Anything For You (Harlequin Blaze)

by Sarah Mayberry

  Despite her better instincts, she found herself clutching him, holding him as close as she could, pressing her face into his shoulder. God, she loved him. She loved him so much. And she was going to miss him more than anything in the whole world.

  They stood holding one another for a long time, and slowly Delaney became aware that the desperate hurt that had fueled her was morphing into something much hotter and more undeniable. She inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of sea and salt off his warm, hard body. Suddenly she was gripped with the urge to taste him, to press her lips against the strong column of his throat. Her breasts felt heavy and full, and warmth was spreading between her thighs. She wanted him again.

  As soon as the thought coalesced in her mind, she stiffened and pushed herself away from him. She dared a quick darting glance up at his face as she moved away. His expression was shuttered, his feelings hidden from her. She reminded herself that, unlike her, Sam did not have control issues around bodily contact with his best friend.

  “I’m sorry for fighting, too, Sam,” she said in a muffled tone.

  “Let’s just forget it, all right?” he suggested. “We’ll draw a line under the past week and call it moon craziness or whatever and never look back. You’re too valuable to me to stuff it up for something as stupid and pointless as sex.”

  Delaney carefully picked a piece of lint off her jeans, desperately needing a few seconds to control her emotions. He’d called what had happened between them pointless, and he wanted to write last week off as though it had never happened. Again, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise to her. She already knew that what had happened between them meant far more to her than to him.

  “Yeah,” was all she could manage to say, however. She simply wasn’t that good a liar.

  It seemed to be enough for Sam. Crossing to the dining table, he propped a hip against it.

  “So who was the guy with the plans?” he asked.

  “He’s a friend of Claire’s, an architect. I found a house I’m interested in in Camberwell,” she explained dully. For some reason, all the color seemed to have leached out of the room. She felt brittle and tired and grey.

  Sam’s face was a picture of confusion. “I just don’t get why you’re moving, Laney,” he said. She could tell he was making a mammoth effort to remain calm and rational. “You love this place. And you’ve never said a word about wanting to sell.”

  “It’s not very practical, though, is it?” she said. “There’s only one bedroom. Anyway, I saw this house and I just fell in love with it.”

  Sam’s face lightened as she fed him her latest lie. She saw the way forward—all she had to do was convince him that she was obsessed with the new house, and he would think he understood why she was moving away from him. At some stage he was going to work out that the common factor in both leaving the business and selling her place was his proximity to her, but she was counting on his famed emotional blindness to give her a bit of breathing room for a while yet. Besides, he had no reason to suspect that his best friend was about to cut him loose. Why would he? As far as he knew, nothing had changed between them. Despite their two sessions of desperate, greedy sex.

  “Do you have any pictures?” Sam asked. He was doing his best to be supportive, she knew.

  “Um, sure. It’s on the Net,” she said. He trailed her over to the corner alcove where her computer was hooked up to broadband Internet twenty-four hours a day. Another thing she’d have to set up from scratch in her new home.

  She could feel the heat off Sam’s body as he stood behind her while she keyed in the property’s address. Her traitorous nipples hardened, pressing upward, hoping to gain his attention. She crossed her arms and squeezed them tightly against her body, willing her breasts to behave.

  “Looks great from the outside,” Sam said as the first pictures came on screen.

  Delaney clicked the mouse to bring up the internal shots, and she could feel Sam’s bewilderment as he took in the dark, dingy-looking rooms with their hideous floral wallpaper and virulent purple-brown carpet.

  “Needs a bit of work,” he said doubtfully.

  “But it’s a great floor plan, and there’s plenty of land out the back for extending. Steve is going to draw up plans for a new kitchen and family room,” Delaney forced an enthusiasm she didn’t feel into her voice. It wasn’t that she didn’t like the house—she did. It had a lot of potential. But it was a sad, second-rate replacement for her old life. She had a feeling that everything was going to feel like that for a while.

