Anything For You (Harlequin Blaze)

by Sarah Mayberry

  “You are unbelievable! All week you’ve barely been able to look me in the eye after what happened in my apartment, and now you’re accusing me of not talking!” she yelled back.

  “Me? You’re the one who didn’t bring it up! What am I supposed to do, force you to talk about something that you obviously deeply regret?” Sam demanded.

  “At least you got one thing right,” Delaney snapped back at him, in full fight-to-win mode now. “If I could take back one thing in my life, that would be it—gone, in a second,” she said, snapping her fingers to indicate how quickly she’d make the decision.

  “Ditto, baby, don’t worry,” Sam said, right in her face now, blue eyes glittering fiercely.

  They stared at each other for a beat, both panting from the exertion of being so angry with one another. Then the next thing she knew, Sam had hauled her close and was kissing her like there was no tomorrow.

  6

  SAM COULDN’T BELIEVE how good she tasted. Sweet and hot, her tongue dancing with his as he pressed himself against her.

  “Oh, Laney,” he groaned. He knew it was wrong, knew that he should have had the willpower to resist the need to touch her, to have her again. But he didn’t. She’d looked so hot, standing there glaring at him, her breasts heaving and her cheeks flushed. Desire had gripped him, and before he knew it she was in his arms, and his tongue was in her mouth.

  He deepened the kiss, and her hands slid down his back to clutch at his butt, pulling him closer. He was already fully erect, his hard-on pushing against his jeans, but when she ground herself against him he nearly lost it. Growling low in his throat, he slid his hands up to capture her breasts, kneading them firmly.

  “Yes,” she gasped, thrusting her hips against him even harder.

  Sam felt her nipples harden under his thumbs as her breasts swelled in his hands. Operating on pure animal instinct, he tugged at the neckline of her shirt. He needed more, now. Her buttons popped off and without hesitation he buried his face in her cleavage, laving the curve of one breast, and then the other, with his tongue. Impatient, he shoved the lace of her bra away and suckled a nipple deep into his mouth. Delaney’s hands clutched at his head, holding him in place as he played his tongue across her nipple. If he could have talked, he would have reassured her—he wasn’t going anywhere. He’d been thinking about her breasts, about having them in his mouth again, all week. With one hand, he unhooked the catch on her bra, and slid it off her shoulders altogether. Her breasts fell into his hands, nipples pouting for his attention—and he was more than happy to oblige.

  Switching focus to Delaney’s other breast, he slid his hands down her back to cup her butt. Someone made a deeply satisfied noise, and he realized it was him—her ass was so good, he couldn’t get enough of it. Aware that she was panting, her hands grabbing at him impatiently, he slid his hands farther down her skirt. Within seconds he was underneath, hands sliding up her silk-stocking-covered thighs, his imagination rampaging ahead of him as he remembered how hot and wet she’d been last time they were together.

  Then his hand slid from stockinged thigh to bare flesh, and he stilled. Please, please, please be wearing garters and stockings, he willed as he reached down to tug her skirt up around her waist so he could see properly.

  He bit his lip at the sight that met his eyes—Delaney’s long, lean legs clad in black silk stay-up stockings, the lacy tops stopping just south of the part of her he was most eager to touch.

  “Do you have any idea…?” He panted, staring down at her.

  Delaney just reached for the waistband of his jeans. “Get these off,” she demanded.

  She reached for the tab on his zipper, but Sam batted her hand away. Not this time. This time, he was running the show, and he wasn’t finished with her yet. When she opened her mouth to protest, he silenced her with a kiss and drove her back against the wall, simultaneously sliding a hand between her legs to cup her silk-covered mound. She quivered, her stance widening as she welcomed his touch. Peppering kisses across the arc of her cheekbone toward her ear, Sam ran a teasing finger along the edge of her panties. Her whole body shook and Sam smiled as he pulled the sensitive lobe of her ear into his mouth. Then he slid a finger beneath her underwear and into the wet heat of her. She moaned helplessly as he found her clitoris, slicking his finger backward and forward across the tightened bud.

  “Do you like that?” he whispered in her ear.

  “You know I do,” she said.

