WHAT ARE FRIENDS FOR?

by Naomi Horton

  "Well, that certainly was interesting." Andie followed him into his office, closing the door behind her and walking across to help herself to a cup of coffee.

  "Yeah." Conn dropped into his leather chair and leaned back, looking around at her. "That was a good idea you had out there, taking negotiations up to Timberwolf."

  "I wasn't talking about Becktron, I was talking about the way you cut Marc Beck off at the knees out there." She strolled around to the front of his desk, a cup of steaming coffee in her hand. "You have a problem with him or something?"

  "The kid's a jerk," Conn muttered, reaching up to loosen his tie.

  "Kid?" Andie's voice was filled with laughter. "He's the same age you are, Connor."

  "In years, maybe. But you know what they say, honey – it ain't the years, it's the mileage."

  "Mmm." She nodded, still watching him with that slightly thoughtful expression. "Competition making you a little jumpy?"

  "Competition?" Conn gave a snort. "I'm buying Becktron out from under him, aren't I? If he had what it took, he'd have found a way to bail his old man out without having to sell off the business."

  "That's not the kind of competition I was talking about. Although last week you told me that selling off Becktron before it bankrupted them was the smartest thing the Becks could do."

  "That was last week," Conn growled.

  "And Marc's computer company? Last week you said that new design he's come up with is going to set the entire industry on its ear."

  "Like I said, that was last week." Conn pulled a stack of papers toward him, then shoved it away again. "What's with you and this guy, anyway?" He gave her a jaundiced look. "Funny. I never heard you say anything about liking Chopin before." He drew out the composer's name sarcastically.

  "Why would I?" Andie's eyes flashed. "Your idea of classical music is Jimi Hendrix setting his guitar on fire."

  "Since when did you get to be such a music snob? I've been in the car with you when you roil the top down and the stereo up as we go belting down I-5 with Billy Idol's 'L.A. Woman' cranked up to about five hundred decibels."

  "I thought you liked Billy Idol," she said indignantly.

  "The question is, does Marc Beck like him?"

  Andie stared at him for a full beat. "And just what is that supposed to mean?"

  Conn had his mouth half open to tell her exactly what it meant, then realized he didn't know himself. "Nothing," he muttered, running his fingers through his hair. "Hell, Andie, it didn't mean anything – all right? I'm just hung over and tired, and this whole Becktron deal's got me wired tighter than a three-dollar radio. I thought we had everything going smooth as silk, and now I'm not so sure."

  Andie eyed him mistrustfully for another moment or two, then finally she nodded, relaxing. "It's going to be all right, Conn. Beck just wants to get all the loose ends tied off, that's all."

  "Damn it, they're practically bankrupt! This is the best deal he'll ever get – he knows that. Anyone else will grab his company's patents and sell off the rest at garage-sale prices, union contracts, pension funds and seniority be damned."

  Andie had to smile, hearing the frustration in Conn's voice. "Relax. He's just getting prenuptial jitters. Becktron is his life, like Devlin Electronics is yours. He's worried about his people. He wants to make sure they're taken care of, that's all."

  "I said I'll take care of them, damn it," Conn said angrily. "What the hell does he want from me, blood?"

  "Your time. Your reassurance."

  Conn gave a thoughtful grunt. Then, almost grudgingly, he smiled, running his fingers through his already-tousled hair again. "You're right, as always. Tell Timberwolf I want computer and fax hookups, photocopy access, meeting rooms – the works. Minimal staff only. And tell them if they let anything slip to the press, I'll buy them out and turn them into a mockery."

  "I think the term is monastery."

  "Whatever." He flashed her a quick grin. "Hell, considering the shape my sex life is in, I'm a first-rate candidate for the place myself."

  "I'm sure Olivia will be only too glad to take care of that for you," Andie said sweetly. Just the thought of Olivia Woodruff in bed with Conn made her blood boil, but she smiled determinedly and pushed her chair back, getting to her feet. "I'll call Timberwolf and set things up."

  "Hey!" Conn reached out and caught her by the arm as she went to walk by him. Leaning back in his leather armchair, he let her arm slide through his grasp until he was holding her hand, fingers meshed with hers. "There's nothing between Olivia Woodruff and me, all right? Yeah, we've gone out a few times. And yeah, she made me an offer this morning most men would give their right arm for. But I'm not interested."