  “Once we’ve pulled down that wallpaper and ripped the carpet up, it’ll look better,” Sam said. Her heart twisted as she heard him automatically include himself in her plans.

  “Yeah,” she said. “The floorboards are good—Baltic pine—and the ceilings are great, lots of Art Deco features. It’s got the potential to be a great family home.”

  There was a moment of awkward silence after she’d said this, and she could feel the tension radiating off Sam in waves.

  “I’ve been thinking about all that stuff you said about family and everything,” Sam said, clearing his throat a little as though he were choking on his words a little. “I want to help.”

  “Help?” Delaney made the mistake of twisting in her chair, her cheek nearly brushing against the fly of Sam’s board shorts, he was standing so close behind her. He sprang backward as though she’d electrocuted him, and she felt her face flush warmly.

  “Yeah, help. I mean, I know heaps of guys. I’ve been kind of mentally sorting through them over the past day or so, and I think I’ve come up with a couple of potentials for you.”

  Delaney frowned. “Potential what?”

  “Husbands. Partners. Whatever you want to call them. So you can get stuck into this whole family thing,” Sam said.

  For a moment she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything except hurt. Sam wanted to hook her up with his friends. He wanted to matchmake for her.

  It was the ultimate rejection, the mother of all brush-offs. She put a hand to her stomach, worried she was going to lose the light dinner she’d had before Steve arrived.

  Completely oblivious to her reaction, Sam continued arguing his case. “Don’t worry, I won’t hook you up with any losers. I know you better than anyone, so just think of it as a pre-screening program.”

  “I don’t need your help to find someone, Sam,” she said quietly.

  He looked hurt. The big idiot. She couldn’t believe he was so blind and misguided.

  “But I want to help. I know I’ve been a shit lately, and I know this is really important to you. It’s the least I can do.”

  She had no more words. She simply stared at him. Perhaps he saw the pain in her eyes because he reached for her hand. Stroking her fingers absently, he held her eyes steadily.

  “I love you more than anything in the world, and if you want a family, you’re going to get one,” he said, deeply sincere. “You deserve the best, Laney. A husband who adores you, kids for you to nurture. I know you’ll make a great mom. And I’ve been thinking—these kids of yours are going to need an uncle to teach them how to do stuff. Skate and surf, whatever. So I’m signing up in advance, Uncle Sam, ready to go.”

  Delaney pulled her hand free from his and stood. She couldn’t look at him, she was so angry. How dare he stand there and offer her half a loaf? He was so thick! She wanted to hit him on the side of the head with something large and heavy.

  Deep inside, she knew it wasn’t his fault. She was the one changing the rules after all these years. But she was aching so much, and he was standing there, rubbing salt into her wounds.

  “I’m only going to say this once—I can find my own husband,” she said coolly.

  Sam’s eyebrows shot up toward his hairline. “What’s wrong now, for Pete’s sake? I’m trying to be nice here!”

  “I’m not a bloody charity case, Sam. Men do find me attractive without having to be corralled into a date by my best friend.”

 
; “I’m not saying that! Did I say that? I just want to help!”

  “Well, you can’t. This is between me and my future husband. Ever heard the saying three’s a crowd?”

  Sam puffed his cheeks out as though he wanted to say something extremely rude but was restraining himself through sheer dint of will.

  “Fine. I was just trying to be a good guy. More fool me,” he said, stalking toward the door.

  Delaney beat him to it, swinging it open to speed him on his way.

  “You want to spend your time thinking about someone’s personal life, why don’t you concentrate on your own?” she said.

  This surprised Sam so much that he froze on the threshold.

  “You’re not getting any younger yourself, you know, Sam,” Delaney said, pleased to see the look of consternation creasing his face. “Can’t be an overgrown kid all your life.”

  With that she pushed the door shut, forcing Sam to skip forward or risk barking his heels.

