Читать книгу Anything for You - Sarah Mayberry - Страница 6

SAM FELT AS THOUGH he’d been punched in the gut. Delaney wanted to sell her half of the magazine? It just didn’t make sense to him. He shook his head again, frowning.

“I don’t get it. What’s changed all of a sudden?” he asked.

She was staring at the carpet, but she lifted her eyes to meet his before she spoke.

“I’ve had enough. I realized while I was away that I wanted to do something different. Maybe travel. I don’t know,” she said.

She was lying. He knew her better than he knew himself, and there was something she wasn’t telling him.

“Bull. Tell me what’s really going on,” he demanded, starting to feel angry and a little threatened.

Delaney couldn’t just walk out on him. They were a team, a tight little duo. He’d barely survived her annual two-week vacation with his sanity intact, for Pete’s sake.

“Sam,” she said, then she sighed heavily and put her head in her hands.

After a shocked second he saw that she was crying. Delaney never cried. Ever.

“Hey,” he said, shooting to his feet and moving to stand by her chair. Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, he held her tight. “Whatever it is, we’ll work it out,” he said.

He felt her body stiffen under his arm, and she sat up straighter. He got the message—she didn’t want his comfort. Feeling doubly rejected, he returned to the couch.

There was a long silence as they stared at each other across the small space that separated them. He studied her closely, trying to find some clue as to what was really going on. But she looked the same as ever—her long mid-brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, the fringe sitting straight across her brow. Her hazel eyes were clear and bright, not a skerrick of makeup in sight, as usual. Her nose was a little red on the end, true, but that was from the crying, he guessed. And she was biting her lower lip, her teeth nibbling at the full curve. She had a small mouth, but her lips were full, the lower one particularly so. A Cupid’s bow, Delaney’s mother always called it, to which Delaney inevitably rolled her eyes.

She looked the same as she always had—like Laney. His best friend.

“Come on, spill,” he said softly.

She sniffed inelegantly and he leaned over to grab the box of tissues off her bookshelf.

She waited until she’d blown her nose before speaking.

“I want children, Sam. I want a husband. A family,” she said, shrugging one shoulder.

Sam frowned. Laney never talked about her love life. He was always a little bit surprised when he caught sight of a guy leaving her apartment. He could count on the fingers of one hand the times he’d been introduced to a man she was dating. She’d always been very private about it, and he’d respected that. Truth was, he didn’t really want to know, he suddenly acknowledged. Probably that made him a selfish bastard for not wanting her to be happy. Deep down inside he’d always feared that if she met Mr. Right, their friendship would change irrevocably. Sam would be number two in her life. And when children came, he’d be shuffled even further down the food chain. It didn’t say much for his nobility as a human being that the thought of Delaney with a family made him feel scared and lonely and threatened. But there it was.

Struggling to contain his messed-up emotions, Sam smoothed his hands down his thighs, then clasped his knees, bracing himself to be a grown-up.

“Of course you want kids,” he finally managed to say.

Delaney laughed, a watery, reluctant chuckle.

“You are the worst actor in the world, Kirk,” she said.

He shrugged sheepishly. “Okay,” he conceded. “You know I’ll be jealous as hell when you get married and have kids,” he admitted.

She looked startled. “Jealous?”

“You know—’cause things won’t be the same anymore,” he explained awkwardly.

Delaney’s eyes dropped to the carpet and she hunched a shoulder. “No, they won’t.”

“But I don’t see what any of that has to do with leaving the business,” Sam said. He might be about to lose most of Delaney, but he would cling to what little he had left. If she stayed in the business, she would always be a part of his life, no matter what.

“It’s too all-consuming, Sam,” she said. “We live for this place. How am I ever supposed to meet someone when all I do is eat, sleep, breathe Mirk Publications?”

“Then we’ll get a sales assistant. You can do half days. Whatever it takes,” he countered.

“No. It wouldn’t work. I’m a control freak, you know I am. And it’s thinking about the business when I’m not here that’s part of it, as well. I’d still be doing that if I owned half of it. I need a complete break,” she said.

There was a determination in her tone, a firmness that he recognized. Delaney had made her decision. Without talking it over with him. Without consulting him in any way. She’d simply gone away, and come back determined to do her own thing.