  Andie smiled carelessly, praying he couldn't read anything in her eyes. He knew her so damned well, it was hard to hide anything from him, yet at times it was as though he didn't know her at all. "I'm not your keeper, Conn," she reminded him with an offhand smile. "You don't have to tell me your plans."

  "I know I don't," he said with a hint of impatience. "But this thing with Olivia seems to be sticking in your craw for some reason, and I just want to put your mind at ease. I'm not in love with her, I'm not going to marry her, I'm not going to marry anyone." A grin flickered across his mouth. "I'd rather marry you. What do you say we run off to Tahoe for the weekend and get hitched and spend a few days in bed and—"

  "You should be so lucky," she said with a reckless laugh, bending down to kiss him on the cheek just so he couldn't see her eyes.

  Conn turned his head at the last instant and to her surprise Andie found herself kissing him on the mouth instead, his lips surprisingly soft against hers. It was so unexpected that she didn't pull away, slightly off balance, and in the next heartbeat he turned his head ever so slightly to settle his mouth more firmly against hers and then was kissing her with satisfactory thoroughness.

  Senses scattered, breathless, a little dizzy, Andie put her hand on his shoulder, intending to push herself free of him. But then his lips parted with silken insistence and she started kissing him back without really thinking about it, welcoming the sly touch of his tongue, feeling herself start to slip dangerously near the edge of self-control.

  The phone bleated loudly and Andie tore her mouth from Conn's, heart racing, flustered and out of breath. Shaking her fingers free of his grasp, she turned and grabbed the receiver. "What?"

  There was a startled silence on the other end, then Margie's voice, slightly reproachful. "It's Frank Czarnecki for Connor, Andie. Something about the DeepSix project. Do you want me to have him call back?"

  "No." Stepping well away from Conn, she took a deep breath. "No, he'll take it. Thanks." Still holding the receiver, she stood there for an unsteady moment, not even daring to look at Conn. "It's Frank. About DeepSix."

  He reached up to take the receiver from her hand, looking at her, a tiny frown wedged between his strong brows. "We, uh, maybe we should talk about this."

  Taking another deep breath, she slipped from between him and his desk. "DeepSix is your baby," she said carelessly, deliberately misunderstanding him. "Right now I've got to talk with Timberwolf."

  "Not DeepSix, damn it, Andie!"

  He looked perplexed and a little unsettled, and suddenly Andie didn't want to talk to him about anything, least of all why she'd been kissing him as though she meant it. This morning's lapse in the kitchen had been one thing – he'd come on to her, after all, so she could blame her reactions on surprise and sleep deprivation. But this slip had been all hers. And there was no way she could explain what the hell she'd been doing without making things even worse than they already were.

  Before he could say anything more, she reached across and pressed a button on his phone, bringing Frank Czarnecki on line; then she turned and headed for the door as though she had nothing on her mind at all but the upcoming negotiations with Becktron.

  Conn had his mouth open to call her back, then realized Czarnecki was on the other end of the receiver, no doubt wonderi
ng what the hell was going on. Swallowing his impatience and confusion, he ran his fingers through his hair, then loosened the knot in his tie and undid the collar button on his shirt. "Frank. What can I do for you?"

  * * *

  Something was going on, and he didn't like it one damned bit.

  Conn wandered across his wide, dimly lit living room again and stood by the windows, looking down at the wide expanse of lawn through the light drizzle that coated everything in gray.

  And as he had about twenty times tonight, he glanced around at the phone on the elegant fruitwood writing desk against the far wall. He wanted to call her. Wanted her to come over, filling the rooms around him with that special warmth and good humor she carried with her like sunshine. And he wanted to touch her again. To fill his hands with her silken mane of hair and run it through his fingers and lower his mouth to hers and kiss her until he was dizzy with it.

  And that was what was keeping him from picking up the phone and dialing her number.

  He lifted the half-forgotten mug of coffee in his hand and took a swallow, barely tasting it. Because the woman he was thinking about as he might a lover wasn't Olivia Woodruff or any of a dozen other beautiful and all-too-willing women he could think of, but Andie Spencer.