  Guilt kicked in about twenty seconds later. She was such a bitch! The only thing Sam had done wrong was not return her feelings. Which he didn’t even know she had! Offering to help her find a life partner wasn’t a deliberate, malicious act on his behalf. She had no doubt that if she told him how she felt, he’d bend over backward to try to feel the same way. The very thought of which made her skin crawl and her toes curl in her shoes—Sam trying to love her would be ten times worse than Sam oblivious to her love.

  The poor, unknowing man had just come to offer his help and support. And she’d thrown it back in his face.

  She strode around her apartment a little, wondering what had happened to the calm, easygoing, rational woman she used to pride herself on being. She felt as if she were on a roller coaster, never knowing when to expect the next dip or rise in her emotional state.

  But there was no reason for Sam to keep copping the fallout from her meltdown.

  Guilt driving her, she grabbed her house keys and slipped out the door. The stairwell was just to the left of her apartment, and she took the steps two at a time as she made her way to Sam’s place. She’d apologize for going off-tap. She’d thank him for his thoughtfulness in wanting to help her get a head start on building a family. And then she’d tell him in a much nicer, calmer fashion that she could handle the quest for a husband on her own.

  Finding herself facing Sam’s front door, she paused to take a deep breath before knocking briskly. Tucking her hands into the back pockets of her jeans, she ducked her head and waited for the familiar sound of Sam approaching his door. After a few moments, she realized he wasn’t coming. Frowning, she rapped on the door again. Again, nothing. Her frown deepened. God, had she pissed him off so much that he was refusing to let her in now?

  “Sam. I’m sorry. Okay?” she called.

  Nothing but silence. Delaney chewed her lip. Sure, she could keep yelling her apology through the door. But she didn’t exactly relish all their neighbors being in on the conversation.

  Making a decision, she selected Sam’s spare key from the collection on her key ring and slid it into the lock.

  “I’m coming in, Sam. I just want to say I’m sorry,” she called as she twisted the key in the lock.

  To her surprise, Sam wasn’t waiting on the other side of the door. The apartment seemed deserted, and she guessed that he must have gone out after their big fight. She was turning back toward the door when she registered the sound of the shower running.

  Right. That was why he hadn’t heard her. She hovered uncertainly, unsure about whether to go or stay. Then she shrugged. She and Sam had always treated each other’s apartments as extensions of their own. Probably a couple of arguments and some incidental sex on the side weren’t cause to change their unspoken arrangement.

  Having decided to wait, she glanced around Sam’s living space, looking for a diversion to keep her overactive mind busy. His living area was dominated by large, bright red leather furniture, modular and very practical for the way Sam lived—neither food nor drink could stain it, and sand brushed off easily. Modern paintings covered most of the wall—big, bright, bold exercises in color and form. They reminded her of Sam, somehow—full of energy and life, yet chaotic and unfocused. And incredibly compelling as a result.

  Pressing her lips together, she turned toward the balcony and gravitated to her favorite seat in Sam’s place—a squishy, formless-looking armchair made by a local furniture designer. Covered in a dark navy cord, it was incredibly comfortable and Delaney sank into it with a sigh. Staring glumly at the blue sky outside, she dropped her chin into her hands and tried to think ahead to a time when she wouldn’t have to endure the wrenching, aching pain around her heart. It had to happen. Once she’d made the break, the awful, tight feeling had to go away. Please, God, she prayed. Let it go away as soon as possible.

  She was so lost in her own thoughts that she didn’t note the sound of the shower finishing, and she was completely off guard when Sam padded out past her, his naked body still half-wet as he headed for the kitchen.

  Delaney froze, eyes widening as she scanned the back of his body from head to toe. She’d had sex with him twice now, but both times she’d been too busy grabbing him and holding on for dear life to truly appreciate his remarkable body.

  His shoulders were broad and his back well-muscled from years of surfing and skiing and swimming. Despite all the atrocious junk food he consumed, his torso still narrowed athletically down to his hips. His butt deserved an hour of appreciation all to itself—pert and tight and rounded, it was the epitome of a sexy male ass. And now she knew exactly how firm and right it felt in her hands as she urged him to go harder, deeper, faster….

