Anything For You (Harlequin Blaze)

by Sarah Mayberry

  “You need to talk to Jim about this, not me,” he said firmly instead.

  “I will not let you wash your hands of this the way he has,” his mother said shrilly.

  Sam reached for his beer, his hand clenching around the cool glass. He would not lose it with his mother. If it killed him, he wouldn’t.

  But it was going to be a very long night.

  WHEN DELANEY HEARD the woman’s voice filtering down from Sam’s apartment, her mouth filled with bile. He had one of his women up there. Just hours after he’d driven her mad with desire, he was wining and dining some other stupid, self-destructive woman.

  She glared down at the vegetables she’d been chopping for a stir-fry. She’d always known it would be like this, hadn’t she? If by some miracle Sam had actually found her attractive and taken her to bed, she’d known she wouldn’t stand a chance against his determination to remain single. There was absolutely no reason under the sun for her to expect him to treat her any differently than he’d ever treated one of his other easy lays. No reason at all.

  Crossing to the stereo, she intended to crank up the volume, resolutely ignoring the acid burning in her stomach. This is your just desserts for your moment of weakness, she told herself.

  Before she could hit the volume, however, she recognized the shrill, throbbing note of his mother’s voice in high-drama mode. She stared up at the ceiling, listening to the ebb and flow of Nancy Kirk’s voice as she harangued her son. He didn’t have another of his women up there, after all. The knot in her belly eased. So. He wasn’t that much of an asshole. She felt inordinately relieved, and she shook her head at her own foolishness. It didn’t mean anything. If not tonight, then tomorrow night, or the next night, there would be a perky blonde or brunette warming his bed. It was inevitable.

  Upstairs, Nancy’s voice shrilled into a crescendo of nagging acrimony. Delaney shot another look at the ceiling. It reminded her of all the times she’d heard the muffled sounds of his parents fighting when she was a kid. Every evening, like clockwork, the Kirks’ misery had leaked over the fence in fits of raised voices and crashes of furniture as they gave vent to their unhappiness and anger. Her parents had made a habit of playing music to try to drown out their fighting, especially if Sam was over to visit.

  Even the memory of it made her feel a little sick. She could just imagine how Sam was handling his mother’s current attack. She’d seen him around his parents enough over the years to know exactly how he would be. Even though Jim’s and Nancy’s determination to drag their son into their unhappiness was enough to try the patience of a saint, Sam never raised his voice or laid down the law. In all other areas of his life he was assertive, even aggressive. But when it came to his parents, he refused to become part of the family act. And if that meant simply enduring one of their diatribes without saying a word, he’d do it. She’d seen him do it a number of times, too, and afterward she’d invariably urge him to just let rip and give his father or mother both barrels when they next came calling, trying to make trouble. But Sam wouldn’t. Or couldn’t. The lessons of his childhood were burned too deeply into his psyche.

  She didn’t have to work hard to picture the withdrawn, distant look Sam would have on his face. She’d seen it so often through their teen years. He’d be there, but not there, his feelings locked away as he retreated inside himself.

  She was moving before she’d consciously decided what she was doing. She was angry with Sam, yes. Confused, hurt, bewildered. But she would not let that hyena of a woman feed off him. She had to go protect him.

  Swiftly she crossed to the bathroom, swiping some mascara on and following up with lipstick. As soon as she was satisfied that she looked suitably professional, she grabbed her new denim jacket and her purse and house keys and headed for the door.

  Sam answered the door on her second knock, and her heart wrung in her chest as she saw the frozen expression in his eyes.

  “Hi,” she said brightly. “You ready to go?”

  Sam stared at her blankly, and Delaney widened her eyes at him meaningfully.

  Play along, idiot, she semaphored with her eyebrows.

  “Laney,” he said, the single word sounding flat and forced.

  “You’ve forgotten, haven’t you?” she said, shaking her head. Breezing past him, she pretended surprise at seeing Nancy Kirk propped at the kitchen counter, a glass of wine clenched in her hand.

