Anything For You (Harlequin Blaze)

by Sarah Mayberry

  She sighed and pushed her bangs off her forehead. Why was she standing on the threshold of her business taking stock of herself like this?

  Because you know what that woman was doing in this building, she told herself. Or, more accurately, who.

  Steeling herself, Delaney pushed open the door and strode into the reception area of their small offices. Debbie looked up from her computer screen and broke into a welcoming smile.

  “Hey, Delaney! Thank God you’re here—Sam has been driving us crazy, asking if anyone’s heard from you,” Debbie said.

  Delaney’s treacherous heart leaped in her chest, but she barely gave it the time of day. She was used to the damned thing lurching around inside her whenever Sam was in the vicinity. Occupational hazard of having an unrequited crush on her best friend.

  “He’s highly excitable,” she said, and Debbie blushed a little.

  Delaney gave Debbie an intent look. Yep, all the signs were there—Debbie had a crush on Sam. The poor fool.

  Great. Another receptionist bites the dust.

  Delaney wondered how long it would take before Sam had to deliver the “I don’t dip my pen in the office ink” speech to Debbie, leading their receptionist to quit so he could go out with her. Judging by the depth of Debbie’s glow-on, not long.

  “Your messages are in your office. Sam handled most things, but a few clients only wanted to speak to you and they said they would wait until you got back,” Debbie said.

  Delaney nodded her acceptance of this. She was largely responsible for the advertising sales side of the business, while Sam supervised and wrote for the editorial half of the magazine. While he could step into her shoes on occasion and schmooze with the best of them, it wasn’t his natural element.

  “About time, lazybones,” a deep male voice said from behind her, and all the small hairs on her forearms stood on end.

  “Sam,” she said, bracing herself for the first sight of him after two weeks away.

  As usual, absence had made the heart grow fonder. He looked taller, broader, sexier than ever in his worn, faded denims, crumpled T-shirt and scruffy skate shoes. His skin was always tanned thanks to his weekly surfing sessions, and he was still sporting the ridiculously clichéd dreadlocks that he’d been cultivating for the past year. A mixture of his natural chestnut and sun-bleached blond, they hung to his shoulders in thick, matted ropes. On any other thirty-year-old man dreadlocks might look like a pathetic attempt to cling to their youth, but Sam pulled it off with ease.

  Bright blue eyes sparkling with pleasure, he stepped forward.

  “Laney!” he said, scooping her into his embrace.

  For a few heady seconds she was held tight against his hard, hot chest, and his smell swamped her—a mixture of sun and pine forest and spice. Probably soap and laundry detergent, knowing Sam. He famously decried aftershave as being “one step too close to being a she-male” for his tastes, and any scent he had was all his own.

  If Calvin Klein bottled it, he could buy himself the World Bank, she figured.

  “Sorry I’m late. I had some stuff to take care of,” she said evasively as she extracted herself from his embrace. She swallowed a lump of lust and forced a smile.

  “How’re things? No problems while I was gone?” she asked.

  “Nothing I couldn’t handle,” Sam said.

  He was wired about something, she noticed, studying him. A bit too perky, a little too shiny-eyed.

  “Okay, what have you done this time?” she asked resignedly. She pretended to hate the practical jokes he played on her, but she secretly loved the trouble he took to amuse and annoy her.

  “Nothing. Although there was an unfortunate incident while you were away….” Sam said, doing his best to sound solemn as he steered her toward her office.

  She registered the Crime Scene, Do Not Cross tape across her door with a blink. Then she saw the chalk outline on the carpet, and her paperwork strewn all over her desk.

  “We’re not sure how they got in, but it appears there was a falling-out between thieves, and there was a bit of a struggle….” Sam said with admirable composure.

  Delaney rolled her eyes. “Puh-lease. As if you wouldn’t have called me on my cell phone if someone had bitten the big one in my office. And you’re tidying up my desk, mister,” she said, poking a finger into his chest.