  Those few erotic minutes with her that morning had triggered an attack of the wants so bad, he could taste it. And while his brain knew that making love to Andie was out of the question, his body had no such qualms.

  He glowered out into the misty night and thought, idly, of calling Olivia. She'd be all too happy to come over and take the edge off.

  Except that was just a little too clinical. Granted, he'd pretty much given up on the concept of love, but there should still be more to a sexual encounter than simple physical release. Hell, if that's all he wanted, he didn't need Olivia or Andie.

  It made him smile slightly and he met his own gaze on the rain-wet window. Divorce blues, Andie had called it. That's all this was.

  He glanced at the phone again, wanting to call Andie. Knowing he didn't dare. And wondering what this strange empty wanting was that sat cold and low in his belly.

  * * *

  Chapter 4

  « ^ »

  When the phone rang a little after three, Andie simply groaned and pulled the covers over her head. Not this time. No way. He could plead and beg all he wanted, but she was not running over there again, divorce blues or no.

  The phone chimed insistently again, and she swore with more heat than imagination and struggled free of the covers, squinting at the clock as though to assure herself it really was three in the morning.

  It was.

  Grabbing the receiver, she shoved it against her ear. "This," she snarled sleepily, "had better be damned good!"

  The sizzle of an empty line answered her. Then, quietly, a voice murmured, "Oh, damn! I forgot the time change, sweetheart. Did I wake you?" A soft chuckle. "Come to think of it, I hope I did, considering it's what … two in the morning over there?"

  "Three," she mumbled, sinking back against the mound of pillows, eyes closed. "Alain! Where on earth are you?"

  "Paris, darling. Didn't you get my message?"

  "Message?" Andie rubbed her eyes with her knuckles, vaguely remembering seeing something on her desk about Paris. "Um, yeah. Yeah, I did, I guess. Forgot, that's all."

  "I'd hoped you might call tonight," he chided gently. "I gave Margie the number."

  "Sorry – I've been run off my feet all day. I got home late and just crashed."

  "Bad news. I'm stuck here for another week, at least. I know I promised to come out to the coast this weekend, but…"

  She could hear the shrug in his voice and winced guiltily. She'd completely forgotten he'd been planning to come out to Seattle this weekend. "That's … um … actually just as well. Conn's negotiating to buy out a major competitor, and I'm working crazy hours. We're going to be tied up all weekend."

  "You and Connor? Together?"

  She smiled into the darkness. "Along with a dozen or so other people."

  Alain gave a grunt. "So let that dozen or so other people take care of things, and fly over here in the morning. You can shop and go sightseeing while I'm in my meetings, and we can spend the evenings together, drinking wine and playing tourist."

  Andie laughed. "It's tempting, but…"

  "But Conn wins again," he said with a hint of irritation in his voice.

  "This isn't a contest, Alain," Andie said quietly.

  She could almost hear him smile. "No, I know it's not, sweetheart. Sorry. It's just that I miss you. And it bugs the hell out of me that I'm stuck in the most romantic city in the world – alone – while Connor Devlin's got you all to himself."

  "He's just a friend, Alain. You know that."

  "So you keep saying. But the way you talk about him, I sometimes wonder."

  "Well, you don't have to worry." Andie stared at the ceiling. Thinking of Conn. Wishing … well, just wishing.

  "You sound sad."

  "Tired." Andie gave herself a slight shake. "Just tired."

  He gave a rueful laugh. "My fault. I've been so busy, I lose track of time. It's just that after four solid days of talking bottom lines and investment rates and stock options, I was desperate to hear your voice."

  "I'm glad you called."

  "I wish I were there with you right now. Are you wearing that pale blue negligee I gave you for your birthday?"

  "Of course." She'd never taken the gift out of the elegant silver box it had come in, but it was just a small lie. "I think of you every time I put it on." Another lie. She realized, with a faint sense of shame, that she rarely thought of Alain at all.