He started to get angry. “And where does that leave me?” he asked. He hated the fact that he sounded like a sulky kid, but that was how he felt, so he might as well own up to it.

“Sam, you can easily afford to buy me out. You know you can. Or you can get in another partner. Or go into partnership with another small publisher. God knows, we’ve had enough of them sniffing around over the years,” she said.

Sam stared at her. She was serious about this. Completely serious. He wanted to yell at her. To tell her in no uncertain terms how stupid and selfish and wrong all this was. But he didn’t. He bit his tongue and fought for control.

“When do you want out?” he managed to ask.

“As soon as possible,” she said baldly.

Unbelievably, in light of their conversation to date, her words still stung. He rocketed to his feet.

“I’ll talk to the bank,” he said, and then he pulled her office door open, slamming it behind him as he exited. Their entire staff turned his way, but he ignored them all, crossing next door to his own office and slamming that door, too.

Then he threw himself into his office chair and dropped his head into his hands.

What in the world was he going to do without her?

DELANEY TOOK A LONG, shuddery breath and then let it out. She’d just had the hardest conversation of her life, hands down. Swiveling in her chair, she leaned forward and rested her forehead on her desk.

The look in Sam’s eyes. The hurt. The lack of comprehension. She hated causing him pain, but she had no choice.

Unless she was prepared to tell him the real reason she had to go.

Which was never going to happen.

Which left her back at square one. Although, technically, she was at square two now. She’d delivered the big blow. Now she just had to live through the next little while before she could walk away from the business. And Sam.

Her heart wrenched painfully in her chest at the thought. But she had to face up to it. One day soon, in a month or two’s time, she would walk out the double doors of this building and out of Sam’s life forever.

She lifted her head off the desk, then dropped it down again, banging her forehead. It felt like an appropriate punishment for the mess she’d created, and she did it several more times—bang, bang, bang, bang—until it suddenly occurred to her that she might bruise her forehead. Good luck explaining that one to sane, ordinary people—I’d just screwed up my entire life, so I thought I’d add brain damage to the mix.

Lifting her head, she stared blindly at the wall planner in front of her. Absolute honesty time—there had been a part of her that had hoped that when Sam heard her big news he’d break down and say something to give her hope. She figured that the exact same part of her twisted female psyche was responsible for believing in unicorns when she was five and Santa Claus until she was eight, but it didn’t make the realization any easier to bear. How sad could she get? Even at the eleventh hour, she was hoping for a reprieve, that he’d tell her he was mad about her, he couldn’t stand the thought of life without her. As if Sam wouldn’t have found some time over the past, say, sixteen years to recognize that his brotherly affection was actually repressed lust for her slim, boyish body, if that were actually the case.

A knock sounded on the door behind her.

“Yes?” she called out.

The door opened a crack and their desktop artist, Rudy, poked his head in. “You okay?” he asked cautiously. With his flamboyant red-and-blue-dyed hair and multiple piercings, coupled with his tendency to dress in brightly colored rave club wear, Rudy looked like a demented elf.

Delaney summoned a smile for him. “I’m fine,” she lied.

“Right. I’ve been with you guys for five years, Delaney. You and Sam have never slammed doors before,” Rudy said.

“Sam slammed the door,” Delaney pointed out.

Rudy rolled his eyes as if to say it was the same difference. “Is everything all right?” he asked.

Delaney opened her mouth to offer up another soothing platitude, but she realized that she might as well just tell him the truth. The sooner it became an accepted fact, the sooner she could move on.

“I’ve asked Sam to buy out my share of the magazine,” she said. “I’m leaving the business.”

Rudy’s eyes almost bugged out of his head. “No way!” he said.

Delaney just held his eye until the incredulous expression faded from his face.

“But you and Sam are like bread and butter. Or strawberries and cream. Or…or…peanuts and bananas. You never have one without the other,” Rudy said.

“Peanuts and bananas, Rudy?” she queried.

“Try it sometime,” he said. Then he stared at Delaney as if he were a lost puppy.

She tried her best to be reassuring.

“It’s not going to change anything for you guys. Sam will still be here. The magazine will be exactly the same,” she said.

“No, it won’t. It’s not the same without you around. If you’d been here for the past two weeks you’d know that. Sam can’t do all the things you do. Just like you can’t do all the things he does. That’s why you make a great team. Like peanuts—”

“And bananas. I got it,” Delaney said. “I’m sorry, Rudy, but it’s just the way it is. It’ll all work out okay, you’ll see.”