  He grinned, clearly proud of himself.

  “Admit it—had you going for just a second,” he said.

  She shook her head. “You’re too transparent, Kirk. I can read you like a billboard.”

  He shrugged a shoulder. “Just like I can read you, Michaels—and when you saw that police tape, you had your doubts,” he said.

  She quirked an eyebrow at him as she unceremoniously tugged the crime-scene tape loose and let it flop to the floor. Entering her office, she dumped her briefcase and turned to face him, propping her butt on the edge of her desk. He hooked his hands over the top of the door frame and grinned at her. God, it was good to see him. Unable to help herself, she fished to confirm her guess about the woman outside.

  “So who was the pneumatic blonde?” she asked, careful to keep her tone light and disinterested. She had a Ph.D. in light and disinterested. It was almost an art form for her.

  “Coco,” he said, waving a hand dismissively.

  And that, thought Delaney, is the end of that. She almost pitied Coco, but the other woman hadn’t looked heartbroken in the least.

  “How long this time? A week? Two weeks?” she asked.

  “Three. With time out for bad behavior,” he said.

  “Bad behavior?”

  “Yeah. Caught her kissing her dog on the lips,” Sam explained with a grimace. “Had to wait for the cooties to settle.”

  “Ew. That’s just plain wrong, as well as giving the dog false hope,” Delaney said.

  Sam threw back his head and let out a crack of laughter, and she felt a warm surge of pleasure that she’d amused him.

  She realized she was staring at the strong column of his throat, her eyes caressing the firm, muscled planes of his chest and shoulders, nicely defined by the soft material of his T-shirt and his hanging-off-the-doorframe posture. She could feel her nipples tightening, and she crossed her arms over her chest. Occupational hazard number two: unruly body parts that always seemed to be on the verge of betraying her.

  But not for much longer, she promised herself.

  “Coco wanted us to feature her in the magazine,” Sam said.

  Delaney blinked. “Does she skate or something?” she asked, her mind boggling at the effect those D-cups would have on the boys down at the skate ramp.

  “Not exactly. She must have misheard me when I told her the name of the magazine. She thought it was Triple X,” Sam said, deadpan.

  Delaney’s mouth dropped open. “As in…?”

  “Yep.”

  Delaney broke into giggles. “That’s why she was looking so pissed off outside,” she said.

  “Was she?” Sam looked a little piqued. “It’s not as though we didn’t have some fun. What is it with women these days? Multiple orgasms not enough anymore?”

  Delaney suddenly got very interested in tidying up her desk. Multiple orgasms with Sam Kirk. It was enough to set her underwear on fire.

  “How was the holiday? Did those horrible brats of Claire’s drive you around the bend?” Sam asked, dropping onto the visitors’ couch.

  “The holiday was great. And they weren’t brats. They were…perfect,” she said, her voice softening as she remembered all the special little moments from the last two weeks: Travis’s pencil drawing to say goodbye, Callum’s nightly insistence that she be the one to read his bedtime story, Alana’s repeated intrusion into her suitcase to play dress-up—a high compliment, her sister assured her.

  “You catch any waves? Heard Gunnamatta was going off,” Sam said, naming a famous surf beach a few minutes drive from where they’d been staying.

  “Not really. Just paddled around on the bay w
ith the boys. Travis wants to learn how to surf,” she reported.

  “Excellent. Another little grommet to clog up the waterways,” Sam said wryly.

  “You were a grommet once. A particularly annoying one, as I recall, always dropping in on other surfer’s waves,” she reminded him.

  “I was precocious. Oozing natural talent,” he said.

  “Oozing something, that’s for sure.”

  Sam just grinned at her. “Missed you, Laney,” he said, sliding a hand casually beneath his T-shirt to scratch his stomach.

  She was treated to a flash of taut, muscled belly, the tanned skin sprinkled with crisp, caramel-colored curls that tapered down toward the waistband of his favorite jeans.

