Anything For You (7 page)

He was angry, agitated, she could see, and she guessed this was about her pulling out of the business.

“I know you’re pissed about me wanting to sell out of the magazine, but there’s nothing you can do about it,” she said with determination. “I’ve made my decision.”

“Did he stay the night or not, Laney?” Sam asked.

She stared at him. “Why do you suddenly care so much about my love life?” she demanded, utterly bewildered. What was really going on here?

Sam avoided her eye as he ran a hand over his short-cropped hair. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Fine, here I am, unhurt. Can you please go now?”

Sam’s eyes flashed with suspicion as they ran over her. She was painfully aware of her flushed face, of what she’d been doing when he pounded on the door.

“He is still here, isn’t he? That’s why you’re so hot and bothered.”

He made a move toward her bedroom, almost as though he was going to barge in there and inspect it. Delaney couldn’t believe the way he was behaving.

“I just had a bath, Sam! If you must know.”

Sam stopped in his tracks, and they eyed each other for a moment. “Oh,” he said.

For some reason, she had the horrible feeling he’d just guessed exactly what she’d been doing in the bath.

“The water was hot,” Delaney heard herself say a little defensively. Sam’s gaze dropped below her face, and she crossed her arms over her chest just in case her nipples were doing their usual “Hey, Sam, look at us” routine.

“So you didn’t sleep with him?” Sam asked.

Delaney let out a heavy sigh. “No. Are you happy now? Is that what you wanted to hear? I’m still the same hard-up singleton I was last night.”

Sam ran a hand over his head again, the movement drawing his T-shirt tight across his chest. Why did he have to be so fatally attractive to her? It was cruel, perverse and unfair.

“Back to the needs thing again, huh?” he asked.

“Whatever. Sam, I really think you should go. I had a crappy night’s sleep, and I’m really grumpy, and this conversation is just too weird for me right now.”

“It’s just you’ve never told me you have…needs before,” Sam said.

Delaney felt herself flush. “Well, I’m human. You like sex, don’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, there you go. You have needs, too.”

Sam took a step toward her, his body jerky, uncoordinated. It almost looked as though it were moving against his will, and the look on his face was deeply uncertain and tortured.

“What if I told you that last night my need was for you?” he said suddenly.

The words hung between them for what seemed like an eternity. Delaney’s breath got caught somewhere between her chest and her throat. She felt her pulse beating thick and slow in her belly.

What was he saying? That he was jealous of Jake? Surely not. Sam didn’t see her as a woman. She was his buddy, nothing more.

His blue eyes were intent on her, his body tense.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she finally whispered.

Sam stepped forward again, within touching distance this time. Delaney watched with a strange, disconnected kind of astonishment as he reached out to wrap his hand around her forearm. His skin felt hot through the silk of her robe.

“I mean I couldn’t stop thinking about you and Jake in bed. And it drove me crazy,” he said.

So he was jealous of Jake. That had been what he was saying. Which meant…which meant that Sam desired her himself. Didn’t it?

It was so close to her most cherished dream that Delaney flinched away from him, jerking her arm from his grasp. Whatever was going on with Sam, he hadn’t suddenly fallen in love with her. She would be the biggest fool in the world if she believed that.

Sam’s grip remained firm, however, and she felt her arm slide within her silk sleeve as she pulled away. A sudden coolness across her right breast told her that her robe had slid off her shoulder before she looked down and confirmed it.

There was a sudden, electric silence as they both stared at her exposed breast. As though her nipple knew it was the connoisseur of all eyes, it darkened and puckered, begging to be touched.

Delaney heard the harsh intake of Sam’s breath.

“Delaney,” he said in a choked voice, “for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

And then he put his hand on her breast.

“Sam,” she whispered brokenly, trying to warn him. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”

Sam’s face was flushed, his eyes fixed on her straining breast.

“Tell me to stop, and I will,” he said.

Stop? She couldn’t tell him to stop if her life depended on it. Even as he said the words the tidal wave hit, and she was gripped by desire, a passion so strong, so all-consuming that she knew that nothing was going to stop her from having Sam Kirk right there and then on the hard boards of her living room floor.

“You have no idea,” she said, and then she grabbed him by the neck of his T-shirt and hauled him close, her mouth angling up to meet his, her hips straining forward.

Sam needed no further encouragement. His mouth was hot and urgent on hers, and their tongues danced madly, feverishly, as their hands clutched at each other’s bodies. Delaney gasped with need as Sam pushed her silk robe off her other shoulder, both hands on her breasts now, his fingers plucking and caressing and teasing her nipples.

“Oh, yes,” she said, sliding her hands down Sam’s back to grab his butt and drag his hips tighter against hers. His erection felt thick and long and so promising that she ground her hips against it instinctively.

He was wearing too much clothing. They both were, and she grabbed at his T-shirt to wrench it over his head. Sam was on the same wavelength, his fingers hauling at the sash keeping her robe cinched around her waist. She felt the slide of silk against her bare legs and then Sam was groaning with approval and running his hands down the length of her torso and down onto her hips and butt.