If only she could believe her own advice. Shooting her one last bewildered look, Rudy slipped back out into the main office. Within seconds, their remaining four employees would be up to speed, Delaney guessed. Which would save her having to conduct the same difficult, uncomfortable conversation four more times.

Working on autopilot, she turned her computer on and began to organize her desk. Sam’s practical joke had left her normally neat and tidy work surface a mess of disordered paper. She spent the next twenty minutes mindlessly filing and straightening things, then she worked her way through her phone messages. By the time she’d dealt with the more urgent ones, it was lunchtime.

She usually ate lunch with Sam. They’d walk to a local café, or jump in the car and go somewhere farther afield, just to clear their heads. Once or twice a year, when the weather was too damned irresistible and the surf report was too enticing, they’d bail on work completely for the whole afternoon and take off for the nearest surf beach.

She could just imagine his expression if she sauntered next door and suggested they grab a bite. She hadn’t heard a peep from him since he’d barreled out of her office and into his own—no low murmur of phone conversation, no chatting with the other employees. Like her, Sam was probably staying put in his office, reeling from her announcement.

For a second she was gripped with a wild impulse to tell him it had all been a big, stupid joke. That she’d just been yanking his chain, the ultimate practical gag.

The urge was so strong she forced herself to scoop up her car keys and purse before she could give in to it. Striding to the front door, she told Debbie that she’d be back in an hour.

The mall was probably not the best place to go when she was feeling down, but somehow she wound up there. Fluorescent lighting, neon signs, crowds of dull-eyed shoppers—she fit right in as she walked around aimlessly, staring blankly at clothes racks, sorting pointlessly through sales bins. It wasn’t until she caught herself burrowing furiously through a bargain bin, trying to find a complete set of Christmas-themed napkin rings, that she snapped out of it.

Not only did she not own napkins, she hated knick-knacky home decor items with a passion. Dropping the offending objects like hot potatoes, she exited the store and sat on the nearest bench. Pulling a notebook from her handbag, she forced herself to focus.

Yes, she was a little off balance after making such a life-changing decision and then following through on it by telling Sam her intentions, but it was no excuse to wig out completely. She had to keep moving toward her end goal—find a husband, build a family.

She wrote both things down in her notebook, then groaned and tore the page out, throwing it into the nearby bin. Who was she kidding? She didn’t need a to-do list—she knew what had to be done.

First, she had to stop comparing every man she met to Sam Kirk. Second, she had to actually start taking more men up on their offers to take her to dinner/the movies/bed. With Sam out of her life, hopefully the rest would simply fall into place.

Wig-out over, she stood and smoothed the creases from her tailored slim-line trousers. Her hands stilled on her thighs as she stared down at her sensible, businesslike outfit. She always wore pants to work. And she almost always wore a shirt, or some other kind of sensible, tailored top. She wasn’t a fussy, frills-and-flowers kind of woman, never had been. But still…

Scanning the mall, her eye was drawn to the glint of a mirror, and she crossed to stand in front of it. The woman staring back at her was plain-looking, with long straight mid-brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. She was wearing navy linen pants and a cream cotton shirt, and while both were of good quality and well-cut, there was no escaping the fact that she looked a little like a military nurse. Or a postal worker.

Her mind flashed to the eye-popping blonde she’d encountered outside the office that morning. No one would ever mistake Coco for a postal worker, that was for sure. And while Delaney knew she could never even begin to play in the same league as the epically endowed Coco, there was no reason why she shouldn’t make the best of her assets.

That’s what it was all about, after all, wasn’t it? Using what you had to attract the opposite sex. Then it was down to personality and compatibility and chemistry.

Once again she scanned the mall, this time looking for a hair salon. There were three to choose from, all situated close to one another. She spent a few minutes analyzing the cuts of the hairstylists in each establishment, as well as those of their clients, then she simply picked the one that looked the most expensive. She hadn’t had a haircut in months. Normally she tidied up her own bangs with the kitchen scissors, and just had the spilt ends cut off the back every now and then.

Approaching the counter, she smiled nervously at the receptionist.

“Hi. I’d like to get a haircut,” she said.