  “Oh, Mrs. Kirk. I didn’t realize you were here,” she said cheerily. Striding forward, she planted a dutiful kiss on the older woman’s cheek, even though she really wanted to grab her by the ear and demand to know why she persisted in inflicting her miserable life outlook on her son.

  “I just popped in to see Sam,” Nancy said.

  Delaney marveled at the way the woman could get a whiny note into such an innocuous phrase.

  “Well, I’m afraid I’m going to have to steal him off you,” Delaney said. She turned to Sam. “We’ve got that trade night with triple-fin surfboards, remember?”

  Sam had had more than enough time to put his game face on.

  “Man, I’m sorry. I completely forgot. Give me five minutes to change my shirt,” he said. He looked as though he were about to rush off and do just that, but he hesitated, then turned back to his mother.

  “Sorry about this, Nancy,” he said. He didn’t sound that sorry, but Delaney didn’t think any less of him for being a bad liar.

  Nancy Kirk nudged her half-finished wine aside and picked up her handbag.

  “I didn’t realize I was intruding. I suppose I should have called ahead to let you know, since you’re so busy,” she said.

  Delaney ground her teeth together. Could the woman be any more passive-aggressive?

  She channeled her anger into looking at her watch and tapping it pointedly.

  “Better shake a leg, Sam. Sorry, Mrs. Kirk,” she said. She guessed she probably sounded about as sincere as Sam had, but she didn’t care.

  “I’ll just leave these papers here for you, Sam,” Nancy said, placing an envelope on the countertop.

  Delaney saw a muscle flex in Sam’s jaw. “They’ll go straight in the bin, but it’s your call,” he said.

  Nancy looked as though she was about to burst into speech again, but her eyes shot to Delaney and she bit her tongue.

  Good, Delaney thought. Nancy had never liked the idea of having a public audience, despite the fact that the whole neighborhood could hear her and Jim screaming at each other day and night. As long as the curtains were closed, it was private business in her book.

  Lips pinched, Nancy slid the contentious envelope into her handbag. Within moments, she’d kissed Sam goodbye, and the door was closing behind her.

  Sam instantly let out a gusting sigh and ran a hand across his head.

  “Jesus. Thank you, Laney. I was seriously afraid I was going to lose it when she dragged out that envelope,” he said.

  Delaney ached to soothe the lines from his face, to hold him until the desolate look had faded from his eyes. “Maybe I should have waited a little longer then. She needs a comeuppance, in my humble opinion,” she said instead.

  “There’s nothing humble about your opinion,” Sam said wryly.

  He moved toward the fridge and pulled out a bottle of wine.

  “She was on about those shares again. I swear, if Jim’s getting a cent from them I’d be amazed. But he loves cranking her up. He keeps hinting at things every time she makes contact. It’s like a hobby for him,” Sam said, shaking his head in disgust.

  He poured two glasses of wine, sliding one toward her before leaning back and sipping from the other. Delaney stared at her wineglass as reality crashed in.

  “I—I can’t stay, Sam,” she said. Whatever impulse had brought her to his door had dissipated now, and all she could think about was what had happened between them—and how he hadn’t even acknowledged it.

  “Oh. Right.”

  A dull blush colored his cheekbones, and he fumbled the glass as he p
oured the wine down the sink. Suddenly, constraint was like a third presence in the room.

  Delaney stared intently at him, willing him to say something. Earlier, at the office, she’d dreaded their inevitable confrontation, fearful that he might have guessed her true feelings. But not talking about it was worse. Far worse.

  Sam didn’t pick up on her cue. Instead, he avoided eye contact and tucked his hands into his pockets. “Thanks for coming to my rescue, anyway.”

  She bit her lip. If he wasn’t going to say anything, it was up to her. She was part of this, too. She opened her mouth.

  “It was no biggy,” she said. Not quite the brave words she’d framed in her mind. Not even close, in fact.