  She snatched her eyes away and took a deep breath. Do it now, she told herself. Before you spend too much time with him and lose your nerve.

  “Um, I need to speak to you sometime, too,” she forced herself to say, eyes fixed on the stack of papers she was shuffling together.

  “Sure. What’s up?” Sam asked.

  “I didn’t mean now,” Delaney said, panicking.

  “No time like the present,” Sam said easily.

  He was right, even if he didn’t know exactly how right. Suck it up, Michaels, she told herself.

  Crossing to the door, she kicked it shut. Sam raised an eyebrow.

  “A closed door conversation. My, my—I must have been really naughty this time,” he said lightly.

  Delaney moved back to her desk and sank into her chair. Then she just stared at him for a moment, her eyes lovingly cataloguing his handsome, open face. This would be the last time she saw him without anger or confusion or resentment clouding their relationship. The last time that he would be her old, much-loved friend, no strings attached, no issues between them.

  The lines around his eyes crinkled as he smiled nervously. “Okay, you’re freaking me out now. What’s going on?” he asked. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Talk to me, Laney,” he said.

  Delaney closed her eyes for a moment. She took a deep breath, then opened them.

  “I want to sell you my half of the business,” she said in a rush.

  Sam shook his head in confusion. “Sorry? Do you need money or something, Laney? Because you should have said—”

  It was her turn to shake her head.

  “No. I want out. I want out from the magazine, Sam.”

  2

  SAM FELT AS THOUGH he’d been punched in the gut. Delaney wanted to sell her half of the magazine? It just didn’t make sense to him. He shook his head again, frowning.

  “I don’t get it. What’s changed all of a sudden?” he asked.

  She was staring at the carpet, but she lifted her eyes to meet his before she spoke.

  “I’ve had enough. I realized while I was away that I wanted to do something different. Maybe travel. I don’t know,” she said.

  She was lying. He knew her better than he knew himself, and there was something she wasn’t telling him.

  “Bull. Tell me what’s really going on,” he demanded, starting to feel angry and a little threatened.

  Delaney couldn’t just walk out on him. They were a team, a tight little duo. He’d barely survived her annual two-week vacation with his sanity intact, for Pete’s sake.

  “Sam,” she said, then she sighed heavily and put her head in her hands.

  After a shocked second he saw that she was crying. Delaney never cried. Ever.

  “Hey,” he said, shooting to his feet and moving to stand by her chair. Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, he held her tight. “Whatever it is, we’ll work it out,” he said.

  He felt her body stiffen under his arm, and she sat up straighter. He got the message—she didn’t want his comfort. Feeling doubly rejected, he returned to the couch.

  There was a long silence as they stared at each other across the small space that separated them. He studied her closely, trying to find some clue as to what was really going on. But she looked the same as ever—her long mid-brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, the fringe sitting straight across her brow. Her hazel eyes were clear and bright, not a skerrick of makeup in sight, as usual. Her nose was a little red on the end, true, but that was from the crying, he guessed. And she was biting her lower lip, her teeth nibbling at the full curve. She had a small mouth, but her lips were full, the lower one particularly so. A Cupid’s bow, Delaney’s mother always called it, to which Delaney inevitably rolled her eyes.

  She looked the same as she always had—like Laney. His best friend.

  “Come on, spill,” he said softly.

  She sniffed inelegantly and he leaned over to grab the box of tissues off her bookshelf.

  She waited until she’d blown her nose before speaking.

  “I want children, Sam. I want a husband. A family,” she said, shrugging one shoulder.

  Sam frowned. Laney never talked about her love life. He was always a little bit surprised when he caught sight of a guy leaving her apartment. He could count on the fingers of one hand the times he’d been introduced to a man she was dating. She’d always been very private about it, and he’d respected that. Truth was, he didn’t really want to know, he suddenly acknowledged. Probably that made him a selfish bastard for not wanting her to be happy. Deep down inside he’d always feared that if she met Mr. Right, their friendship would change irrevocably. Sam would be number two in her life. And when children came, he’d be shuffled even further down the food chain. It didn’t say much for his nobility as a human being that the thought of Delaney with a family made him feel scared and lonely and threatened. But there it was.