  “What about this?” Sam asked, his gaze intent on hers as he slid his finger deep inside her. Her eyelids flicked down and she bit her lower lip, her face suffusing with need. Between her legs, her muscles pulsed around his finger.

  “Sam,” she begged, reaching for his waistband again.

  This time he didn’t stop her. Any self-control he’d laid claim to was rapidly slipping through his fingers. She was so desirable, so hot. He needed to make her his. Even if it was just for a few moments.

  She pulled his jeans down over his hips, and he found the closure on her skirt and returned the favor. Sacrificing skin contact for practicality’s sake, he stepped away from her to kick his jeans off, and she did the same, stepping out of her skirt and underwear and tossing them to one side.

  “And this. I want to see all of you,” Delaney insisted, tugging at the waistband of his sweater.

  Sam obliged in record time, then pulled her close to revel in the sensual feel of skin on skin.

  “So good,” he murmured as he slid his hands down onto her butt and pulled her tight against his aching erection. She ground her mound against him, her own hands clutching his butt. Sam slid his hand lower, caressing the lower curve of her bottom and dipping his fingers between her thighs.

  “Sam, I need you,” she whispered in his ear, her voice breaking as he toyed with her.

  “Yes,” he said.

  Grabbing her hips, he lifted her, and she came willingly, wrapping her legs around his waist. His hard-on twitched as it made first contact with her intimate heat, and he lost no time in taking the four or five steps needed to bring him inside his office. Keeping hold of her weight with one arm, he swept his desk clear with the other, then slid her onto its surface. Delaney lay back on the polished wood, her breasts perky as hell, her eyelids at half-mast, her thighs still firm around his waist. Sam felt his erection swell even farther, if that were possible. He was shaking as he positioned himself between her thighs.

  Then he could wait no longer, and he was sliding into her tight, slick heat, his muscles tensing as he registered how good she felt.

  He groaned, smoothing his hands up across her belly to find her breasts again. Delaney closed her eyes and dropped her head back as he began thrusting into her, his hands busy on her breasts.

  He was torn in two, wanting it to last forever, yet greedy for completion. Ducking his head, he pulled her nipple into his mouth and gave himself over to the tension building inside him.

  DELANEY THOUGHT she was going to die. She’d never been so turned on in her entire life. Every touch of Sam’s hands was like a brand on her skin. He seemed to know exactly where to touch her, when, and how often. Each thrust brought her closer to the edge, and she tossed her head from side to side, every nerve ending craving release.

  He looked so amazing, poised above her, his body tensing with each thrust. His face was intent, his mouth slightly open as he buried himself again and again inside her. She could tell he was close, and watching the desire build in him only turned her on even more.

  Then he bent his head to her breasts again, sucking her nipple so firmly that it almost hurt. She clenched her thighs more tightly around him, reaching for the edge of the desk. She was close, so close….

  As if he sensed this, Sam slid a hand across her hip and into the nest of curls between her legs. With each thrust, he flicked his thumb across her clitoris, and Delaney let out a low, desperate moan.

  “Feels so good,” she heard herself pant. And then Sam picked up the tempo, his thumb mass
aging her clitoris more firmly now as he thrust faster and faster inside her. Closing her eyes, Delaney lost all sense of the world as her body reached its peak. Clutching at Sam’s hips, she rode out her orgasm, only vaguely aware that he was coming, too. Tiny aftershocks raced through her body as he shuddered against her, fingers curled into her waist. His head dropped down, masking his expression from her, and Delaney dropped her own head back to stare at the ceiling and try to catch her breath. Like something she could almost see in her peripheral vision, regret lurked, but she refused to acknowledge it just yet. For these few precious seconds, she wanted to revel in the fact that once again she’d had her heart’s desire—Sam, inside her, wanting no one else but her.

  Then she felt Sam’s body tense, and she knew that her moment of reprieve was over. He stepped away from her, and she was instantly aware of how naked and exposed she was, lying spread-eagled across his desk. Abruptly she sat up and closed her legs. Sam ran a hand over his head. She could see the confusion and regret in his face, and she felt weak with hurt and despair.