  "If I was there with you, you wouldn't be wearing anything." His voice wrapped around her like silk. "If I close my eyes I can feel your skin, taste your mouth…"

  "I … um… It's awfully late, Alain. I have to be up and reasonably alert in another four hours. Maybe you can call back tomorrow evening and we can talk about it then?"

  He was silent for a long moment, then he chuckled. "You're probably right. I should keep my mind on business. But before I go, there's something we need to talk about."

  Andie braced herself instinctively, fingers tightening around the receiver.

  "I know I said I wouldn't push you, Andie, but if we are going to get married this fall, we have to start making some plans. My mother's already got herself tied in knots, and we haven't even set a date."

  Andie bit her lower lip, wishing she could just say yes and mean it. That she could truly love Alain as easily as he seemed to have fallen in love with her. That she could just accept all he had to offer and be happy.

  Knowing it was never going to be that easy at all.

  "Yes," she said very quietly. "I know. But I…" She swallowed a sigh. "I need more time, Alain. Not just getting married, but all of it – quitting my job, leaving my family and friends and—" And Conn, she almost said. I'd have to leave Conn.

  Instead, she just squeezed her eyes closed and fought back the sudden surge of emotion. "I'm sorry. I'm not making sense, I know. And it's not fair to you to…"

  "It's all right, sweetheart," he murmured. "I understand. Just don't say no. Not yet. Think about it. Take as much time as you need. I'll be here for you."

  "Oh, Alain…" The tears caught her so by surprise that two of them rolled down her cheeks before she could even blink. "I'm handling this badly. Thank you for being so patient with me."

  "Look, honey, I have to run. The next meeting is starting. Give me a call tomorrow sometime, all right? I'll be in meetings all day, but tell my secretary to page me. Now go back to sleep."

  "I will. And, Alain—"

  "Good night, darling. I love you."

  The receiver went down gently in Paris, and Andie lay there and listened to the dial tone for a long while, her throat aching with tears. Damn it, it should be so simple! Most women would kill to be in her shoes, being wooed by one of the world's most eligible bachelors. He was
handsome and charming and sweet, had a town house in Quebec City and a two-hundred-year-old château in the country and he loved her. So why in heaven's name couldn't she just be in love with him instead of with Conn, who wasn't in love with anyone?

  * * *

  "Five days? You're going to be staying at a romantic mountain resort with Connor Devlin for five days?" Andie's younger sister gave a whoop. "Well, that's more like it! Maybe old Conn's got a brain cell or two that's still functioning after all!" She gave a dirty-sounding chuckle. "With luck, that's not all that's functioning."

  "Work, Tracy – we're going up there to work."

  "Mmm. Speaking of Connor Devlin, how many men does it take to change a light bulb?"

  Andie closed her eyes, waiting for it. "How many?"

  "One. He just stands there and holds the bulb, and waits for the world to revolve around him."

  Andie had to laugh. "And you think that's Conn?"

  Tracy looked thoughtful. "Not really. He's so focused on Devlin Electronics, I don't think he's even aware of the world half the time. That's the only reason I can think of why he can look at you for twenty-some years, and still not see you."

  Andie just smiled. Then she frowned and looked at the open suitcase on her bed, then at her closet. "I'm forgetting something…"

  "That knock-your-eyes-out blue silk negligee that what's-his-name gave you," Tracy said firmly. "God knows, it's not as though you're wearing it for him. So drag it out and put it to work, big sister."

  "I will not!" Andie turned to glare at her sister, who was sprawled comfortably across the end of her bed. "Trust me, Tracy, this weekend is going to be as romantic as a case of poison ivy."

  "Well, for heaven's sake, you can change that easily enough!" Tracy sat up, gesturing impatiently. "He's divorced now, Andie, remember? Unattached. Up for grabs. So pack that suitcase full of your sexiest clothes, a gallon or so of expensive perfume and a couple of those lift-'em-up-and-shove-'em-out bras for a little old-fashioned cleavage, and let nature take its course!"

  Andie gave Tracy a long-suffering look. "I know this is a difficult concept for you to grasp, Tracy, but when I say I'm going to be working up at Timberwolf, I mean just that – meetings and more meetings. If I go up there parading around in perfume and cleavage, Conn will think I've flipped out and he'll have me locked away. Permanently."