“By the way,” Roberto said as he started to walk away, “from one friend to another, watch out for the woman sitting under the green umbrella. Old broad’s got a thing for younger men.”
“Thanks for the tip,” Simon replied. Which Roberto no doubt hoped would lead to Simon flirting shamelessly. He made a mental note to find out about the woman before speaking with her.
Such a beginner’s mistake; so unlike his competitor. Simon was distracted, but he wasn’t an idiot.
Now Delilah was blushing again. She and Josh were getting way too chummy. Hadn’t she listened to a word he’d said yesterday? Someone needed to interrupt before things got out of hand.
Halfway around the swimming pool, his progress ended when a large athletic-looking man grabbed his arm. “Simon, right? You went to Bates North?”
Stupid idiot, he thought, staring at the hand on his arm. He could feel his muscles beginning to tense and prepared to jerk away. It never crossed his mind there would be guests who’d attended Bates. Of course there would be. In a rarified circle such as this, at least ninety percent graduated from one of the boarding schools.
The man introduced himself, a vaguely familiar-sounding name. Whoever he was, he’d obviously been told about Simon because he immediately launched into a trip down memory lane involving more vaguely familiar names and the latest fund-raising campaign.
“...in the end I decided to give the full amount. I know after the hazing scandal a lot of alums pulled their support, but really, what’s the big deal, right? Not like they weren’t pulling the same sort of stuff when they were there. I mean, look at Chip Amato. He was infamous for the stuff he used to do on the crew team....”
Simon’s insides froze. It was a name he hadn’t heard in fifteen years. One he never wanted to hear again.
You’ve got to show us how much you love the team...
He managed to fake a smile in spite of the bile in his mouth. “Yeah, Chip did some crazy stuff.” Horrible, crazy stuff.
Clearly what’s-his-name thought it all a big joke. “Tell me about it. I heard about this one kid he cornered in the locker room... Hey, are you all right?”
No, he was pretty sure he was going to lose what little he had in his stomach. “The heat,” he lied, coughing. “I need to grab some water.”
“I’ll let you head to the bar then. We can count on you for a donation though?”
“Sure,” he managed to spit out. “Send the stuff to my office.”
He returned to his mission, hoping he didn’t look too shaky as he broke away. The line about water wasn’t a lie; an empty stomach, the sun and Chip Amato’s memory decided to pound their way into his brain. What he really needed was Delilah. He needed her steady presence. The warm, safe feeling he got when looking in her eyes. Then he’d feel better.
Only one problem. When he got to the bar area, Delilah had moved on.
* * *
Without Delilah to center him, he was forced to make the rounds on his own. Sixty minutes of small talk with half a dozen people, all thinking they were being subtle about pumping him for information. He even spoke with Roberto’s supposed cougar, who it turned out, was actually mourning the death of her partner—her female partner.
While making a note to repay the Mediatopia exec the favor, he scanned the beach for a cream-and-yellow sundress. Where the devil had she gone? He’d specifically told her not to spend too much time with Josh and what had she done? Take off with the man. The barrel-chested millionaire was probably grinning his cheeks off at her right now. Dammit, Delilah wasn’t supposed to be fielding grins; she was supposed to be here. With him.
He headed toward the bonfire. Jim Bartlett headed in the same direction. If he couldn’t find Josh and Delilah, he could distract himself by making small talk with the senior Bartlett.
Halfway along the beach path, Delilah’s laugh floated up from the dock, hitting him square in the gut. Looking to the dock, he saw Josh helping her out of his speedboat.
As soon as Delilah spied him, she waved. “Simon! Guess what?” she exclaimed when she spotted him approaching. She looked amazing. Windblown cheeks, hair damp and wild around her face. Her sandals dangled from her fingertips, leaving her padding in dainty bare feet. And again with that dress swaying back and forth. Simon’s body hummed with arousal.
“We saw a shark!” Her smile lit up her face adding to the sexiness. “His fin anyway. He couldn’t have been ten feet from the boat.”
“Sand shark,” Josh replied. “Must have followed the Gulf Stream up here.”
At the sound of Josh’s voice, Simon’s arousal turned to annoyance. The guy had helped Delilah out of the boat already. There was no need for his hand to hover near her back.
“Sounds like I missed a fascinating trip,” he said, making sure he flashed a wide smile. “Would you mind if I steal my assistant back for a minute? I need to chat with her.”
“Don’t keep her too long.” A handsome, silver-haired man jumped out of the boat and joined them. He slipped his arm around Delilah’s shoulders. “They’ll be serving the lobsters soon.”
“Thomas and his wife, Louisa, are going to teach me the proper way to crack the claws.”
“All in the wrist,” Thomas joked.
“Something tells me I’ll still end up with lobster juice on my bib.” Delilah’s smile faded. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
Wrong? How about the fact that he needed her and she was off gallivanting with someone else? Tired of watching people touch her, Simon had replaced Thomas’s arm with his and was steering her toward the beach. “Looks like you got over your small-talk phobia pretty quickly,” he said when he was certain they were out of earshot.
