Anything For You (10 page)

It wasn’t as if he’d ever had much incentive to explore anything more meaningful. Her recent encounter with Nancy Kirk had reinforced for her that Sam had every reason to avoid committed relationships like the plague. Why should he believe in love and respect and forever when he’d only ever seen how miserable two people could make each other?

The ring of the telephone startled Delaney out of her dark thoughts and she reached for the receiver with a sense of relief. Anything to distract her from her own tortured musings.

But the frown creasing her forehead only deepened as she recognized the voice of one of her most lucrative advertisers. Within seconds, she’d learned that he was calling to pull two double-page spreads due to problems at his end. She didn’t need to check the calendar to know they were right on deadline—the files were supposed to be with the printer tonight.

Taking a set of rapid notes, she asked for a few minutes to consult Sam before she offered a response. She hung up the phone and ran her fingers through her hair. Distraction was one thing, but an out-and-out crisis was definitely overkill.

She found Sam making himself a milk shake in the kitchenette, staring at the blender as it buzzed angrily. In no mood to yell her bad tidings over the sound of the machine, she propped herself against the wall to wait until the blender stopped its awful whirring. As soon as the shake was frothing at the top of the glass jug, Sam hit the stop button and pulled the lid off. He was just holding the jug up to his mouth when she spoke.

“Brace yourself, we have a problem,” she said.

Sam started violently, and chocolate shake slopped over the front of his T-shirt and down onto the floor as he struggled to stop the jug from slipping from his hands. Delaney winced, belatedly realizing that he’d had no idea she’d been standing there.

For a second they eyed each other as chocolate shake dripped from his T-shirt and down onto the tiles.

“Sorry,” Delaney said.

“Never sneak up on a man while he’s drinking a shake,” Sam said.

Then, to Delaney’s consternation, he peeled his soaked T-shirt over his head and mopped the bunched up fabric across his chest to clean away the remainder of the milk. Delaney stared at the golden brown expanse of his chest, her eyes taking an explicit, no-holds-barred tour of every inch of sculpted muscle on display. He was beautiful. So sexy. Every inch a man. Of their own accord, her eyes dipped toward the waistband of his jeans as she thought about those other, vital inches hidden by the worn denim.

Oh, yeah.

She was staring—ogling, really—and gave herself a mental slap, and stern instructions to tear her eyes away from his perfect, irresistible body.

“So, what’s the problem?” Sam said he reached for the kitchen sponge to clean up the tiled floor.

“Um. We, um, we just lost two double-page spreads,” she said, trying not to notice the way his muscles flexed so beguilingly as he crouched to wipe the floor.

His skin looked so warm and firm and touchable. Her fingers flexed, aching to caress him again.

“But we’re right on deadline,” Sam said, staring up at her.

Delaney forced herself to process what he was saying. Unfortunately, most of her brain was concentrating on not drooling. She figured she’d have to compromise essential body functions, like breathing, if she wanted to actually talk and make sense.

“Yeah. Something went wrong,” she finally managed to say.

Sam straightened, tossing the sponge into the sink.

“Wrong? What does that mean?”

Delaney made the mistake of giving in to her need for one last peek at the sexy ridges of his abdominal muscles before answering.

“It means—It means that someone made a mistake,” she heard herself say.

Sam was frowning, confusion warring with irritation in his eyes. Delaney forced herself to wrench her eyes away from his body, fixing them on a point over his shoulder.

“The ads were supposed to be on their way to us by courier. Except the client was using a one-man advertising agency, and apparently the guy has flipped out and trashed his office. Everything’s gone.”

“Shit.”

“They’ve asked us to wait until Monday for the material, or go without them.”

Sam rubbed a hand absently across his belly. With a valiant effort, Delaney managed to limit herself to just a quick peek.

“Monday’s too late. We’ll miss our slot at the mail house,” Sam said.

“And the billings will be off, not to mention we guaranteed Brash Bikes that the issue would be out in time for their new product launch,” Delaney added, squinting her eyes so she could block his chest out of her peripheral vision.

“Have you got something in your eye?” Sam asked, leaning toward her.

Delaney tilted backward, fully aware that if her bare skin touched his she would not be responsible for the consequences.

“No. Just thinking,” she bluffed.

He gave her a searching look, but she just raised her eyebrows and tried to look like a professional instead of a lust-crazed woman on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

“What do you want to do? I told them I’d call back with an answer once we’d spoken,” she said.

“We could drop the ads and fill the space with editorial. I’ve got a couple of emergency articles in the bottom drawer.”

“Great. Except we just handed the bank a bunch of profit projections for the next six months. Losing two double-page spreads takes twenty thousand off the bottom line,” Delaney reminded him.

Sam leaned against the cupboard, arms braced behind him on the countertop. Delaney almost whimpered when she saw the way it made his pecs flex. Dear God, have mercy, she begged mentally. I’m only human!

Sam’s eyes had darkened and lost focus, and she knew from long experience that his brain was working at light speed as he tried to find a solution.

“Okay,” he said suddenly, straightening from his position. Even though she was sure his abdominal muscles would have put on a stellar performance as he straightened, she kept her gaze fixed determinedly on his face.

Score one for Team Self-Control. At last.

“We’ll do the creative for them. We’ve got Rudy to throw the images together. I can write the copy. We just need a brief from the advertiser. If we push hard, we can get it together and still get the files to the printer by midnight,” Sam said decisively.

From long experience, they both knew they could stall their printer a few hours before they lost their slot to another job. Her mind still numb with lust, Delaney spoke without thinking.

“Maybe I should have put out for Jake the other night after all,” she muttered, thinking of the tap dancing she’d have to undertake to sweet-talk their printing rep around.

