Anything For You (16 page)

He strode back to reception and waited for Debbie to finish taking a phone call before he tackled her.

“Yes, Sam?” she asked, batting her eyelashes at him.

“I’m going to cut you some slack, since you’re new around here and you probably didn’t know, but my desk is sacred. No one cleans it, moves anything on it, touches it. Got that?” he said, aware that his tone was probably a little more terse than it should be, thanks to the two hours sleep he’d had in between tossing and turning, worrying about what was going on with Delaney.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sam,” Debbie said, big brown eyes wide.

“Is there a problem?”

They both turned to find Delaney standing there. Sam’s stomach lurched nervously and he tried not to notice how great she looked in a short denim skirt and fitted candy-striped blouse. It was hard to ignore the way her legs seemed to go on and on forever, however, thanks to the wedge-heeled sandals she was wearing. He settled for smiling moronically and tucking his hands into his pockets, something he’d been doing a lot of lately since his self-control seem to have gone out the window.

“I was just telling Debbie that I’m not keen on anyone cleaning my desk while I’m not around,” he explained, searching Delaney’s face for any clue as to how she was feeling or what she was thinking after last night’s debacle. Between the multiple visits to each other’s apartments and his unintentional striptease for his neighbor, they’d put on a fair imitation of a French farce. Except Delaney hadn’t looked amused when she left her apartment—she’d looked heartbroken. And it was his fault for not being able to keep his hands to himself.

“But I didn’t touch it!” Debbie said, appealing to Delaney now instead of Sam. “I swear I didn’t.”

“Well, somebody did. I don’t really care who—just as long as it doesn’t happen again,” Sam said, trying to be reasonable about it.

Delaney gave him a pointed look. “Could I see you in your office for a moment?” she asked.

“Sure.”

Sam followed her, eyes glued to her swaying hips and butt. He was only human, after all. As long as his hands stayed in his pockets, he figured he could look but not touch.

Delaney waited until they were in his office before turning to face him.

“Sam, is there any chance that you sustained a head injury over the past few days? No knocks on the head or blackouts or anything?” she asked, her voice deceptively sweet and dulcet.

Sam knew her too well to buy it. “No. Why?” he asked cautiously.

Delaney shook her head at him. “I can’t believe you actually accused Debbie of cleaning your desk, after what happened on Friday night,” she said.

Sam’s eyes widened as a full-color replay flashed across his brain—him carrying Delaney into the room and clearing his desk with one arm so he could get down to the very important business of having his way with her. He walked around his desk to confirm the memory. Sure enough, an enormous pile of paper, magazines, stationery and other rubble lay hidden on the other side.

“Oh. Right,” he said stupidly.

“Nice to know it was such a memorable experience for you,” she said coolly, walking out of his office stiff-backed.

Sam thunked his open palm against his forehead. He was such a lamebrain. No wonder Delaney was so angry with him. Gathering his courage, he went after her.

She was in the kitchenette, making herself a coffee. He studied the sleek line of her bent head for a beat before speaking.

“I didn’t forget,” he said. “I haven’t been able to think of anything else.”

Her head shot up, and he could see the surprise and wariness in her face. He was a little surprised, too. He hadn’t known he was going to say anything like that until it popped out his mouth. But it was true, even if he was deeply uncertain about saying it to Delaney, given all that he stood to lose. But he figured it must be pretty obvious that he was hot for her, since he’d jumped her at almost every given opportunity lately. Anyway, she was probably so disgusted by his hit-and-run behavior that she’d cheerfully punch him in the face if he didn’t offer some explanation for what had been happening between them. And Delaney had a mean punch—he’d been on the receiving end of it more than once over the years.

“Then how come you forgot about the desk?” she asked him, her expression shuttered now.

“Because I wasn’t really thinking about the desk at the time. I had other, more pressing issues on my mind,” Sam said. “Find me a guy who could think about a piece of furniture when he had you in his arms, and I will eat my bloody desk, legs and all.”

Delaney didn’t even crack a smile. She just stared at him, then turned back to her coffee mug.

“Where did you go last night?” he asked when she didn’t speak again.

“To Claire’s.”

Not so good—he had a pretty fair idea that Claire wasn’t his number-one fan. Something that probably hadn’t improved much in the past twenty-four hours.

“I’m sorry about last night,” he began, but Delaney held up a hand, her face creased into an expression of pained exhaustion.

“Please—I don’t want to hear again how sorry you are about having sex with me, Sam. Or how you don’t understand why it happened. Or that you wish you could take it back,” she said.

“You said that, not me,” Sam interjected. “After the first time, you said if you could take it back you would.”

“Right. So you wouldn’t take it back, then?” she asked, disbelief dripping from every word.

Sam held her eye and slowly shook his head. “No.”

He realized it was the truth, too. How could he regret the hottest, most abandoned moments of his life? The fact that he’d shared them with Delaney only made them more precious, despite how much it had screwed up their friendship.

Delaney went back to stirring her coffee. Since she didn’t take sugar, he figured she was feeling about as comfortable as he was. Which was not very.

“I don’t want to lose you, Laney,” he said very softly.

She nodded, her head still down. “I know. I’m just a little confused right now,” she said.

Sam wanted to reach out to comfort her, but he knew he’d lost that prerogative the first time he’d laid hands on her with nonplatonic intentions.

“Maybe it’s because of you leaving the business,” he offered. “Maybe we’re both unsettled.”

Delaney nodded again. “Yeah, probably that’s it,” she said.

She looked so sad, pressed up against the sink as though she didn’t want to be there. He couldn’t help himself.

“Stuff it,” he said, reaching for her and pulling her close. He couldn’t just stand by and watch her hurt, not when he was the cause.