  There had been a moment there, when he’d pulled her close and started kissing her when she’d had a tiny shred of self-control left. The sensible part of her brain had sent out a last, desperate warning—pull back now, or forever hold your peace. But she’d wanted him so badly, she’d deliberately pushed the thought of consequences away. How could something that felt so right possibly have a downside?

  Sam backed up a few more steps, then sank into one of his guest chairs. Leaning forward, he put his head in his hands. Something twisted in Delaney’s belly as she saw his shoulders tense. Could this get any worse?

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know why that happened,” he said after a long silence. He sounded choked, smothered.

  Delaney stared at him, all her self-consciousness taking a backseat as she registered his words.

  “You don’t know why we just had sex?” she repeated, wanting to make sure that he’d really just said what she thought he’d said.

  “I just—I don’t know what’s gotten into me,” Sam said, shaking his head.

  Delaney’s hands curled into fists. First, he made love to her like Casanova and Don Juan rolled into one, then he sat there looking as though someone had just told him he had twenty-four hours to live. And now he was telling her he had no idea why he’d done it all in the first place?

  “You…You…idiot!” she said. She was so angry, she kicked his chair, not caring that the action set her boobs to jiggling and almost made her fall over.

  He was impossible. Impossible. She couldn’t believe that two minutes ago, he’d been inside her, and it had been the most transcendent experience of her life. She needed to have her head read, even letting him lay a hand on her. He’d never had a long-term relationship in his life—she knew this about him, just as she knew that he had a scar on his back from when he’d fallen off his bike when he was a kid, and that he would do almost anything to avoid an injection. Yet she’d indulged her need, her craving for him. And gotten what she deserved.

  A black wave of despair welled up inside her. Tears gathered at the back of her eyes, but she was not going to cry in front of him, not after what had just happened. Her body stiff with tension, she scooped together her clothes. Giving him one last, searing look, she stalked past him and off toward the bathroom. There was nothing more to say.

  SAM HEARD THE BATHROOM DOOR slam and dug his fingers hard into his scalp. What had he done? He’d just taken Delaney across his desk, like some desperado with no style or finesse. She must think he was an animal. Or some kind of sex-obsessed creep. This was the second time he’d hit on her in a week. And it hadn’t escaped his notice that the strange compulsion to jump her bones had come hard on the heels of her declaration that she wanted to leave the business.

  Was that what this was all about—some pathetic attempt by his subconscious to keep her close? You conceited jerk, he told himself. As if a couple of shags with you is going to make the difference.

  Sam shook his head, instinctively rejecting his own hypothesis. He hadn’t had sex with Delaney because he was trying to manipulate her into doing what he wanted. He’d had sex with her because he hadn’t been able to keep his hands off her. And then he’d promptly insulted and hurt her—all before his heart rate had returned to normal. A new world record for insensitivity.

  The front door slammed shut, and he winced as he heard Delaney start her car with an overzealous rev of the engine. She was so angry with him—and, underneath that, probably hurt and disgusted. She didn’t sleep around—he knew that about her, even if he had always kind of looked the other way when it had come to her love life. He’d taken advantage of her. He remembered what she’d said when they were fighting: if she could take one thing back, it would be what had happened between them at her apartment.

  Sam scrubbed his face with his hands. She was right—he was an idiot. What kind of a jerk didn’t have the common decency to keep his grabby hands to himself when it came to his best friend?

  Slowly he became aware that he was still buck naked, hunched over on one of the visitor’s chairs. Sighing, he straightened his shoulders and lifted his head. It was done. He couldn’t take it back. He just had to think of some way of making it up to Delaney.

  His gaze fell on his desk, and he saw that her bra was strewn across the photo of the two of them on the beach. She must have missed it when she collected her other clothes. Standing, he lifted the lacy scrap, staring down at it, so fine and delicate in his hands. It was still curved into the shape of her breasts, and he rubbed his fingers against the fabric, savoring the texture of silk and lace. It was a sexy, fragile, beautiful thing—just like Delaney. He put the bra down, exchanging it for the photograph of the two of them from that long ago summer.

