Harlequin Superromance August 2013 - Bundle 1 of 2: What Happens Between FriendsStaying at Joe'sHer Road Home

by Beth Andrews

  “It’s the middle of the night.”

  And she was already drunk. Had arrived in this condition on his doorstep on the arm of another man.

  She resumed her search. “Don’t be such a drag, James. Surely it’s not too late to have one little drink with an old friend. Ah...here we go.” She pulled out a bottle of whiskey, swung it so that the liquid sloshed back and forth, catching the moonlight coming in through the window. “Now, you can either have a drink with me or you can watch while I drink alone.”

  He stepped forward as she grabbed two glasses, but there was something dangerous about her tonight, something ill at ease, and he stopped before he got too close. “I think you’ve already had enough.”

  She laughed. “Do you? Well, I’ll take that into consideration. Yes, I certainly will.” She poured a generous shot into a glass. “Why, if James Montesano thinks I’ve had enough, then I probably have. And I should listen, right? I should do exactly what the great, oh, so very responsible and superior James Montesano wants me to do, think what he wants me to think, be who he wants me to be.”

  Holding his gaze, she tossed back the drink, not batting an eye as it went down.

  He wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or scared shitless.

  She poured more whiskey, set the bottle next to the sink then sashayed up to him, the swell of her breasts spilling out of her top, her bare legs gleaming, her eyes overly bright and determined.

  Scared shitless it was.

  “Is she here?” she asked in what she probably considered a whisper, but was more like a shout.

  “Who?”

  “Your date.”

  “Anne’s at home.”

  “Well? How was it?”

  “Huh?”

  How was he supposed to think when all he could see was her face? When she was close enough that he felt her warmth, could smell the sweetness of alcohol on her breath?

  “The big date. How’d it go? Is Anne ‘The One’? The future mother of your children, the perfect woman for you to make your tidy, perfect life with? Tell your old pal all about it.” She tossed back the drink, raised the glass and almost clipped him on the chin. “Were there sparks? Fireworks?” She frowned. “Or maybe those aren’t a necessary requirement for you?”

  He plucked the glass from her to save them both pain and embarrassment. “Why don’t we—”

  “Did you kiss her? Did you kiss her the way you kissed me? Did you take her home, touch her, make love to her the way you did me?” She kept getting closer—which was weird because he kept backing up. “Did you tell her how much you love her, how you’ve always loved her? Oh, wait. That’s me. Your great love. The only woman you’ve ever loved, and yet, tonight you were out with her. With...Anne,” she said, practically spitting out the name.

  And it hit him. She was pissed. At him. Jealous.

  Un-freaking-believable.

  “You were the one who said you couldn’t be with me that way,” he reminded her, his temper growing. “Your choice.”

  “Right. My choice. Well, aren’t you the noble one, letting it all be my choice. My choice whether I could suddenly stop being myself and somehow morph into the person you want me to be. My choice whether we remain friends—but only if I change everything about myself.”

  How could she think he wanted her to change when he’d always, always loved her for who she was?

  When all he’d ever wanted was for her to love him back.

  “Hey,” he said softly, taking hold of her upper arms, bending at the knees so he could look into her eyes. “I don’t want you to change—”

  “You don’t want me to do anything but change. Well, guess what, James? You win.”

  He had no idea what she was talking about. It sure as hell didn’t feel like he’d won.

  Until she kissed him.

  * * *

  SADIE FELT THE sharp intake of James’s breath, could taste his surprise. Tension emanated from him, tension and that patience and control she’d always found so fascinating, so frustrating. Under her hands, his shoulders were rigid, his bare chest hot and solid against her breasts.

  She might have been a little tipsy—and those last two drinks hadn’t helped, though Kane had cut her off well over an hour ago—but she wasn’t so drunk she couldn’t tell that James was reacting to her kiss, to her body plastered against his. His arousal, hard and hot, pressed against her lower belly; his breathing was ragged. His grip on her upper arms almost painful.

  But she also couldn’t miss one vital fact.

  He wasn’t kissing her back.

  She lowered to her heels, the movement causing her head to spin. “What’s the matter, James?” she asked, her voice harsh, her words only slurring slightly. “Isn’t this what you wanted?” She spread her arms out. “Well, here I am. Come on, what are you waiting for?” she continued when he just watched her warily, like he didn’t even know her, like he hadn’t been an important part of her life, her world, for the past twenty years.

  “Let’s sit down,” he said in that annoyingly reasonable tone of his. “I’ll make some coffee—”

  She wrenched away from him, slapped his hands when he tried to steady her. She didn’t need his help. She’d stay on her own two feet, would find her balance herself.

  “I don’t want coffee,” she said, some distant, sober part of her brain realizing she sounded like a bratty toddler. Thankfully the rest of her brain didn’t care. “You had no right to change the rules like this. It’s not fair.”

  The more she thought about it, the more it bugged her. The feelings, her frustrations and anger that had been building inside of her ever since he’d kicked her out of his life, threatened to explode inside of her. The longer he stood there all quietly imposing and sanctimonious and sober, the more out of control she felt.

