaking.
“I’ve had several great loves in my life, not just my various fiancés. Some of them were even married to other women at the time. A mistake on their part.”
“How dare they?” I agreed with a sly smile.
“Well, that’s what I’ve always said.” Victoria let out a long, dramatic sigh. “I’ve never lacked for passion, Delilah. Never lacked for midnight proposals, hasty engagements, romantic declarations. But a love that withstands challenge…”
She sniffed, wiping her nose elegantly. “Although, between us girls, perhaps I’d tire of one man for the rest of my days.” Her brows raised. “I can’t imagine you ever growing tired of Henry.”
The only romantic passion I’d ever experienced had been with a man whose only goal was to toss me away like yesterday’s garbage. Yet every time Henry and I ended up in a confined space, I experienced an intensity I never knew existed. His cock beneath my fingers had been gloriously hard, deliciously thick—skin like velvet as I’d explored with my hand. Henry Finch in a tuxedo was too dangerous a temptation—it amplified both his handsomeness but also his brilliance.
What if the guards hadn’t come?
What if Henry had twisted his fingers in my hair and brought me to my knees? I already knew I would have dropped to the ground eagerly.
If this startling hunger invading my senses was what being with Henry Finch was like all the time, how could you ever grow tired of it?
“I’ll take your dazed expression for a no.” She seemed amused.
Heat flared in my cheeks. “We’re very much in love.”
“That’s quite obvious, dear,” she smiled. “Everyone in the room can see your love is real. Don’t let it go, whatever you do.”
Victoria reached forward, grasping my hand.
The most remarkable feeling was blossoming in my chest—I couldn’t keep track of who I was. I was Delilah Barrett, not Delilah Thornhill. And this criminal sitting in front of me had almost certainly stolen a rare book I was being paid to get back.
But I squeezed her hand.
“The gossip columns love to trash me over my many engagements.” Her voice dripped with disdain. “They like to make me out to be some batty old lady that collects fiancés like baseball cards. But I love love.”
“Even though it makes you sad?”
Victoria turned away from me, jaw tightening. “Yes, well. It comes in waves sometimes. The yearning for love, the regret over the past. Seeing the two of you on that dance floor reminded me of a party, just like this one, years ago. I was with Bernard Allerton, actually.”
The hair raised on the back of my neck.
“I can’t believe your Henry never met him. Not at a conference, anything like that?”
“No.” My mouth was dry. “Although he’s certainly seen him give speeches before. He really looks up to Bernard, considers him to be a true scholar.”
Even now that he fully understood the landscape of Bernard’s betrayal, there was a part of Henry that still looked up to his mentor.
Weeks after Mark had fired me, I’d sat at the kitchen table with my dads, crying into a large mug of peppermint tea. Not because I’d been fired, but because we’d broken up. It took months before I felt my true self return to my body—and I welcomed the anger over the sadness.
“Bernard Allerton is a pioneer. A true revolutionary in his field.” Victoria was watching the fountain—but I was watching Victoria.
“When…when will you see him again?” I asked, tone light.
Her fingers fidgeted in her lap. “Unclear, really.” She avoided my eyes for the first time in the conversation. “Did you mean what you said back there, about the provenance of the Virginia?”
“We did. Did it make you nervous?” I asked. “I will gladly take it back.”
Her fingers stilled.
“No, it did not. Not everything on this earth belongs in a museum or a library, Delilah. I appreciate rarity on a deep level, deep in my soul. It brings me immense joy to own a piece of history.” She gave her watery eyes one last swipe. “Oh, you must think I’m an evil person.”
“Not at all,” I said. The words were only a partial lie. “You don’t think Henry is—”
“Don’t you say another word. Your husband is a scholar. And he knows rarity when he sees it. It was a lovely gift and I shall treasure it.”
The trickling water sounds washed over us—cloisters still seeped in silence. I twirled my fake wedding ring. “Was that man you were dancing with a new suitor?”
“That man is an idiot,” she said. “And that was only for show. Love, love like the kind you have with Henry, is as rare as Virginia’s signature on that book.”
You taste like ripe peaches on a summer’s day.
“Henry is certainly very…captivating.”
“That’s the perfect word for that husband of yours.”
I pulled the rings from my hand, let them shine in my palm.
“When you’re not looking, Henry stares at you like you’re the only star in his sky.”
Our eyes met—a fist was closing around my throat. After Mark, I’d promised myself I’d never break the rules again. Even though I was no longer on the police force, I knew where the lines of good and bad were drawn.
But I’d stepped right over that line with Henry—gladly. Because I was positive Abe wouldn’t approve of his undercover agents dating each other, and yet every cell in my body recognized that Henry was different.
Could that be possible? Could you make the same mistake again and have it be no mistake at all?
“How you blush when I mention him,” Victoria said, wrenching me back to the present moment.
A few other patrons were finally wandering back through the cloisters, speaking in soft whispers. The room demanded their awed respect; the act of devotion clung to the air like the green vines that wrapped around the stones.
“How often do you and Henry visit
Reichenbach Falls?”
“Just when we see something that catches our eye.” Should I push her here? Or pull? I wanted Henry by my side—our partnership was starting to feel as familiar as what I had with Freya.
How was I going to get access to her collection?
From the corner of my eye, I saw Henry’s tall, broad form approaching with the guards. He moved through the cloisters with a masculine grace.
When I widened my eyes at him, he winked.
“Mr. Thornhill,” Victoria said, surprised. “I trust you’re not in trouble? These are my guests, you see.”
“Uh, yes, ma’am.” The guard coughed. “We were unaware until Mr. Thornhill told us.”
“What are you in trouble for?” she asked. “Did you steal something?” Her eyes glittered with teasing humor.
“The guards caught us in one of the utility closets,” I said, touching my hair shyly. “Indisposed, if you will.”
Victoria merely waved her hand and the guards lumbered away.
“You two keep getting more and more interesting, don’t you?”
29
Henry
“Thank you,” I said to Victoria, reaching out my hand to lift Delilah from the stone bench. “We were enjoying ourselves a little too much.”
“Young love,” she mused. A knowing look passed between her and my partner.
“I trust you and my lovely wife are enjoying the gala?”
Victoria fluffed her hair. “Girl talk. You are certainly the brains, Henry. But your wife has a fierce heart.”
That was certainly true.
“Although Delilah told me you were off enjoying the stained-glass windows. Not in trouble with the law.”
I slid my hands into my pockets, shrugged. “We were a little embarrassed,” I admitted, leaning in. “I do come and sit in front of those stained-glass windows, though.”
Behind the Veil Page 18