  Swallowing a surge of lust, she finished her visual catalogue, eyes running down his long, muscular thighs and calves.

  She should say something. This was like spying, with him not realizing she was there. She opened her mouth to speak, then Sam turned around. She forgot whatever it was she’d been about to say. He had such a good chest—the firm, masculine mounds of his pecs covered in a light sprinkling of hair that tapered down to an arrow as it moved south of his navel. The hair blossomed more thickly again at his groin, the perfect showcase for his pièce de résistance. Sam was a man who would never have to feel inadequate in the men’s change room, that was for sure. She squirmed in her seat a little as her eyes found his penis and stayed there. Just looking at him brought back the memory of how hot and hard he’d been as he slid inside her.

  The very vividness of her thoughts were enough to launch her to her feet as she belatedly realized that Sam had at last registered her presence.

  “Sam, I’m sorry—I used my spare key. I was just waiting, I didn’t mean to intrude….” she said, already striding toward the door.

  She deliberately didn’t make eye contact with him, instead keeping her eye on her goal—the door, and freedom from her own desires.

  But Sam moved faster, darting across to catch her before she reached the exit.

  “Delaney, wait!” he said, grabbing a hold of her arm.

  Delaney stiffened and froze, terrified that if he looked into her face he would see exactly how much she longed for him.

  “I wanted to say I’m sorry. That’s all. I’ll come back. Or you can come down to my place. Or we can talk about this at work tomorrow,” she babbled mindlessly, eyes glued to the door.

  “I’m sorry, too,” Sam said. She could feel his breath warm on her face. “And you’re right—finding a husband is your business, not mine. Hell, what do I know about relationships, right?” he said.

  Delaney managed a tight little nod. She was trembling, inside and out. He was standing mere inches from her, his whole amazing body gloriously naked. Her knees felt weak, and she almost couldn’t hear her own thoughts over the frantic beating of her heart.

  “I have to go, Sam,” she choked, trying to pull her arm from his grasp.

  “Why?”

  She couldn’t answer him, and he wouldn’t release her. In the end D
elaney was forced to lift her face and make eye contact with him.

  His irises were the darkest blue she’d ever seen them, and he scanned her face intently as she pleaded with him with her eyes. Surely he could see how tortured she was? How much she wanted him, needed him?

  “Laney,” he said, his voice harsh.

  She gave a little gasping hiccup, a last attempt at resistance, and then she couldn’t help it, she was leaning toward him and he was leaning toward her and her hands were sliding around his strong, muscular shoulders, her fingers splaying as she gloried in the feel of him under her hands.

  His mouth angled over hers and she met the hot rush of his kiss with her own desire, forgetting to breathe or think or even stand she was so lost in the moment.

  Sam’s arms flexed to take her weight, his grip firming on her torso as he held her close. She could feel his erection hardening between them, and the greedy, hungry part of her wanted everything, all of it, right then and there.

  As her blood thrummed through her veins, moment melted into moment: the delicious unfurling of sensation as Sam pressed his open mouth against her neck, his tongue whirling swirls against her sensitive skin; the sweet pain of her breasts pressed against the hardness of his chest; the dull ache of desire as she rode Sam’s thigh where he’d pressed it between her legs.

  Sam murmured his appreciation of it all as he slid her top down over her shoulder, exposing her bra. She let her head drop back up as she felt the rasp of his whisker-stubbled face against her skin. She wanted him so much. Too much.

  The realization made her stiffen in his arms. Unless she was a glutton for punishment, now was her chance to step back from making yet another mistake. She closed her eyes, biting her lip as Sam’s mouth at last found her nipple through the satin of her bra. Her hands reached for his head, and while she still had the strength she gently but firmly pushed him away. Sam at last seemed to register the tension in her body, and he lifted his head and locked eyes with her again.