  “You can’t just...throw something like that at me,” she continued, her voice ragged. “You can’t just say you love me and then toss me aside when I don’t fall in line with your plans.” She held her hair back from her face because it kept getting in her way. “Damn you, Jamie. Damn you! How dare you change everything between us?”

  “I had to do what was right for me,” he said. “This isn’t easy for me, either. I’ve loved you my entire life—”

  “You say that and yet, all those years, you never, not once, let me know that you felt anything other than friendship for me and then, when you do decide to spring it on me, you get pissed off when I don’t react how you want. Well, guess what? I’m pissed, too.” She shoved his chest. He barely moved, which only made her angrier. She growled low in her throat. “You changed everything between us! How could you do that?” Her words were choked, her vision blurred. “Why would you do that?”

  Her eyes welled. Too much alcohol, she assured herself. She hugged her arms around herself. She was chilled and not feeling all that well.

  He grasped her hands, his touch incredibly gentle, his voice low. “Sadie, I never meant to hurt you.”

  She forced herself to meet his eyes, held that gaze even when he blurred at the edges. “Didn’t you?” she asked softly.

  He flinched. Dropped her hands. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  Her stomach roiled. “I...” She wiped her forehead, her fingers coming away damp with sweat. “I...” A wave of nausea rose. She swallowed it, but another followed. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, unsure why she was apologizing when he was the one in the wrong.

  But she didn’t have time to worry about it, not when her stomach rebelled. She raced into the bathroom, fell to her knees in front of the toilet.

  And cursed herself for those last two drinks.

  * * *

  A SHAFT OF sunlight speared Sadie’s eyes, seemed to penetrate her skull and set her head on fire. She groaned and rolled over, but that had her stomach turn
ing. Oh, God. Her mouth was dry. Her tongue felt swollen and fuzzy. Her entire body hurt.

  All letting her know she wasn’t dead.

  Yippee.

  The events of last night rushed into her mind—her anger and frustration, the burger and her conversation with her boss, the few guys who’d come up to her during the course of the evening wanting to buy her a drink, wanting to dance with her, wanting to take her home to bed. She’d refused each and every offer because she hadn’t wanted any other man, no matter what she’d told Kane about them getting together. Not when the only man she could think about was James.

  But he’d been out with someone else.

  So what did she do? Brilliant mind that she was, when Kane asked for directions to where she lived, she’d led him straight to James’s place, where she’d capped off the night by yelling at him and then puking for an hour.

  At least it had been a memorable evening.

  Now it was time to face the music—and that damn bright light.

  Peeling her eyes open, she blinked, trying to get used to the glare, but that only made her dizzier, so she shut them again. Keeping them shut, she pushed up onto her elbows slowly, let her head acclimate to the change in altitude, then sat all the way up and opened her eyes again. She stared at the painting of a river James had hanging on the wall, done by a local artist. Waited until the room stopped spinning and her stomach settled.

  Finally, she stood. At some point last night, James had helped her out of her clothes and had pulled one of his T-shirts over her head. Reaching only midthigh, it was incredibly soft and smelled of him.

  She wasn’t giving it back.

  She made her way to the bathroom, her steps slow and measured. Washing her hands in the sink, she caught her reflection in the mirror. And groaned again. Her hair was a mess, tangled and frizzy around her pale face, her makeup smudged, dried mascara and eyeliner rimming her bloodshot eyes.

  She gargled with some mouthwash, washed her face. It was an improvement, getting that old makeup off, but there was nothing she could do about her hair, not when every pull of James’s hairbrush was pure agony. Pale and resembling a zombie—minus the craving for human brains—she forced herself to leave the sanctity of his bedroom.

  Worst walk of shame ever.

  And she hadn’t even had sex.

  She headed to the kitchen, but stopped when she saw him out on the deck, the morning paper spread out in front of him. With a deep, fortifying breath and a prayer, she went into the bedroom and opened the door leading outside, stepped onto the cool wood.

  He lifted his head, his gaze hooded. “You’re up.”

  “Am I?” Her voice was a painful croak. She squinted against the rising sun, but the cool, fresh air felt good on her skin, in her lungs. “You sure I’m not dead?”

  “Pretty sure.” He stood, guided her to a seat. “How about some toast?”

  Though she would have sworn there was nothing left in her stomach, bile rose in her throat.

  “Now you’re just torturing me,” she whispered, hoping he’d follow suit and stop all that yelling.

  “It’ll help. Trust me.”

  Before she could tell him she planned to never, ever, eat again, he went inside.

  Zoe whined, watched Sadie with her head tipped to the side.

  “Don’t judge me,” Sadie told the dog.

  The breeze ruffled the edges of the paper, the sun felt warm on her face and she shut her eyes, slid down in the chair. She must have dozed off because it seemed like in the next breath, James was back. He set a plate of two slices of dry toast, neatly cut in halves, in front of her.

  “I didn’t think you’d be up for coffee,” he said. “So I got you some ginger ale.”

  She took the glass, sipped from it. The tiny bubbles exploding in her mouth were like rockets, but it did soothe her dry throat, calmed her stomach. “Thank you.”