  Struggling to contain his messed-up emotions, Sam smoothed his hands down his thighs, then clasped his knees, bracing himself to be a grown-up.

  “Of course you want kids,” he finally managed to say.

  Delaney laughed, a watery, reluctant chuckle.

  “You are the worst actor in the world, Kirk,” she said.

  He shrugged sheepishly. “Okay,” he conceded. “You know I’ll be jealous as hell when you get married and have kids,” he admitted.

  She looked startled. “Jealous?”

  “You know—’cause things won’t be the same anymore,” he explained awkwardly.

  Delaney’s eyes dropped to the carpet and she hunched a shoulder. “No, they won’t.”

  “But I don’t see what any of that has to do with leaving the business,” Sam said. He might be about to lose most of Delaney, but he would cling to what little he had left. If she stayed in the business, she would always be a part of his life, no matter what.

  “It’s too all-consuming, Sam,” she said. “We live for this place. How am I ever supposed to meet someone when all I do is eat, sleep, breathe Mirk Publications?”

  “Then we’ll get a sales assistant. You can do half days. Whatever it takes,” he countered.

  “No. It wouldn’t work. I’m a control freak, you know I am. And it’s thinking about the business when I’m not here that’s part of it, as well. I’d still be doing that if I owned half of it. I need a complete break,” she said.

  There was a determination in her tone, a firmness that he recognized. Delaney had made her decision. Without talking it over with him. Without consulting him in any way. She’d simply gone away, and come back determined to do her own thing.

  He started to get angry. “And where does that leave me?” he asked. He hated the fact that he sounded like a sulky kid, but that was how he felt, so he might as well own up to it.

  “Sam, you can easily afford to buy me out. You know you can. Or you can get in another partner. Or go into partnership with another small publisher. God knows, we’ve had enough of them sniffing around over the years,” she said.

  Sam stared at her. She was serious about this. Completely serious. He wanted to yell at her. To tell her in no uncertain terms how stupid and selfish and wrong all this was. But he didn’t. He bit his tongue and fought for control.

  “When do you want out?�
� he managed to ask.

  “As soon as possible,” she said baldly.

  Unbelievably, in light of their conversation to date, her words still stung. He rocketed to his feet.

  “I’ll talk to the bank,” he said, and then he pulled her office door open, slamming it behind him as he exited. Their entire staff turned his way, but he ignored them all, crossing next door to his own office and slamming that door, too.

  Then he threw himself into his office chair and dropped his head into his hands.

  What in the world was he going to do without her?

  DELANEY TOOK A LONG, shuddery breath and then let it out. She’d just had the hardest conversation of her life, hands down. Swiveling in her chair, she leaned forward and rested her forehead on her desk.

  The look in Sam’s eyes. The hurt. The lack of comprehension. She hated causing him pain, but she had no choice.

  Unless she was prepared to tell him the real reason she had to go.

  Which was never going to happen.

  Which left her back at square one. Although, technically, she was at square two now. She’d delivered the big blow. Now she just had to live through the next little while before she could walk away from the business. And Sam.

  Her heart wrenched painfully in her chest at the thought. But she had to face up to it. One day soon, in a month or two’s time, she would walk out the double doors of this building and out of Sam’s life forever.

  She lifted her head off the desk, then dropped it down again, banging her forehead. It felt like an appropriate punishment for the mess she’d created, and she did it several more times—bang, bang, bang, bang—until it suddenly occurred to her that she might bruise her forehead. Good luck explaining that one to sane, ordinary people—I’d just screwed up my entire life, so I thought I’d add brain damage to the mix.