Just Friends?

How in the hell had his life come to this?

The question required no searching thought when the simple answer was right downstairs putting on the brew.

He rummaged in the small pile of laundry he’d kicked into the bathroom the other day to keep the mess from being caught on tape. His clothes smelled of God-knew-what, but he pulled them on anyway, then went downstairs to face Leandra and her coffee.

But when he got there, the coffeepot still sat piteously empty.

“Thought you were putting on the java.”

“I was. Am.” She closed the refrigerator door with a soft rattle of bottles. “I can’t find the coffee.”

He opened the cupboard above the maker and pulled out the can. “Suppose you’re used to some fancy brand you grind yourself.”

She made a face but didn’t answer. Which probably was her answer.

Evan knew good and well that Jake—his good buddy Jake—liked his coffee expensive and ground only moments before it was brewed.

Why would Jake’s wife be any different?

Ex-wife, an internal voice reminded him. For all the good it did.

Evan was a fool. That’s what he was. Pure and simple.

And God didn’t protect fools by the name of Evan Taggart.

Punishment was the course, there. Punishment in the form of a golden-haired wisp whom he still didn’t have the good sense to say no to.

Now that sprite in question was eyeing him through the brown eyes that had always seemed too large for her heart-shaped face.

He dumped his simple, grocery-bought coffee into a fresh filter and shoved it into the coffeemaker. “You going to drink some of this?”

“If you’re offering.”

He pulled out the filter, added another scoop of ground coffee, and pushed it back in place. Before he could reach for the empty coffee carafe, she’d plucked it out of the sink and was rinsing and refilling it with water.

Their fingers brushed when she handed it to him.

He sloshed the water into the machine and hit the power button, not looking at her. A reassuring gurgle answered him. “I’m grabbing a shower before that peeping Tom comes back.”

“Ted’s not a pervert,” she called after him as he practically bolted from the room. “He’s doing what Marian told him to do.”

“Then maybe Marian’s the one who’s twisted,” Evan called back, heading up the stairs.

What had he been thinking when he’d agreed to be part of that stupid show?

What had she been thinking to approach Evan Taggart about WITS?

Leandra pushed her fingers through her hair, pressing the tips against her skull as if the pressure could relieve the throbbing ache inside. She’d figured that following the life of a good-looking veterinarian would be just the ticket for the show that had been her home for the past eighteen months. She’d figured that veterinarian would be her ex-husband, Jake Stallings, who, despite their divorced status, was usually willing to do most anything that Leandra asked of him.

Jake was everything that her boss, Marian Hughes, loved. Charismatic. Handsome. A veterinarian to a whole host of pampered celebrity pets.

But for reasons known only to Jake, he’d refused her request and reminded her instead about his friend from college.

Evan Taggart.

Evan, who wasn’t only Jake’s old friend, considering Leandra had known him since they were tots. He’d been as much a thorn in Leandra’s youth as he had been a friend, and he was the one who’d introduced Leandra to Jake when he’d brought his college mate home one weekend.

Huffing out a breath, remembering that she hadn’t even brushed her teeth when she’d made her mad dash over to Evan’s, she went to her purse and rummaged inside for her cosmetic case.

She could hear water rumbling in the old horse’s pipes and tried not to think too much about Evan upstairs in his shower.

It was bad enough to have seen him upstairs covered to the waist in a rumpled sheet.

She’d found herself wondering just what he’d had under that sheet. That, in itself was pretty darned disturbing.

She shook her head, trying to eradicate the image and yanked open the little case. She found her travel toothbrush and squirted toothpaste on it, then brushed her teeth at the kitchen sink, washed her face and streaked some water through her hair.

She had a pair of jeans and a shirt inside her bag, too, but she wasn’t going to change into them until she’d had her own shower.

Which she would have back at her cousin Sarah’s place, where she was staying for the duration of the WITS shoot.

She certainly wasn’t going to ask Evan if she could cop a soak in his bathroom. The man had made it more than plain that he considered every moment they spent together an intrusion in his life.

She still wasn’t certain what had made him agree to participate in the first place. Sure, they were friends from way back, and he and Jake were still buddies, but Evan’s consent had been a surprise to her. A pleasant surprise, even. That is, until she’d arrived with her crew the week before and came face-to-face with how disagreeable Evan could be—disagreeable and disturbing.

But she was pretty desperate to have this shoot go well. If it did—no, once it did—she’d finally get out from under Marian’s thumb and produce her own projects. And they wouldn’t involve any shirtless hometown veterinarians, either.

The pipes overhead gave an ominous groan. Leandra looked up at the ceiling, half expecting the pipes to burst right then and there. But the ceiling—plain white with not a speck of dirt or a cobweb in sight—remained intact until the demand ceased and the pipes went silent. Rather than be caught gawking at Evan’s spotlessly clean white walls, she hurriedly rummaged around in his refrigerator and cupboards and had the makings of breakfast well underway when he came back downstairs a while later.

“Smells good.” He walked across to the waiting coffee.

She wasn’t sure if he meant his coffee or the bacon and eggs. “Mmm.” She flipped the omelet with a toss of the pan and picked up her own mug of coffee, watching him over the rim.

At least he’d put on a shirt, even if it was just a white T-shirt that hugged every muscle from which good genes and an active lifestyle had graced him.

His jeans looked the same as the other pair he’d just had on. Except this pair was clean.

When it came down to it, all of Evan Taggart’s jeans looked pretty much the same.

Well-worn and sexy as hell on him.

Drat it all.

She buried her nose a little deeper in her coffee mug and reached for the spatula again.

Now was not the time for her libido to kick back to life after years of lying unconscious.

As far as Leandra was concerned, she preferred the unconscious state. Life was a lot less complicated that way.