“Of course. We actually have an opening now, if you’re interested,” the girl said smoothly. “Someone canceled at the last minute.” She flicked a strand of perfect hair over her shoulder, and Delaney found herself following the silky fall of the woman’s multihued locks. Eyes narrowing, she assessed the receptionist’s haircut: shorter at the front, it gradually became longer toward the back, just skimming her shoulders. The choppy texture of the cut was emphasized by a mixture of brown streaks, ranging from darkest chocolate to cinnamon to a golden bronze. It was sexy hair, alluring hair. Nothing postal or military about it at all.

“Do you think they could cut my hair like that?” Delaney asked impulsively.

The receptionist tilted her head to one side and considered her. “Absolutely. Let me get Volker. He’s the expert,” she said.

Delaney found herself being ushered into a seat by a lanky hairstylist with a pronounced German accent.

“Oh, yes, we can do something with this,” he said approvingly as he freed her hair from its tie.

“It needs to be like hers,” Delaney said, pointing toward the receptionist who had once again resumed her station at the front of the store.

“It will be better,” Volker announced, no hint of ego or boasting in his voice—he was simply stating a fact.

Two hours later, Delaney decided he was right on the money. The woman staring back from the salon mirror was a stranger. Gone was her straight, no-nonsense fringe. Now her hair swept gracefully to one side of her face to fall in graduated layers onto her shoulders. Each layer was made up of a myriad of colors—russet, chocolate, ginger—so that when she ran her hand through it or shook it, her hair shimmered with light and movement.

“Wow,” the receptionist said when Delaney stepped up to the counter to pay her bill. The girl’s gaze flicked doubtfully to her own reflection in a nearby mirror and Delaney felt a dart of feminine pride. She had hair that other women envied! How good was that!

Her euphoria lasted for all of the five seconds it took for her mind to default to wondering what Sam would think of her new cut.

Stupid stupid stupid, she told herself, but it didn’t make any difference. He had been the sun her world orbited around for so long, it was going to take time to wean herself away from using him as her touchstone.

The realization drove her into the nearest David Jones department store, her step determined.

Another hour and a half later, she stuffed a dozen rustling shopping bags into the back seat of the MINI. She’d gone berserk. There was no other word for it. Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman had nothing on Delaney. She’d practically handed her credit card over to the sympathetic sales assistant and told her to go crazy. New makeup, perfume and underwear, six pairs of shoes, a pair of boots, three pairs of figure-hugging jeans in black, red and dark denim, and a host of skirts, dresses, tank tops, T-shirts…She honestly had no idea exactly what she’d bought. But it was all fitted. Tight, even. The skirts were either short and flirty, or short and figure-hugging. The dresses were triumphs of design, with minuscule straps and cinching belts and draping skirts that made her look willowy and elegant and mysterious. And the bras…Who would have thought that a bra could make such a difference? She refused to wear a padded bra, but the underwire balconette bra the saleswoman had shown her actually gave her cleavage. And the colors! She had a rainbow of silk and lace in her shopping bags. She’d oohed and ahhed so much she was sure the saleswoman must have thought she’d just escaped from behind the Iron Curtain. But the truth was, Delaney hadn’t spent this much time thinking about her appearance since she was a teenager and she’d made a single pathetic, misguided attempt to make Sam look at her as a woman. He’d laughed at her too-bright lipstick and her sister’s clothes and asked if she was going to a fancy dress, and she’d gone home and scrubbed at her face until it was red raw.

Since she’d long ago given up on Sam loving her, she’d relegated the art of allure and seduction to the dustbin. If a man was interested in plain old Delaney, she’d give him a whirl. But she had never gone out of her way to be sexy before. And this new wardrobe of hers was undeniably provocative.

Good, she told herself firmly. She was thirty years old. She only had a limited amount of time to meet a decent man, fall in love and start making babies.

She’d called Debbie from the hair salon to explain her long absence, and she stopped at the other woman’s desk to collect her messages on the way in to her office.

“Just three calls. Everyone still thinks you’re on holiday,” Debbie said absently, passing the chits over without looking up from her computer monitor.

“Thanks,” Delaney said, turning away.

“Get out of town!” Debbie suddenly squealed from behind her. “Delaney, what have you done?”