  “Yeah, it was.”

  Sam glanced up at last, locking eyes with hers. She saw gratitude and friendship and warm, fraternal love in his gaze, and her courage failed.

  She wanted him to be the one to bring it up, she realized. She’d pined for him for years. Obsessed over him, fantasized over him. She was sure that her true feelings had been more than obvious as they thrashed around on her living room floor—what woman ravished her best friend that way without being secretly in love with him? It just didn’t happen. She’d already exposed herself enough. She needed him to take a single, small step in her direction.

  And he wasn’t going to take it. Because Sam saw her as a friend. Just a friend.

  While she stood in front of him, quivering with the need to touch him, to have him touch her, to have him inside her again.

  Hurt and humiliation and regret welled up inside her, and she said the first thing that came to her mind.

  “Have you spoken to the bank about buying me out?” she asked abruptly.

  Sam’s face stiffened.

  “No. Not yet.”

  “Do you want me to set up a meeting?”

  “I can do it,” Sam said tersely. “I said I’d do it.”

  “I’m free most mornings for the rest of the week. I’d really like to get the ball rolling,” she said, pushing. She needed to get this done fast, try to minimize the pain.

  Sam’s eyes flickered with anger. “Fine. I’ll set it up.”

  Delaney nodded tensely, then turned for the door. He didn’t say another word, and she kept her back stiff until she heard the door close behind her. Her shoulders instantly sagged and she closed her eyes for a long moment. One breath…two, three.

  Then she opened her eyes again, straightened her shoulders and went back downstairs to her solo dinner.

  SAM CHECKED HIS WATCH for the fifth time.

  “She should be here soon,” he told their bank manager, a stiff-backed, balding man named John.

  “Perhaps we could discuss the preliminaries?” John said, opening up the thick folder in front of him on the conference room table.

  Sam forced his concern at Delaney’s no-show to one side. It was Friday morning, four days since he’d slept with her. He’d put a call through to the bank the first thing Wednesday morning, and arranged for John to come out ASAP. That was what Delaney wanted, right? So he was giving it to her.

  Why had he jumped his best friend? It was the burning question that occupied all his waking hours. The way she’d run interference for him with his mother had driven home to him just how much he stood to lose if he let sex come between them. They had barely spoken all week, and already he missed their dinners, their banter, their comfortable silences. She was the last person he could afford to screw with—literally and figuratively. She meant too much to him, and God only knows, as soon as sex entered the equation where he was concerned, Disasterville was just around the corner. It was in the blood, as inevitable as death and taxes. He had to get things back to the way they’d always been, with Delaney as his best, uncomplicated, platonic buddy.

  He was still convinced that his original decision to forge on with business as usual was the best move he could make. The awkward post-mistake stage he’d anticipated was stretching out a little longer than he would have liked, true, but he and Delaney had years of friendship to fall back on. One stupid, misguided roll in the hay couldn’t wipe all that out. Could it?

  “Sorry I’m late.”

  Sam’s head shot up as Delaney spoke from the conference room doorway. She was wearing a neatly tailored white shirt and a just-above-the-knee skirt, and she looked harried, her hair tousled, her cheeks a little flushed. Not unlike a certain morning just a few days ago, when she’d climbed on top of him and taken them on the ride of a lifetime….

  Sam clenched his jaw. This was the problem. In his mind, when he thought about his relationship with Delaney, getting things back on track seemed easy. Natural. Then she walked into the room, and all he seemed to be able to think about was sex.

  Which just went to show what a swamp-dwelling lowlife he really was. No wonder he’d blanked out the fact that she was a woman all these years.

  “I had a flat tire,” Delaney said as she pulled up a seat. “Have I missed out on much?”

  “Why didn’t you call me?” Sam said. “I would have taken care of it.”

  Four days ago, she wouldn’t have hesitated, he knew. Now she just shrugged and avoided his eyes.

  “I handled it okay.”