Sam’s mouth tightened, and Delaney felt heat rush up her neck and into her face. For a long moment neither of them said anything.

“I’ll go see if Rudy can stay late,” Sam said.

Delaney jerked backward as he moved past her.

“Maybe you should put something on,” she blurted.

Sam flicked a look at her, then glanced down at his bare chest. “It’s not like I’m wandering around in my Y-fronts,” he said dismissively.

Delaney had a mental image of Sam walking around with a bare chest all evening. She knew without a doubt that she wouldn’t be able to survive the experience a sane woman.

“It’s not professional. The girls might be offended,” she said.

Sam squinted at his pecs. “Because they can see my nipples?” he asked disbelievingly.

Like iron filings to a magnet, Delaney’s eyes flew to the flat, brown circles of his nipples. She swallowed noisily.

“You never know,” she squeaked. “Might be risky. Sexual harassments laws and all that.”

Sam shrugged. “I think I’ve got an old sweater in my office.”

Then he was gone. Delaney sagged against the wall and touched a hand to her forehead. As she suspected, it was damp. And it wasn’t the only part of her anatomy that was feeling a little…steamy as a result of Sam’s impromptu strip show.

“You going to call them back and get a brief for those ads?”

Delaney almost jumped out of her skin as Sam ducked his head back around the corner.

“Yep. Right on it,” she said, heading back to her office.

If only she had a spare brain hidden in there—one that was impervious to crazy female hormones—she’d be fine.

“OKAY, I’M DONE,” Rudy said, hitting the save button and flopping back in his chair with a loud sigh.

Delaney stared at the double-page ad on Rudy’s supersized computer monitor.

“Rudy, my man, you are a god,” Sam said, clapping a hand onto the other man’s shoulder.

Delaney leaned forward, checking that Rudy had made the last changes that the client had requested as part of their sign-off.

“It’s a beautiful thing,” she agreed. “Now, you get your skinny behind out of here and go and have a weekend.”

“I still need to print out a proof, and compile the files,” Rudy said.

“It’s fine. Sam and I will handle it. It’s been a while since we did all this stuff ourselves, but I think we remember how it’s done,” Delaney said. Rudy looked beat, and she and Sam really could manage without him.

“Okay. Thanks, guys,” Rudy said. “See you Monday.”

Delaney slid into his empty chair as Rudy grabbed his backpack and headed for the exit. The front door thunked shut behind him, and silence crept over the office. Delaney shifted a little, suddenly very self-conscious. Another great side-benefit to having had sex with Sam—now she no longer felt comfortable with her best friend. It just got better and better.

The sound of Sam’s stomach growling was a welcome intrusion.

“I need food,” he announced.

“No kidding,” Delaney said. She had the feeling he welcomed the diversion as much as she did.

“I’ll go grab a pizza. What do you want?” He slid off his perch on top of Rudy’s desk return, patting his pockets to check for money.

“Suit yourself. You know what I like,” Delaney said, forcing herself to concentrate on the screen in front of her. The sooner she compiled the files for the printer, the sooner she could get out of there.

There was a short pause before Sam turned away, and Delaney felt the sting of yet another blush climbing into her cheeks as she replayed her words inside her head. You know what I like. Why did she keep saying such suggestive things around him? And then blushing over them like some stupid teen girl?

For the next ten minutes she buried herself in compiling the files for the printer. She’d almost finished when Sam arrived back with a large pizza box in hand. She saw the logo of her favorite pizza place on the lid, and inhaled deeply.

“That smells fantastic,” she murmured as she saved the last file to disk. The proofs of their newly created ads were sitting on the color printer, and she braced her legs against the floor and pushed herself off so that Rudy’s wheelie chair whizzed along the carpet to the printer station. Sam busied himself calling a late-night courier while she put the proofs into a large envelope with the other hard copy for the magazine, sliding in the vital layout files last of all.

“Done!” she said with satisfaction.

“Guy said he was just around the corner,” Sam said, and even as he spoke, someone tapped on the front door. Sam scooped up the package, grinning at Delaney.

“Have to get lucky sometime.”

Delaney rubbed her sore neck muscles as Sam dealt quickly with the courier, locking the door behind him and dropping the after-hours blinds in place.

“Man, that was a long day,” he said. Delaney checked the time on the corner of Rudy’s computer and saw that it was past one.

“Just like the old days,” she said, pushing her chair back toward the pizza box.

“Yeah.” Sam’s smile faded. “Guess I’ll have to get used to doing it on my own from now on.”

Even though her heart lurched in her chest, Delaney didn’t look at him as she flipped the box open. “I’m sure one of the others will stay late with you, if you ask nicely.” Then she saw the pizza. “What the hell is this?”

She stared down at the family-size pizza in front of her.

“A pizza, last time I looked,” Sam said.

“No, I mean this,” Delaney said, poking her finger at the offending item. Yellow and cubed, it made her nose wrinkle just thinking about it finding a home on her pizza.

“Pineapple. You said suit yourself, so I got a super Hawaiian,” Sam said.

“But I hate pineapple. You know I hate pineapple,” Delaney said, glaring at him.

“No, you don’t,” Sam said defensively. “You hate anchovies. You love pineapple.”

“I think I know what I do and do not like, thank you. And I do not like pineapple. Especially tinned pineapple. It tastes like a can,” she said.

“Then you should have said. When I asked, what do you want, you should have said no pineapple. But you didn’t. You said, and I quote, suit yourself. Am I wrong?”

They locked eyes over the pizza, and Delaney felt her pulse pick up. Even with a five o’clock shadow and a ratty old sweater he’d dug up from his desk drawer, Sam looked good enough to eat.