Delaney felt a stab of apprehension. She’d changed into the black jeans at the shop, matching them with a bright aqua tank top that made the most of her newly upthrust bosom. It was just like the time she’d dressed up for Sam—clearly she’d got it all wrong again. She closed her eyes for a second, then braced herself and turned back to face Debbie.

“Not good, huh?” she asked flatly.

“Are you kidding?! You look amazing. Astonishing. Stunning!” Debbie babbled. “Rudy, come and check Delaney out!”

Of course, that meant everyone else came as well, Amanda and Justin and Sukie trailing Rudy out into the reception area. They all circled around her oohing and ahhing.

“Your hair is so gorgeous. I want to eat it,” Rudy said worryingly.

“Those jeans, Delaney. Wow,” Justin said admiringly. Delaney noticed he was having a hard time taking his eyes off her ass.

Sukie was staring at Delaney’s chest, and she winked knowingly. “Mademoiselle FiFi,” she said, naming the brand of Delaney’s new bra. Sukie patted her own perky chest with satisfaction. “I love her work.”

It was all salve for her ego, and she felt her confidence blooming. She should have done this ages ago. She’d always taken the line that what people saw with her was what they got, but she realized now she’d been missing out on a lot of fun. She’d liked putting on lipstick and a touch of mascara and eye shadow with the expert guidance of the woman in the beauty section of the department store. And testing the perfumes had been a hoot. It was nice to feel desirable and attractive for a change.

Her gaze kept flicking toward Sam’s closed door, but Debbie answered her unspoken question before she had to ask it.

“Sam left not long after you,” the receptionist said.

Delaney stomped on the absurd sense of disappointment she felt at Sam not being there to see her transformation. This was not about Sam Kirk! She had to get that through her thick head.

She registered that everyone had sobered. She guessed they were thinking about the news she’d given Rudy before lunch.

“Don’t worry, your jobs are all safe,” she said quickly. “No one’s going anywhere.”

Except for her, of course. But she was sure they weren’t worried about her.

“But it won’t be the same,” Sukie said, echoing Rudy’s earlier remark. “We like working for you and Sam. It will be weird without you.”

“You’ll get used to it. And it’s not like I’m going straight away,” Delaney said, moved by her employees’ sincerity. Maybe they were a little worried about her.

“Are you—are you getting married or something?” Justin blurted out.

Delaney blinked. “No!”

Justin turned beet-red. “I just thought maybe you’d fallen in love with some jerk who didn’t want you to work and maybe we could go around and break his kneecaps or something.”

Delaney was touched all over again. “There’s no guy, trust me. I just want to do something different with my life,” she assured them.

Offering up one last smile, she crossed to her office.

The smile faded when she saw the note Sam had left on her desk.

Gone to talk to lawyers. Will have answer for you by p.m.

Wow. He’d moved quickly.

She sat with a thump. Soon, it seemed, she’d get what she wanted.

So why wasn’t she feeling relieved or happy?

Because you’re a besotted idiot, she told herself. Determined to change that, she grabbed her phone messages and focused on work.

She had to be strong now, or suffer the consequences later. There was no other way.

SAM WAS SO WORKED UP when he got home from the lawyer’s office that he had to play five rounds of Grand Theft Auto on PlayStation before his stress levels were manageable. When he’d finally maxed out his personal best score, he shut the unit off and grabbed himself a beer from the fridge. Heading out onto the balcony, he gazed across the crowded inner-city suburb of Richmond as he sucked down some much-needed liquid calm.

The evening breeze was cool, and the sky was a faded apricot color by the time he lifted himself out of his lounger and padded back into the house.

He’d been so angry with Delaney earlier that he could barely think, but now a semblance of rational thought had reasserted itself. For some reason, Delaney’s biological clock had suddenly exploded. Personally, he blamed Claire and her three offspring. Clearly the kids—evil geniuses that they were—had implanted some kind of hormonal device in Delaney’s brain while she was on holidays and Claire was making hay while the sun shined. Women always wanted other women to have children. They were constantly encouraging each other to procreate—a maternal conspiracy.

So. Delaney wanted kids of her own. It wasn’t the end of the world. But it didn’t mean she had to get out of the business. When he’d been discussing things with his lawyer this afternoon, a number of options had been floated. The one that appealed the most was keeping Delaney in the business as a silent partner, and bringing in an advertising sales manager to handle Delaney’s role. That way Delaney was still a part of the business—still connected to his life—but she could go off and find Mr. Perfect at the same time. Everyone was a winner.