  Even back then, Delaney had been beautiful. Had he really never noticed the lithe sexuality of her lean body? Or the compelling depth of her toffee-colored eyes? Even with a walloping shiner, they glowed with life and passion.

  At sixteen, she’d stared down the barrel of the camera as though she was daring the world to take a shot at her. The adult Delaney wasn’t much different—she was still a doer, a darer. She’d taken on every challenge he’d ever thrown at her, from snow-boarding to scuba-diving to martial arts training. And now she’d risen to meet his passion, matching him kiss for kiss, thrust for thrust, touch for touch. And he had nothing to offer her in return.

  Putting the photo down, Sam slowly pulled his clothes on, tucking Delaney’s bra into his back pocket to return to her later. He felt sick and scared. Because he knew he was dangerously close to making Delaney hate him.

  Feeling suddenly claustrophobic, he scooped up his car keys and strode toward the door. Pausing only to set the alarm and lock up after himself, he jumped into his SUV and pulled out into the quiet streets of early morning Fitzroy. He needed to clear his head, and this time half measures wouldn’t cut it.

  Turning his car toward the freeway, he put his foot down and drove. By the time dawn was lightening the rim of the world, he was pulling into the gravel driveway of his mate’s beach house on Philip Island, south of Melbourne. Sam had an open invitation to treat the place as his own, and he knew Charlie was in the U.S. at present on a business trip. It was the perfect place to make peace with himself and work out how to make it up to Delaney.

  Fortunately, he always traveled with a surfboard in the back of the car, and there was bound to be an array of cast-off clothes lurking there, also. Enough to see him through, anyway.

  It took only moments to locate the spare key in its hiding spot in the garden, and he let himself into the house and flicked on some lights. Ensuring that he’d switched on the electric hot water service, he trailed his way through to the spare bedroom. It was furnished with two saggy single beds, remnants from Charlie’s childhood. Uncaring, Sam threw himself onto one and closed his eyes. For now, he wanted some sleep. In a few hours, he would wake up and go find some waves. Only after he’d immersed himself in
sea and spray for several hours would he let himself think about Delaney again.

  And then he’d find a way to make things right.

  DELANEY HAD the whole weekend to examine her folly from every angle. She’d called Sam an idiot, but she was just as stupid. Why had she listened to her slathering hormones and not her common sense? When were hormones ever right? And now she’d compounded the disaster of Tuesday morning by adding a big cherry on top of it in the form of Friday night’s little debacle. Or, if she were being technically correct, big debacle, given the quality of the orgasm she’d experienced.

  Pacing the balcony of her apartment on Sunday evening, Delaney took a big mouthful of wine from the glass she was holding and admitted to herself that she was well and truly screwed up. In love with her best friend, about to throw away a great career and rapidly on the way to becoming sexually obsessed.

  Why, by all that was good in the world, did Sam have to be so great in bed? Or on a desk, or a living room floor, for that matter. The man was a sensual master. A sexual genius. A Mozart of the bedroom. He had plucked and stroked and sucked and teased her into the most heightened state of arousal she’d ever experienced in her life.

  And then pulled the afterglow right out from under her by immediately proclaiming himself sorry for all of the above. It was too, too humiliating.

  Delaney took another sip from her wineglass and leaned on the balcony railing. Around her, thousands of lights twinkled in the night, the sprawl of inner-city Melbourne stretching off into the distance.

  Briefly her mind wandered to the apartment above. She hadn’t heard Sam moving around all weekend. It didn’t surprise her. He’d probably done a runner for a few days. He’d never been big on dealing with difficult situations. How pleasant to find herself filed under that heading in his life.

  Turning back toward her apartment, she caught sight of her reflection in the darkened glass door. It wasn’t a very attractive sight. She’d been moping around all weekend sulking about what could have been or what should have been, and she hadn’t washed her hair for two days in a row. Now it was scrunched up on the back of her neck in a rubber band, a very unsleek, unsophisticated mess. Then there was her clothing. Baggy sports pants, baggy T-shirt, no bra, floppy socks. The inside of her didn’t feel any better, either. Her teeth were fuzzy from eating too much chocolate, and she had a cramp in her eyebrows from scowling all weekend.