What Are Friends For?. Naomi Horton

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СКАЧАТЬ familiar and welcoming as coming home. She kissed him back, her arms going around his neck, lithe body arching against his....

      And then, very suddenly, she wrenched her mouth away and turned her face so he couldn’t kiss her again, planting both hands on his shoulders and pushing him firmly away. “Damn it, Connor, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

      “Kissing you,” he muttered, trying to do it again. “Damn it, Andie, quit turning away and—”

      “Stop it!”

      She was stronger than he would have guessed and she shoved him back roughly, panting for breath, cheeks flushed, eyes snapping. Giving her head a toss to get her tousled hair out of her eyes, she glared up at him. “Back off!”

      “Andie, for the love of—!” Swearing, he took a step back, blood hammering in his temples, so aroused it hurt just to stand there, breathing hard. “What’s wrong? What the hell is—?”

      “I am not some vacant pair of hips you can just use when the mood strikes you, mister! If you need to reaffirm your manhood or drown your sorrows or celebrate your newfound bachelor status or whatever the hell it is you’re doing, fine—but not with me!”

      “What?” Conn just stared down at her, mind spinning with confusion. “Honey, that’s not what—”

      “No!” Mouth tight with fury, she glowered right back up at him, wrenching the gaping fly of her jeans closed, then reaching under her sweater and fastening her bra. “Is that why you called me over here tonight? Because you’re feeling a little sorry for yourself and figure all you need to get over the divorce blues is a good—”

      “Don’t even say it,” he growled, raking his fingers through his hair. “Look, I—” Swearing ferociously, he wheeled away and planted his hands on the edge of the counter, letting his head sag, eyes closed. “I’m sorry,” he muttered finally. “Damn it, Andie, I’m sorry. I don’t know what...” He shook his head.

      And he didn’t know, he realized glumly. Sure, now and again he’d thought about what it would be like to make love to her again, but it was more out of idle curiosity than any real sense of desire. She was Andie, for crying out loud. His best friend. And a person didn’t hit on his best friend!

      “I’m sorry, too,” she said finally, sounding subdued. “It was... Let’s just forget it, okay? It’s five-thirty in the morning, I’m tired, you’re a little drunk....”

      Her small hand settled warmly between his shoulder blades, moving in soothing circles. “You’re my best friend, Devlin. That doesn’t mean I won’t punch your lights out if you try something like this again, but let’s not make a big deal out of it, okay?” She leaned close and kissed him lightly on the cheek, her breast pressing against his arm for a fleeting moment. “Go take a shower—a cold shower. I’ll make some breakfast.”

      In spite of himself, Conn had to grin. Straightening, he reached out and caught her by the hand as she started to step away. “Why don’t you come with me? Hell, darlin’, it’s been twelve years since we shared a shower. There are worse ways to start a morning.”

      “You’re pushing your luck, Devlin,” she replied mildly, planting her outstretched fingers in the middle of his chest and holding him firmly at bay.

      He smiled down at her, wondering what he’d ever done to deserve a woman like this in his life. Even at arm’s length, she was the best thing that had ever happened to him. “If I’d had any damn sense at all, I’d have married you eleven years ago instead of Liza,” he said half-seriously.

      She hesitated for just a split second, an odd expression crossing her face. Then she smiled carelessly. “And ruin a perfectly good friendship, Devlin? We nearly did that by sleeping together that weekend up at Mount Baker. Remember?”

      “Oh, I remember,” he said with a growl.

      “And if you remember all of it, we agreed that our friendship was more important than sex. And that—”

      “Spectacular sex,” he amended straight-faced. “We did agree it was pretty spectacular sex, Andie.”

      “Yes, all right, spectacular sex.” She was trying not to laugh. “But we agreed that good friends are harder to find than lovers, remember. Even good lovers.”

      “Great lovers, even,” he agreed blandly.

      “Great?” She looked pleasantly surprised. “You really thought I was—?” She caught herself abruptly. Shrugging offhandedly, she stepped past him, avoiding his eyes. “Go take a shower, Devlin.”

      “Yes, ma’am.” Grinning, he headed for the kitchen door. “And yeah, you were great. Once we got past all the virginal inhibitions, darlin’, you were—”

      “Censor that,” she said quickly, suddenly very busy rummaging through the refrigerator. “Eggs...bread... How about French toast for breakfast?”

      “I’m easy.”

      “I’ve noticed.”

      “Feel free to take advantage of it.”

      “You wish.”

      Sometimes, Conn found himself thinking, glancing at her with an unexpected twinge of wistfulness. Sometimes I do wish, darlin’....

      But he couldn’t say it aloud, of course. Not to his best friend.

       Two

      Staying there—setting the glass-topped rattan table in the big sun room off the kitchen, making French toast, pouring orange juice—was one of the hardest things Andie had ever done.

      Every instinct she had was telling her to run. To hide. To shut herself up in her apartment and pull the covers over her head and simply die of mortification.

      One touch—that’s all it had taken. One touch and she’d all but melted in his arms like overheated taffy, as pliant and eager as any teenager. Where she’d found the strength to push him away, she’d never know. Because she hadn’t wanted to. All she’d wanted was for him to strip her out of her jeans and ease her down onto the floor and make love to her as though his very life depended on it.

      Shoving a handful of tangled hair off her forehead, she took a deep breath and wet her lips, closing her eyes for a calming minute. It was all right. She could handle this.

      The secret was to stay cool and simply pretend it had meant nothing. Nothing at all.

      Conn wasn’t drunk, but he’d had more to drink than normal. He’d been hurting, vulnerable, off balance—all alien emotions for a man who prided himself on his pragmatic and levelheaded approach to life. She’d been there, warm and female and reassuringly familiar. His best friend, his confidant, the one person who probably knew him better than anyone. What more normal thing to do than reach for her, seeking to put his world right again through the comforting rituals of lovemaking?

      Odds were that he wouldn’t even remember the incident in a day or two.

      So no harm had been done.

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