The instant he felt the press of her body against his, he knew it had been a mistake. Desire pooled in his groin as his hands caressed the familiar-yet-enticing planes of her back. He inhaled deeply, unable to get enough of her smell—part perfume, part Delaney, completely sensual and inviting.

“Sam,” she said, her voice muffled from where he’d pressed her head against his shoulder.

“Yes,” he said, trying valiantly to will Little Sam back to sleep.

“Do you have an erection?” she asked.

Sam closed his eyes, mortified. “Yes,” he admitted in a strangled tone.

There was a pause, then Delaney slid a hand between their bodies to grab the thick, heavy length of his erection through his jeans. He realized she was breathing hard and trembling a little.

“Oh God. Sorry!” someone exclaimed from behind them, and they both leaped apart like scalded cats.

“I totally didn’t mean to intrude. I’ll come back later, no problems,” their layout artist Rudy said, eyes averted as he backed away.

Delaney made a low, pained sound and hid her face in her hands as Sam shot his eyes toward the ceiling, hoping his boner wasn’t as obvious as it felt.

Delaney waited a few seconds after Rudy’s departure before grabbing her coffee off the sink. Then she brushed past him, face set.

Sam thunked himself on the forehead with the palm of his hand again.

Way to fix things, moron.

DELANEY PUT HER COFFEE DOWN very carefully in the middle of her desk, then extended her hands in front of her. They were shaking as though she had low blood sugar or had just had the shock of a lifetime. Or as though she were waging a war of wills inside herself—a battle between slutty Delaney who wanted nothing but Sam, hard and hot inside her, and sensible, goal-oriented Delaney who was determined to move on from her old love and find herself a new one.

Unfortunately, slutty Delaney had been in charge when Rudy walked into the kitchenette and caught her with a handful of Sam’s crotch. Delaney closed her eyes. It was too, too embarrassing.

But it had proven something to her, above and beyond a doubt. For good or for ill, she and Sam were having some kind of mating season right now. They only had to be in the same room, and sex shot to the top of the agenda. She felt out of control, and more than a little obsessed. And very, very horny.

So maybe her sister’s theory was worth giving a whirl. At this stage, Delaney was ready to try anything. She was already selling out of the business, and she was in the process of moving house. Which would safely remove Sam’s physical presence from her life, but would still leave him firmly entrenched in her subconscious, the memory of his knowing hands returning to haunt her every time she let her guard down. It was so good between them, she knew it was ridiculous to expect herself to get over it anytime soon.

That meant drastic measures were called for. Delaney’s breath hitched in her throat as she considered what she was about to do: offer Sam a weekend of untrammeled hedonism, just the two of them, no clothes, no distractions. She crossed her legs, pressing her inner thighs together to try and relieve the instant ache of desire that throbbed there. Probably she shouldn’t kid herself that this was going to be a chore. In fact, in many ways it would be the fulfillment of a fantasy. It was the other end of the weekend that was going to be hard yards—drawing a line under the whole experience and walking away. If her sister was on the money, she’d be sick of the sight of Sam by that time. Delaney smiled grimly to herself. Fat chance. But, at the very least, she might gain herself a grace period, a safe zone for the remainder of her time with X-Pro and in the apartment. As her sister said, nothing retained its luster after repeated viewings. If she could just dull some of the magic, surely it would help her move on?

Delaney reached for her computer mouse and found a tourism Web site, despite not being entirely convinced by her own arguments. She suspected that the real reason she was going through with her sister’s mad plan was because she wanted to bonk Sam as much as was physically possible. No higher calling, or rational motivation there. Sadly, the realization wasn’t going to stop her from doing it, either.

After she’d found a suitable setting for her plan on the Net and made a couple of phone calls, she went to the bathroom to run some cold water over her wrists. Just thinking about a hot weekend away with Sam was driving her wild. And making her feel a little nauseous. What if he said no? She hadn’t really factored that into her grand plan.

Fluffing her hair, she made a decision. She wouldn’t tell him. It was cowardly, she knew, but she figured she was entitled to a few face-saving measures at the moment, given how exposed and vulnerable she was. She’d tell him it was just a platonic weekend away, between friends. To get things back on their old footing. Knowing Sam, he’d jump at the opportunity—anything to save himself from further awkward kitchen conversations.

Decision made, Delaney sought him out in his office. He’d restored his desk to its usual haphazard disorder by the simple expedient of lifting everything off the floor and dumping it back on his desk. She found herself smiling wryly despite everything. He was such a pig.

His blue eyes lit up when he glanced up and saw her standing there, and she corrected herself—a handsome, charming, irresistible pig. And, if things went according to plan, all hers for two whole decadent days.

“You up to anything on the weekend?” she asked idly as she propped a hip against Sam’s desk. One of the teetering piles of paper shifted dangerously, and she stepped away hastily. Sam rested a hand on the rogue pile before it could turn into a paper avalanche.

“Nope. You?” he asked.

Delaney winced at how awkward and stilted they both sounded.

“Um, sort of. I was wondering if you’d like to come away to Daylesford for the weekend. There’s a bush retreat there, really relaxing and peaceful, apparently.”

“Oh,” Sam said, studying her face intently. “That sounds pretty cool.”

“I thought it might give us a chance to get things back on the old footing. You know,” Delaney said. It was only a little fib in that it was partly true—afterward they could go back to their old footing, once she’d ravished him all weekend.

“Right,” Sam said brightly, straightening in his seat. She knew exactly what he was thinking—they could brush the recent past under the rug of history, and never have to speak of it again. Wasn’t that what he’d pretty much suggested already?

“Maybe we could do a bit of fishing,” he said, getting into the spirit of things. “Go hiking or something.”

“Yeah,” Delaney said, thinking Fat chance, pal. You won’t be leaving the bedroom.