Anything for You

Sam twitched, but he knew he had no choice. She was right—she was a grown woman. A fully grown, fully adult woman. With needs, she’d said.

Great.

“Delaney—you look sensational,” Jake said, bending to kiss her hello.

Sam felt the lip curl make a return appearance as Jake’s arms slid around her, his hands lingering way too long on her lower back. Sam knew exactly what the other guy was thinking: how much small talk do I have to fake before I can get my hands on that amazing caboose?

If he stayed any longer, Sam knew he was going to do something really, really dumb.

“Have a great night,” he said sourly.

Then he turned and walked away.

DELANEY TOOK A DRINK from her wineglass. Across the table, Jake’s lips were moving, but she had no idea what was coming out of them. She gave herself a mental shake. She had to focus on Jake instead of constantly slipping back to her earlier conversation with Sam. It was pointless to go over and over what had passed between them. As if she’d needed yet another reminder that her feelings for him were unrequited, Sam’s attitude could not have shouted indifference more clearly. Although perhaps she was being unfair. He hadn’t been indifferent. He’d been…brotherly. As he always was. A concerned friend. It was enough to make her want to scream.

“Should we get another bottle?” Jake asked, and Delaney realized that she’d drained her glass in one long gulp.

“Um, sure,” she said.

Jake signaled for the waiter, and Delaney forced herself to concentrate. It wasn’t as though Jake wasn’t attractive or fun to be with. Normally she really enjoyed exchanging banter with him when he came into the office. And there was no denying his masculine appeal—he was the epitome of tall, dark and handsome. So why wasn’t she sitting here hoping that he’d kiss her when he took her home tonight? Instead, she was wondering how she could head him off at the pass. Would it be unforgivably rude to get a taxi home on her own at the end of their meal? Or should she just go the whole hog and fake an appendicitis attack right now?

Damn Sam Kirk, and damn herself for letting him ruin her for any other man.

“You know, I’ve wanted to ask you out for a while,” Jake said as the waiter moved off.

Delaney blinked. “Really?”

“Yep. But I always kind of got the feeling you weren’t available,” Jake said.

It made her wonder if that was the way other men had seen her, too—unavailable. Was it possible that she subconsciously sent out “keep off” signals because her feelings for Sam were so strong?

“Well, I’m single, always have been,” Delaney shrugged, not quite sure what to say. If she flirted with Jake, she felt as though she’d be doing so under false pretences.

“When I saw you this afternoon I hoped maybe my luck had changed.”

“What do you mean?” Delaney asked.

“New hair, new clothes—the classic relationship break-up makeover,” Jake said.

Delaney stared at him for a beat. In a way, he was right. She was breaking up with Sam. He just didn’t know it.

“It was time for a change,” she said feebly.

“Speaking of which, I still can’t believe you’re leaving Mirk,” Jake said, shaking his head.

“Well, I have been there since the beginning. Nearly eight years now,” Delaney said.

“Why the big move, if you don’t mind me asking? Don’t tell me you got poached by one of the big guys? I know a ton of publishers who’d love to have you on their sales staff,” Jake said.

She tried to find a way to answer without lying. She was doing enough of that with Sam.

“I’m thirty,” she shrugged, opting for brutal honesty. “I realized that I could spend the rest of my life working like a dog…or I could start thinking about the other things in life.”

“Like…?” Jake asked, his dark eyes intent on her.

“You know. A husband, kids. It sounds kind of clichéd when you say it out loud,” Delaney said self-consciously.

“If it’s a cliché, it’s only because most single people in their thirties start looking around, wondering if there are any lifeboats left. No one wants to stay too long on the dance floor and get stuck when the Titanic goes down,” Jake said, smiling self-deprecatingly at his own analogy.

“Especially if you can’t swim,” Delaney added wryly.

“I don’t think you need to worry about not being able to swim,” Jake said warmly. “I bet there will always be some guy willing to share his life raft with you.”

It was a compliment, she knew. And she should probably feel flattered. But she didn’t. Instead, she felt mildly uncomfortable and completely transparent. Surely he could tell she wasn’t interested? A part of her was tempted to confess all to him, apologize for wasting his time and offer to pay for his meal.

She should have waited until she’d expunged Sam from her life before trying to date. She was just perpetuating the same problem she’d always had while Sam was on the scene: no man ever measured up.

Sure, Jake was good-looking. But his brown eyes weren’t half as engaging as Sam’s bright blue ones, and his smile not nearly as sincere and fun-loving. And while Jake was witty and clever—he’d read all the latest books and seen all the coolest movies—he didn’t make her laugh nearly as much as Sam. He also didn’t make her blood fizz in her veins, or her heart shimmy in her chest, and she wasn’t sitting on the edge of her seat, hoping for an accidental brush of his fingers against hers, or the feel of his knee nudging hers beneath the table.

He just…wasn’t Sam. It was as small and as sad as that.

Reaching for her wineglass, Delaney took another big gulp.

Surely taking a taxi home wouldn’t be that bad form…?

SAM FELT LIKE A CAGED TIGER with a bad case of hives. It was ten o’clock. Delaney had been out with Jake for two whole hours. In all likelihood, they were still at dinner, trying to decide whether or not to have dessert, talking about politics over coffee, hoping the weather would be a little cooler next week….

Or old smoothie Jake had already finagled Delaney back to his pad and was even now peeling her clothes off. Sam ground his teeth together at the thought of Jake sleazing his way beneath Delaney’s defenses.

Sam ground his teeth even harder when it occurred to him that maybe Delaney didn’t have any defenses to sleaze beneath. Maybe she was the one grabbing Jake by the crotch and throwing him onto the bed. If Delaney tackled sex the way she tackled everything else in her life, she’d be a force to be reckoned with in the bedroom.

She was fit and tanned from all their surfing. She’d be limber, lithe. And she had needs. Jake would probably think all his Christmases had come at once.

Sam paced some more and worked on reducing his molars to dust.

What exactly did having needs mean, while he was on the subject? That Delaney needed to have sex? That she craved an orgasm? And if that were the case, why couldn’t she just take care of the matter on her own in the privacy of her home without putting him through all this torture? Anything was preferable to the thought of her being with Jake.

Instantly an image of Delaney pleasuring herself popped into his mind’s eye. Her head was thrown back, and one hand cupped a pert, high breast. Her other hand was busy between her widespread thighs, stroking her own wet heat with gentle fingers—

Sam swore explosively. When had he turned into such a Grade-A creep? This was Delaney he was thinking about, imagining naked. Getting the world’s largest, most persistent boner over.

Delaney. The girl next door. His old street-cricket buddy. His business partner. His best friend in all the world. Delaney was not about sex and desire and urges. Delaney was about loyalty, and intimacy and knowing someone would always be there for him, no matter what.

There was no way he was going to screw all that up by suddenly turning into Mr. Horndog around her. Hell, it wasn’t as though he was deprived in the female companionship area. Coco’s hideous perfume was still fading from his apartment. He wasn’t exactly hard up.

By midnight, he’d given up on the pacing and gone to bed. With one ear cocked for the sound of Delaney’s apartment door closing, he pretended to read the latest surf mag from the U.S. until he finally admitted to himself that he’d been staring at the same page for ten minutes.

Switching the light off, he told himself he was going to sleep. What Delaney did with Jake was none of his business. Sam knew he should be far more concerned about this bee she had in her bonnet about selling him her half of the magazine. Why wasn’t he lying there, unable to sleep, worrying about that instead of obsessing over her love life?