It was such a great idea, Sam decided he should just go sell it to Delaney on the spot. Plus, he’d never stayed angry at her for this long before, and it felt weird. And, of course, there was dinner to be considered. He couldn’t cook, Delaney could…. Again everyone was a winner.

Grabbing the remaining two beers from his fridge, he snagged his house keys and made his way downstairs to Delaney’s apartment. Her door was red where his was blue, but the layouts inside were identical. They’d bought the empty warehouse shells at the same time, and shared the cost of an architect to fit out both spaces. There were small, idiosyncratic differences, of course—Delaney’s bathroom was all white where his was dark grey. And her kitchen had a lot more stainless-steel equipment than his. But apart from that, the apartments were a matched pair. Like him and Delaney.

She took her sweet time answering his knock, and he was beginning to frown with impatience when the door swung open.

“Sam!” she said, clearly surprised to see him. He was too busy doing a double take to register the fact, however.

What on earth had she done to herself?

“What on earth have you done to yourself?” he demanded, eyeing her freaky new haircut uncertainly.

Since when did Delaney have soft layers of honey and toffee-colored hair gently framing her face? His stunned gaze moved from her new hair to her face itself as he realized that that looked different, too. Eyes bigger and smokier, mouth redder and poutier. She was wearing makeup! His Delaney was wearing makeup!

Then his eyes dropped below her neckline and he nearly had a heart attack. What had happened to Delaney’s signature crisp cotton shirt? Or the man-sized surf T-shirts she wore around the house? The tiny, teeny aqua thing she had on barely justified the words tank top. It was like the ghost of a tank top, an imprint that might be left behind when a tank top passed over to the other side.

For a full, mind-bending five seconds he found himself focusing on the twin stars of Delaney’s new purchase—two of the perkiest, prettiest breasts he’d seen in a long time. Thrusting up toward the low neckline of her top, they positively begged for a man to reach out and see if they felt as delectable and firm as they looked. Wrenching his eyes away, he continued on his downward spiral into madness as he caught sight of the jeans she was wearing. Painted-on was the term that came to mind. Darkest black, and so tight that if she was a man he’d know what religion she was. But she wasn’t a man. Oh boy, she so wasn’t a man.

“Shit!” was all he could think to say.

Delaney flinched and her eyes flashed at him.

“Thanks a lot. That’s all you can say? What have you done, and shit? Nice,” she said.

Then she turned her back on him and walked away and, for the first time in his life, Little Sam reared up in his boxers and saluted his best friend. Since when did Delaney have such a delectable butt? Heaven. Pure heaven. Round and high and so grabable that when he looked down he saw his fingers had actually curled in anticipation.

Suddenly Sam registered what he was doing, and the fact that he now had an embarrassing, incredibly inappropriate, illicit boner making itself at home in his jeans.

Had the world fallen off its axis? What in the name of all that was good was going on here? Where on earth did he get off cracking a woody over his best friend?

He never had sexual thoughts about Delaney. She was a complete no-go zone where that kind of stuff was concerned. She meant too much to him for him to stuff it up with some stupid sex thing. A long time ago, he’d made a decision—Delaney was out of bounds. And it had worked. It really had. He’d never even peeked when they changed out of their wetsuits at the beach. She was his friend, damn it. You didn’t check out your best friend.

So why was there now a hard-on making its presence felt in his underwear?

Sam shook his head to clear it.

It was surprise, that was all. Delaney’s new look had taken him unawares, made him look at her in a different way before he could get his defenses up. That was all it was.

And he’d offended her with his shocked reaction.

“Shit,” he said again, but under his breath this time. Depositing the beers on Delaney’s recycled Oregon dining table, he followed her into her bedroom.

She was pulling clothes out of the jumble of shopping bags on her big king-size bed. By the looks of it, she’d cleaned out the whole women’s department at David Jones.

“You’ve been shopping?” he asked stupidly, reeling from yet another blow to his perception of the world.

Delaney hated shopping almost as much as she hated makeup and…perfume? He sniffed the air suspiciously, becoming aware that a sweet, light fragrance had wrapped itself around him. It was the odor equivalent of crack cocaine—once he’d had one sniff, he couldn’t seem to get enough.