  Because he was watching, she forced herself to pick up one of the toast slices, nibbled on it until she’d finished it and its other half.

  “Better?” he asked.

  “A little.”

  He looked as if he wanted to say more, but only nodded. “Come on. I’ll take you to pick up your Jeep.”

  That was it. No recriminations. No lecture.

  It was a reprieve. One she was weak enough to take.

  “Yeah. Okay.”

  They drove to town in silence. Though she sat close enough to touch him, she’d never felt such distance between her and another person. She clutched her purse in her lap—hoped he couldn’t tell she’d stuffed his T-shirt in there after she’d changed into her own clothes.

  He pulled into O’Riley’s and drove around back, where steps led to the second-floor apartment, and parked next to her Jeep. Kane’s motorcycle was there, a machine as sexy and dangerous looking as its owner.

  “You all right to drive home?” James asked.

  “I’ll be fine.” She unbuckled her seat belt and reached for the door handle, but couldn’t make herself open it.

  And she really, really wanted to open it. To escape.

  Instead, she sat back and cleared her throat. “James, about last night...”

  What could she say? Thanks for holding my hair while I repeatedly threw up? Thanks for washing my face with a cool cloth, for helping to steady a glass of water so I could rinse my mouth out? Thanks for undressing me so carefully, so gently and then tucking me into your bed?

  As he stared out the windshield, his hands gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white. “How much do you remember?”

  This was her out. She could claim she didn’t remember much, could make a joke out of it, laugh it off. He might let her. The old him certainly would. That James would never humiliate her by telling her what she’d done, what she’d said.

  She had no idea what this new James would do.

  But there seemed to be a new Sadie, too. One who didn’t want to take the coward’s way. Who wanted to give him the truth. As much as she could admit to.

  “Unfortunately, I remember everything.”

  She felt, more than saw, him glance at her. “Everything?”

  She met his eyes. “Every last thing.” She twisted her fingers together. “Jamie, I... God, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I showed up your house drunk and made a complete idiot of myself. For yelling at you and getting sick and kicking you out of your own bed.” Humiliation swept through her, heated her face. “I was jealous. I was so jealous you took another woman out I couldn’t even see straight and I know,” she continued when he opened his mouth, “I know I have no right to be, but I can’t help how I feel.”

  His jaw was tight, his mouth a grim line. “Is that all?”

  “No.” She licked her lips, turned in her seat to face him fully. “I am sorry about all of that, for how I acted, but I...I’m not sorry for what I said. I’m so angry with you. I am absolutely furious with you for changing the dynamics between us. I hate that we’re not friends anymore, that you made that choice for both of us.”

  He remained silent. Unmoving. Unapproachable.

  Her heart heavy, her eyes blurry, she fumbled for the door handle, managed to wrench it open and practically fell out of the truck. Leaning in, she reached for her shoes on the floor, straightened and moved to shut the door.

  “Last night,” he said, stopping her, “after you passed out, I had plenty of time to think about what you said. About what happened between us, how we got here. For years, I kept my feelings from you, went out of my way to keep them hidden so nothing would change. Maybe that was wrong. Maybe it wasn’t fair of me to make the decision to end our friendship, to change the dynamics between us.” He tipped his head against the seat. Shut his eyes. “I don’t know. All I know is that I can’t go back.” Rolling his head to the side, he met her eyes, his voic
e quiet. “I don’t want to go back to how we used to be.”

  “I know. And that hurts.” More than that, it scared her.

  Because lately she wondered if going back was the best thing for them. If it might be better if they went forward. Except she wasn’t sure what that meant, what she wanted it to mean. It was too complicated. Too frightening.

  She picked at the material of the truck seat. “I know what it looked like...last night...with me and Kane. But I...I wasn’t going to sleep with him. I just...I wanted you to know that,” she finished lamely.

  She’d needed him to know it. To believe it.

  James went so still she began to wonder if he was even still breathing. “No?”

  “No. I mean, even if he was interested—which I highly doubt, especially now—I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t,” she repeated. “I’m not interested in him. Not that way.”

  James sat up, put the truck in Reverse. “None of my business.”

  “And I think,” she continued stubbornly, “the reason I’m not—interested in him, that is—is because I...” She stopped. Swallowed. “I can’t stop thinking about you. And I don’t know what to do about it. I don’t know how to stop it.”

  His hands opened and closed on the steering wheel. Opened and closed. Opened and closed. His chest rose and fell rapidly. But he didn’t look at her. So she did the only thing she could. She shut the door and walked away.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  IT WASN’T STALKING, Charlotte assured herself. Just because James had happened to mention during their date how he picked up coffee for himself, his brother, sister and father for a weekly Saturday-morning business meeting, and just because Char happened to be at the same coffee shop at the same time didn’t mean she was lying in wait for him. For goodness’ sake, it wasn’t as if she was some crazed, obsessed person. Sometimes a woman had to make it clear to a man that she was interested, that was all.

  James didn’t seem to be getting her hints.

  It had been over a week since they’d had dinner and drinks. She’d waited patiently for him to make the next move, to call her. She’d wanted him to, had hoped he would.