“Perfect,” he muttered against her mouth, his big hands cupping her butt as though he owned her.

Delaney fumbled with the waistband on his jeans, dragging the zipper down and reaching greedily inside for the heat of him. His erection was strong and proud, and achingly hard. She eyed it hungrily, then gripped it firmly and slid her hand up and down his shaft. Sam’s breath caught in his throat and the next thing she knew she was on her back, and Sam had shucked his jeans to lie naked on top of her, her nipple undergoing exquisite torture in his mouth.

“Yes! Yes!” she heard herself cry too loudly, but she was beyond caring. Her hips bucked wildly, and she clutched at his head to ensure he didn’t stop.

Even as the feel of his mouth on her breasts almost sent her over the edge, Sam smoothed a hand down her belly and into the wet heat between her legs.

“Oh, Laney,” he whispered, his voice breaking as he discovered for himself how ready she was for him.

Her muscles tightened as he slicked a finger across her clitoris, back and forth, back and forth. She spread her thighs wide to invite him in and he took her up on the invitation, sliding a finger inside her. Delaney closed her eyes and almost died on the spot. It was so good, almost too good—but also not enough.

Unable to wait any longer, she twisted beneath him and rolled so that she was now on top, her thighs astride his, her breasts rasping against his chest. Sam’s blue eyes glinted up at her as she reached for him, guiding his erection to the heart of her. Biting her lip, Delaney savored the first nudge of his hardness against her softness. Swiveling her hips, she teased herself and Sam with the almost-penetration, anticipation driving her wild. Sam’s face was taut with desire, and she felt his hips tense as he prepared to thrust up into her to complete the act. Preempting him, she slid down onto his erection with a single graceful tilt of her hips.

He filled her utterly, perfectly, completely, and she threw back her head and reveled in the moment.

“Yesssss,” she sighed.

It was…beyond words. Primal. Needful. Demanding. Gripped with the need to complete the ride, she tilted her hips and began to slide against him. He was everything she’d ever imagined and more. Long and thick, his tanned, taut body flexing beneath her, his hands eager on her breasts, his mouth hot and hard on hers. It was all too much, too overwhelming. Inevitably she felt the tightening of desire inside her as she rode him.

“Yes, Laney,” he encouraged her, and she closed her eyes as her body stiffened with release, her internal muscles pulsating around Sam as she shuddered out her orgasm. It seemed to go on and on, and her cries were primitive and mindless. Beneath her, she felt Sam’s body tense also, his hands clutching at her hips and desire twisting his face as he came after her, his hips thrusting up into her powerfully.

Delaney collapsed onto his chest, her breath rasping in her throat as though she’d just run the hundred-yard dash. Perspiration slid down between her breasts, and she could feel the hot steaminess of Sam’s body against her own. His chest was rising and falling rapidly beneath her cheek as he struggled to catch his breath, also, and for a short while, the only sound in her apartment was the harsh sound of their breathing.

The inevitable fear and anxiety didn’t take long to make themselves felt in the pit of Delaney’s stomach.

What on earth had she just done?

She was such a fool. She had just exposed herself to Sam in the most blatant, damning way. She’d practically ravished the guy, riding him like some demented porn starlet. There was no way he wasn’t lying there in full knowledge of the fact that she was desperately in love with him.

Awkward where before she had been graceful, Delaney rolled to one side and slid away from him. Not daring to even glance at his face, she pushed herself to her feet and retreated to the bathroom.

SAM STARED AT THE CEILING high above him for what seemed like ages, his mind a complete blank. Vaguely he was aware of Delaney standing and walking away, but he was so blown away, so stunned by what had just happened between them, that his rational self was down for the count.

Slowly, by small increments, he came back down to earth. First, he registered that the floor was cool and hard beneath him, and that he was lying on the bunched-up mass of his jeans, the lump uncomfortable against his back. Then he heard the sound of traffic passing by outside, and realized that the door to the balcony was slightly ajar. Finally, full, brutal awareness returned, and he closed his eyes and swore under his breath.

He’d just had the most spectacular sex of his life with his best friend. He’d grabbed her breast, for Pete’s sake, then jumped her bones like an oversexed dog. What was wrong with him? What kind of an idiot was he, to risk the only worthwhile relationship in his life because parts of him had been standing to attention? Was his penis so damned important to him? Did he have no impulse control whatsoever?

A low groan sounded in the room, and after a beat he realized that it had come from him. He pressed his hands hard on his closed eyes, wishing the pressure could eradicate the last few minutes from existence.

Recognizing that he couldn’t just lie there and pretend nothing had happened, Sam rolled to one side and dragged his jeans out from beneath himself. He stood and pulled them on, then ran a hand over his head and blew out a breath.

Delaney. He had to say something to Delaney. Something along the lines of “I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened. If I could take it back I would.”

His penis stirred as he tacked on the last remark. Sam shook his head at his own lack of moral fiber. Okay, maybe he wouldn’t take it back if he could. It had been pretty sensational, after all. Intense, hot, wild. Delaney had been…

Too late Sam registered that he had an erection again, the denim of his jeans bulging out aggressively.