“What? Oh, you mean Thomas and Louisa? Aren’t they sweet? They remind me of my grandparents.”
“And Josh? Does he remind you of your grandparents, too?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. By the way, we completely misjudged his invitation the other day.”
Simon dropped his arm. “Is that so?” Sure didn’t look it to him.
“Turns out the only reason he asked me out was so he could grill me about you and the agency. He gave Carl, Roberto Montoya’s assistant, the same treatment.”
Same treatment, his foot. He bet Carl didn’t come back looking all wind-teased and sexy. “And you believed him?”
“Why shouldn’t I? What would be the point in lying? Besides, you should have seen him trying to be subtle. Completely transparent.”
“I bet.”
Delilah’s face drew into a frown. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.” He didn’t feel like rehashing the argument, even if anyone with two eyes could see the man was interested in more than information.
“Obviously it’s something or you wouldn’t feel the need to drag me onto the beach. I know you said not to spend too much time with Josh...”
“Oh, so you do listen to me.”
“Of course I listen to you.”
“Well then, if you can tear yourself away from sightseeing, I’d appreciate it if you focused on the reason we’re here.”
“I am focused. Thomas and Louisa happen to be Jim Bartlett’s oldest and closest friends. If anyone’s vote of confidence in this matters, it’s theirs.”
“I see.” Simon stopped to study the bubbles in the surf. “How did you meet these great contacts?”
“Josh introduced us.”
Of course he did.
Simon rubbed at the knot in his neck. He sounded like a petulant child, but he couldn’t help himself. Hearing her laugh like that with Josh sent yesterday’s possessiveness into overdrive. She was supposed to be by his side, dammit.
She was by his side now. They’d walked as far as the private beach would allow. Standing at the water’s edge, he watched as the
surf kissed Delilah’s bare feet, the bubbles splashing up and over the pale pink skin. She pulled her foot back, her toe drawing a line in the sand that was quickly erased by the receding wave. If only everything could be erased so easily. Like childish conversations.
Like the past.
“I thought getting to know them better would help our cause,” Delilah said in a soft voice.
He hated that she thought she needed to apologize. “Forget I said anything,” he told her.
“No problem.” Her toe drew another line. “I’ll add it to the list.”
“List?”
“Of things I’m supposed to forget this weekend.”
That list. Damn thing must be a mile long by now. Delilah’s attention remained trained on the surf. Simon’s hands itched to catch her jaw and turn her face to his. He suddenly needed to see her eyes. The dark Atlantic was a poor substitute.
“He’s interested in you,” he heard himself say.
The comment won him what he wanted; she looked up, her blue eyes wide. “Don’t be ridiculous. I told you, he asked Carl out, too.”
She was the one being ridiculous. Josh might have entertained Carl, but he definitely didn’t smile at him like he was a piece of cake too good to eat. “Trust me. I know interested when I see it. Josh Bartlett is interested.”
“Oh.”
That’s all she had to say? Oh? A sour taste rose in his mouth. “Are you interested in him?”
“Would it matter?”
He should have said no, but staring into her blue eyes, he could only think about how he’d found the calm he’d been looking for. The falling sensation gripped him, leading him to a place warm and safe.
Before he realized what he was doing, his fingers brushed the hair from her face. Her skin was damp from the sea spray. The salty scent rose up like an erotic perfume. “You’re my assistant,” he told her.
“What does that mean?”
“It means...” Squeezing his fingers into a fist, he turned away. “It means nothing.”
His head needed distance to think. A few feet away, the beach and sea grass met on a small flat. He headed there and sat down. A warm presence by his shoulder told him Delilah had followed. “What’s going on?” she asked. “You’re not acting like yourself.”
Simon almost laughed at the inadvertent irony in her statement. “This weekend’s getting to me is all,” he answered. It was, quite possibly, the understatement of the century. “This whole game Bartlett’s playing... It’s too much. I’m tired.”
“You are?”
Of course she would sound surprised. She saw the same Simon Cartwright as the rest of the world—the man who breezed through life. The winner, the charming champion. Fifteen years later, the promise he made to himself in the boathouse held strong. No one knew the flawed reality.
Taking off his sunglasses, he pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, trying to keep the thoughts from escaping. God, but things were so much easier when he was in New York.
“What was easier?”
He didn’t realize he’d spoken aloud. Intending to answer “nothing,” he turned around, only for the response to die on his tongue when he saw the concern on Delilah’s face. Real, honest concern that came from caring.
It suddenly dawned on him that Delilah might be the closest thing he had to a real friend in this world. No one else would put up with his behavior this weekend. The way he jerked her around from hot to cold and back. She deserved more than a vague answer.
“Playing Simon Cartwright,” he said.
Her expression clouded. “I don’t understand.”
“It’s an act, Delilah. The charm, the confidence, all of it.”
“What are you talking about? You might be a little off your game....”
“It’s all a game,” he corrected. Her need to defend him, even though futile, left a warm spot in the center of his chest. “I’m nothing more than a really good actor. A snake-oil salesman giving the people what they want.”