“What’s that smell?” he demanded.

Delaney threw her hands in the air. “It’s Dolce and Gabbana Light Blue. What’s wrong? Does it smell like horse manure? Is that what you’re going to tell me next?”

Sam blinked at her anger, then admitted to himself that it might be a little justified. The problem was, he was in free fall here, staggering from one shocking revelation to another. But he probably could be a little more diplomatic about what was coming out of his mouth.

“No, it’s nice,” he said.

Delaney went back to clearing out her shopping bags, her movements tight with anger.

“I’m sorry,” he said, painfully aware that he’d hurt her feelings with his insensitive reaction. Although it had been more oversensitive, if he were being pedantic about it.

In fact, her hair looked great, not freaky at all. Silky and touchable. A perfect frame for her sweet face. Which wasn’t quite so sweet anymore, thanks to Mr. Max Factor and friends. More…sultry. Promising.

Sam swallowed and shook his head. It was so not his place to be thinking any of these things about Delaney. She would completely flip out if she had even an inkling that he’d gotten aroused over the sight of her ass in her tight new jeans. Even as he thought it, Delaney turned and bent to pick up something off the ground. He thrust his hands into his pockets to counteract the ass-grabbing urge that once again rocked him, and wrenched his eyes away.

“So, um, I went to the lawyers this afternoon,” he said, trying to get a grip on himself.

“Uh-huh,” Delaney murmured, hanging dress after dress in the wardrobe. He frowned when he saw how short they were. Maybe they were tops, not dresses? If he was to have any chance of keeping his sanity and conquering this sudden, aberrant bout of hyper-awareness where she was concerned, they’d better be.

“He floated another idea, something we hadn’t considered. We get someone in to take over your role, and you stay in the business as a silent partner. Maybe just give advice whenever required, that kind of thing,” Sam said, leaning against the wall.

Delaney shook her head, her newly streaked hair dancing around her face hypnotically.

“But I told you, Sam. I want out. I don’t want to be connected to the business at all.”

Sam should have been more worried about what she was saying, he knew he should, but she’d just emptied out a shopping bag full of lacy, silky scraps. He watched, fascinated, as she sorted through the rainbow-hued mass, matching bras to panties or thongs. Thongs! Delaney in a thong. Delaney’s perfect, ripe peach of a butt in a thong.

Little Sam once again made a determined effort to join proceedings, and Sam fisted his hands in his pockets, dreading the thought that Delaney might look up and see his erection and get completely the wrong idea.

He was not turned on by her new underwear. He was not turned on by her. He was just freaking out over the fact that she wanted out from the business. That was all. His body’s response was just a weird offshoot of his reaction.

Belatedly he realized that Delaney had stopped packing things away to stare at him, waiting for his response.

“Um, right,” he said.

She sat on the bed, offering him an untrammeled view down the neck of her new top.

“Sam, I know this has been a bolt from the blue, and it’s going to take you some time to adjust, but it’s what I want,” she said firmly.

Her breasts rose and fell with each breath she took, straining upward as though they wanted to escape the confines of her clothing. He licked his lips, wondering what color her nipples were.

It was such a basic, primal thought that Sam actually turned toward the door, ready to flat-out run from his own animal instincts.

“What’s wrong?” Delaney demanded. She stood again, and Sam heaved a sigh of relief that he could no longer see down her top. The pressure in his boxers eased a notch, but he didn’t dare pull his hands from his pockets.

“Nothing. Just a bit of…gas,” he said lamely when nothing else came to mind.

“Not in my bedroom,” Delaney said instantly, pointing toward the door. “And you need to get out anyway. My date will be here soon and I need to start getting ready.”

Sam froze. “Date? What date?”

Delaney lifted a shoulder negligently. He just managed to keep his eyes above her neckline.

“Jake dropped by this afternoon. He asked me out to dinner tonight,” she said.

Sam stared at her. “Jake the printing rep? That Jake?”

“Do we know any others?” she asked.

“But he’s a complete sleaze, Delaney. He’s always checking out chicks, and every time I see him out somewhere he’s with a new woman,” Sam said indignantly.

“So? Maybe he just hasn’t met the right woman yet,” Delaney said.

Before he could tell her how wrong she was, what sort of trouble she was inviting, she shoved him out of her bedroom and shut the door in his face.