He stared down at himself. Was he really no better than this?

Sadly, he didn’t think he was. The sound of water starting up in the bathroom caught his attention. Delaney was in the shower. He should probably go and talk to her. Deal with this head on, right now. Before a crazy one-off solidified into the death knell for their friendship.

He took a step toward the bathroom, then another. Then he imagined walking in on Delaney in the shower, and stopped in his tracks. That was never going to happen. Just because they’d had sex with each other didn’t mean he had a free pass to walk in while she was showering. His penis twitched again as he thought of Delaney’s lean, sexy body all wet and soapy and slippery and naked. Another good reason not to go in. He didn’t relish the notion of trying to have a rational, mature discussion with an erection making a tepee in his jeans.

Which left just one alternative. Feeling like the love-rat Delaney often accused him of being, Sam slunk out the door.

He found no relief in the silence and space of his own apartment. He kept flashing back to those moments with Delaney—the look in her eyes as she lowered herself onto him, the way she’d thrown her head back as though having him inside her was the best, most fulfilling feeling in the world. Or the way she’d asked him if he knew what he was doing when he couldn’t help but touch her breast. She’d been quivering with passion, he realized. Quivering with wanting him. Just as he’d been agonizing over wanting her all night long.

All of which got him nowhere except painfully erect and ready for a round two that was never going to eventuate. A cold shower—the age-old cure for unwanted activity down south—did nothing but leave him shivering and wet with a persistent, resilient hard-on. He stared down at himself—just his luck to at last find a cold-water-proof stimulant in the form of his best friend. Just damned dandy.

As he was toweling himself dry, the phone rang, and he automatically crossed to answer it. He hesitated before picking up, however, his hand hovering over the receiver. What if it was Delaney? What was he going to say to her? The phone rang on and on as his better and lesser selves battled it out, and then the decision was taken out of his hands as the phone clicked over to the answering machine. There was a long pause, then finally Delaney spoke.

“Sam, you chickenshit,” was all she said, then she slammed down the phone.

Sam stared at the now-silent phone. She was right. He was a chickenshit.

Suddenly filled with rage at himself and the world, Sam dragged on a pair of long skater shorts, grabbed a T-shirt and his beat-up Van street shoes, and snagged his skateboard as he headed out the door.

The Prahran ramp was just a ten-minute drive away, and the moment he got there he launched into a series of hand-plants, shooting up the steep curve of one side of the ramp and planting one hand on the upper lip before flipping his body and board in the air, rotating 180 degrees, then coming back down and doing exactly the same thing on the opposite side. It took a few minutes for the knot of tension in his belly to loosen, but eventually the speed and discipline of managing balance and momentum did its work. When he’d pummeled his anger down to manageable proportions, he let up, allowing gravity to take him to the lowest point in the center of the U-shaped ramp. A group of kids watching from the sidelines gave him a small cheer as he used the hem of his T-shirt to wipe the sweat off his face.

“Shouldn’t you kids be in school?” he asked them testily.

One of the kids, a pint-sized little demon with his trucking cap on backwards, flipped Sam the finger. “Shouldn’t you be at work?” the kid asked smartly.

Sam opened his mouth to give him a piece of his mind, but stopped when he realized the kid was right—he should be at work. It was probably around nine by now, despite his early start knocking on Delaney’s apartment door. He was no better than these kids, ditching school because they thought they had better things to do. He was thirty. He should be able to have a minor crisis in his life without reverting to the stratagems of a thirteen-year-old. The number of times he’d taken his anger and fear out on the skate park when he was a kid…And here he was, a supposed adult, ostensibly in charge of his world, turning to the same old solace.

Worse still, he knew that the acknowledgement that he was being juvenile wasn’t going to stop him from spending another hour or so on the ramp. The thought of going in to work and looking Delaney in the eye…He just couldn’t do it.

That made him a coward and a cad and probably a whole bunch of other things, he knew. Climbing the stairs to the top of the skate ramp, he placed the board in preparation to do a drop-in.

The problem was, he’d ruined everything—everything. And he had no idea how he was going to make it right again.

DELANEY SLID HER CAR into her parking spot outside Mirk and tried to think of a reason—any reason—why she didn’t have to go in there right now. She kept flashing back to the moment when she’d grabbed Sam’s T-shirt and kissed him. How had all the self-control she’d learned over sixteen years fallen by the wayside like that? One minute she was ordinary old Delaney Michaels, frustrated, unrequited lover of her best friend, and the next she was some kind of sexual Valkyrie, straddling Sam like a rodeo queen and glorying in her conquest.

Then she’d made things worse by spending half an hour in the shower, trying to get her courage up to go face Sam, only to find him gone. She winced every time she remembered calling him chickenshit over the phone. In her defence, she’d been pretty overwrought at the time, having searched her apartment from top to bottom, unable to believe he could bail on her like that. The sinking feeling in her belly had swiftly given way to anger, and the next thing she’d known, she’d had the phone in her hand and was breathing brimstone down the receiver.