“I don’t believe you,” Delilah said. “I’ve known you for four years.”
A voice laughed in his head. Shame, bitter and sharp, rose in his throat. It choked him till his vision blurred. “No one knows me, Delilah,” he said, breaking away. “Not the real me. They haven’t for fifteen years.”
“I’d like to.”
She’d been asking for an answer since this morning. Did he dare give her the one she wanted? He couldn’t bare the idea of letting her down. On the other hand, her knowing would definitely sever whatever it was going on between them this weekend.
How he’d love to have someone understand.
“Simon?” Her hand rested on his arm. The touch eased some of the tightness in his throat. “Who are you?”
This was it. Once the words were out there would be no turning back. He turned so he wouldn’t see the disappointment flooding her eyes. “A coward.” The word made him sick to say. “A weak, pathetic coward.”
“No.” Her whisper was hoarse. She was fighting him, but there was no escaping the truth.
“I’m sorry, Delilah.” She had no idea how sorry. He went to move, but she tightened her grip on his arm.
“No,” she repeated. “You can’t say something like that and walk away. Why on earth would you think such a thing? What happened?”
Simon fought the urge to run as the memories of that day flashed before his eyes. “You don’t want to know.”
“Please...”
“Hey, you two! Lobster’s up! Better get up here before there’s nothing but shells.”
For once, he was relieved to hear Josh’s booming voice. Surrendering Delilah’s touch, he slipped on his sunglasses. The time for comfort had ended. It was time to play Simon Cartwright again.
* * *
Delilah watched Simon trudge his way back to the party. Even though she had used the word performance, she didn’t realize how much of a performance it was until she watched him slowly pull himself together. With each step, his spine unfurled, as though he were calling on some inner strength to take control until, by the time he reached the top of the pathway, the Simon Cartwright she knew so well appeared once more.
Pathetic coward. She’d heard those words before. Last night at the restaurant. She thought them the first time he said them, and she thought them more so today. How on earth could she believe such a thing?
Yet, the hollow tone of his confession said he believed every word.
He said he’d been hiding himself for fifteen years. Meaning they were back to prep school again, and the ugly scenario she conjured up last night. Although this time she had a feeling she knew which side of the altercation Simon had been on.
Poor, poor Simon, she thought watching his form disappear from view. What did they do to you?
CHAPTER SEVEN
JIM BARTLETT MEANT it when he said they took their food seriously. Delilah couldn’t remember the last time she saw so much food outside an all-you-can-eat buffet. There was lobster, steamed clams, barbecued chicken and every salad imaginable, all piled high on tables beneath flickering tiki lamps.
“Those little legs have some of the sweetest meat in them,” Thomas told her. “Key is to not be shy and just suck the meat out.”
She stared at the eight bent legs protruding from her cracked lobster and patted her stomach. “I don’t think I can manage another bite,” she told him, pushing her plate aside. “No one told me ‘clambake’ was New England code for ‘stuff yourself silly.’”
“We take dessert seriously, too,” Josh said, coming around her shoulder. “Hope you saved room!”
Delilah managed a smile. A table away, Simon shot her a knowing look as the younger Bartlett sat down next to her.
“I have to agree with Delilah,” he said. “The food w
as amazing.”
“The whole trip is,” Roberto chimed in. “You’ve been incredibly gracious hosts.”
“Have no fear,” Jim Bartlett said. “Whoever wins the account will have more than enough work to make up for my generosity.”
“Duly noted,” Simon replied.
Another time, Delilah might have been impressed by how at ease Simon appeared, but their conversation on the beach had changed everything. Now she found herself analyzing his every move. With his eyes still hidden behind his sunglasses, there was no trace of the pain she saw earlier. He laughed and joked as though these people were old friends, appearing so at ease in his own skin. Surely, a person couldn’t fake such confidence, could they?
Then again, hadn’t she done her own share of faking all those years she’d lied about her mother? And hadn’t she followed Simon’s lead tonight, as well? As her laughing with Thomas and Louisa proved, it was very easy to bury what you didn’t want to deal with.
Suddenly she needed a break. Excusing herself, she headed to the guest cottage so she could splash cold water on her face. It didn’t help. The splash of the water reminded her of the surface of the water, and when she closed her eyes she saw Simon’s tortured expression. The image tore her insides to shreds.
She returned to the pool area just in time to find Josh heading toward the cottage. “Hey,” he greeted. “Dad took your boss and Roberto for a walk on the beach. I think it’s the final date before the elimination round.”
“Thanks for letting me know.”
“No problem. For what it’s worth, the corporate romance appears to going well. Simon’s and my father’s, that is. I won’t be surprised if Roberto loses out.” He leaned against the back of a nearby chair. “Is everything all right? You haven’t seemed yourself since we got back from the boat ride.”
Okay, so maybe she wasn’t as adept as Simon at masking her inner turmoil after all. “May I ask you a question?”
“Sure,” he replied. “Although if it’s about the agency selection, I can only give my impression. Unfortunately, I’m not in on the final decision.”
The Man Behind the Mask Page 9