  Signaling that the issue was closed, she focused on John and smiled encouragingly.

  “Where do you want to start?” she said.

  “I thought we could take a look at the general health of the business before we start talking about valuations and equity,” John said.

  Sam took a deep breath and willed himself to concentrate on the matter at hand. Which meant not noticing Delaney’s alluring new perfume, or the fact that she’d tucked her hair behind one perfect, shell-shaped ear to reveal the elegant, sensual curve of her neck.

  She’s your friend, jerk, he reminded himself. Start acting like one.

  “I’ve taken a look at these profit projections you’ve put forward. They’re pretty ambitious,” John said.

  “Not when you consider that the extreme sports industry has grown in double figures for the past four years, with predictions suggesting that we’ve barely seen the tip of the iceberg,” Delaney said, smoothly clicking into business mode. “Our readership has increased more than ten percent every year for the past three years, and our advertising sales have grown proportionately.”

  She shot a look at Sam. With the ease of long experience, he fielded her pass.

  “Take skateboarding, for example. It’s not just a fad for boys anymore,” he said. “It’s an industry. At present, there are several hundred men and women around the world who make a good living from doing nothing but skating in comps and exhibitions. The big names are millionaires several times over. We don’t think we’re being too optimistic in anticipating our slice of the pie. X-Pro has been there since the beginning of the wave in Australia. It’s well-respected, credible. Our readers value our opinion, they trust us.”

  Sam shot his eyes to Delaney, signaling for her to take the lead once more. She stepped in without hesitation, as always. He felt the adrenaline buzz he always got when a meeting was going well.

  “Have a look at these results from a recent reader survey we did,” Delaney said, sliding a document toward John. “We rated above all the other competition in every area. Even above the more specialized surfing mags out of the U.S.”

  While John ran his eye over the figures, Delaney flicked Sam a quick look, the confident lift of her eyebrow telling him that she thought they were kicking goals left, right and center, too.

  A warm glow started in Sam’s belly as he realized that the tension that had sat between them since The Incident had dissolved. The old teamwork was once more in play—the Sam and Delaney show was back in town.

  His shoulders relaxed. He’d just found the key to resolving things with his best friend. Meetings. Lots and lots of meetings. Once the initial awkwardness was gone between them, it was just like old times. He should have forced more interaction between the two of them earlier—they’d both been
avoiding one another so much this week that this was the longest time they’d spent in the same room for days. But now Sam saw that the more time they spent together, the more relaxed and comfortable they both became. They were a team. He simply had to remind Delaney of that, and the rest of it would melt away. A wave of relief washed over him. It was going to be okay. He felt almost euphoric.

  A few more meetings like this, and they could consign those mad moments in Delaney’s flat to the dustbin of history—memories to be locked away and sealed and buried deep, never to see the light of day again.

  Balancing back on his chair, Sam put his feet on the table, a goofy smile on his lips as he watched Delaney talk with John. In light of all that he’d almost lost, Delaney wanting out from the business didn’t seem like the insurmountable barrier that it had on Monday. At the end of the day, if it made her happy to stretch her wings and try something else, he was happy. Their friendship was the important thing. And who was to say, anyway, how long this bug about leaving the business would last? If he kept reminding her of how good they were together, there was every chance she’d change her mind about that, too.

  “Man, I need some caffeine, bad,” Delaney suddenly announced, pushing her chair back and standing in one smooth, athletic movement. “You want a coffee, John?”

  “Black with one, thanks, Delaney,” John confirmed.

  She cut her eyes across to Sam. “I won’t even bother asking you, since you’re just a big caffeine pig,” she said wryly.

  “Oink, oink,” Sam agreed. “Actually, make it a triple oink—I missed my morning hit.”

  Delaney shook her head at him as she crossed to where the espresso machine sat on the sideboard near the window.

  “You’re looking at a man who can single-handedly chew through a catering-sized bag of coffee in a week, John,” she teased as she hit the button to grind the beans.