Anything for You

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.

3

CRACKING OPEN ONE of the beers he’d brought down, Sam paced back and forth across Delaney’s jarrah wood floor, sucking in beer and trying to breathe out tension and frustration. He was supposed to go back upstairs to his own apartment—the way Delaney had yelled through her closed bedroom door that she’d see him at work tomorrow had been something of a giveaway in that direction. But he wasn’t going anywhere. He was worried about Delaney going out with a bona fide lady’s man like Jake. The guy was six foot, solidly built, and Sam knew from listening to the girls in the office that they thought he was dreamy. Delaney wouldn’t stand a chance against a practiced make-out artist like that.

He could hear the sound of the shower as Delaney got ready for her date, and he tried to keep himself from imagining what she was doing in there. What she looked like naked, those perky, high breasts of hers slick, the nipples pebbled from the water’s warm touch, how she might slide her hands down over her hips and round over that perfect butt…

What was wrong with him? Why was he suddenly having these intimate, crazy-making thoughts about Delaney? She was like his sister. He wasn’t supposed to care that she was a woman. It just wasn’t a factor in their relationship. At least, it never had been. But all of a sudden, it was as though someone had ripped down an invisible force field that had been between them and he was seeing her for the first time.

And Delaney was definitely a woman. A beautiful, desirable woman.

And Jake the sales rep was going to take her out tonight and do his best to get inside the tiny, lacy scraps of silk he’d seen Delaney sorting through earlier.

It made Sam so angry that he almost threw his beer bottle at the wall. The tempo of his pacing increased. She couldn’t go out with Jake. It was a simple as that. Once she got out of the shower, he’d talk sense to her, and she could call Jake and give the guy the brush-off. Then Sam would take her out for burgers or something. They’d have a few beers together, and get things back on their old, solid footing.

The clock in Delaney’s open-plan kitchen read just five minutes shy of eight by the time she emerged from her bedroom. She came wrapped in a cloud of perfume and precious little else from what he could see.

The dress she was wearing was the color of autumn leaves—a dark, burnished orange—and it set off Delaney’s tan perfectly. It had tiny spaghetti straps and a tight bodice that hugged her breasts, then it swooped down over her hips to end a bare few inches below her butt.

“You cannot be serious,” Sam said before he could help himself. He’d planned on staying calm, being the voice of reason. But Delaney could not go out in public in that dress. For starters, it almost certainly violated several decency codes. And it would definitely pose a medical risk for elderly males. Surely she didn’t want to be responsible for giving some randy octogenarian a fatal heart attack?

“Sam, if you haven’t got something nice to say, go home,” Delaney said wearily.

He’d hurt her feelings. Again. Determined to get this right, he crossed to her and put both hands on her shoulders. She tried to twitch out of his grasp, but he just held her more firmly.

“Laney, you look amazing. Hot. Too hot, in fact. There is no way Jake will be able to keep his hands off you,” Sam explained honestly.

“Did it ever occur to you that I might not want him to?” Delaney said, pushing his hands away.

“Well…no. Why on earth would you let a guy like Jake take advantage of you? He’s not good husband material, Delaney, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Because you’re such a great judge of that, right?” she challenged him.

Sam pulled his dreadlocks off his forehead, frustrated that he couldn’t seem to get through to her.

“He’s going to look at you in that dress, and all he’s going to think about is sex,” he finally said. There, he couldn’t be more blatant than that.

“Good,” she replied.

“What?”

“I said good. I have had sex before you know, Sam. I do know what goes where. I have needs, too,” she said defiantly.

She pushed her hair behind her ear, and he saw that she was wearing slinky silver drop earrings that drew attention to her long, slim neck. She was so fine and sleek and strong. She was way too good for Jake the rep.

“I don’t know what to say to you,” Sam said after a long silence. “If you’re willing to just put yourself out there like that…I can’t protect you.”

“I didn’t ask you to! I’m a grown woman, I can take care of myself,” Delaney all but shouted back at him. Her cheekbones colored up nicely, and her breasts seemed in imminent danger of popping out over the top of her dress.

While he was giving himself a mental bitch-slap for looking in the first place, Delaney crossed to the door and opened it wide.

“Out. Now,” she said unequivocally.

Sam opened his mouth to deliver one last warning, but she glared at him and he closed his jaw with an audible click.

Feeling distinctly hard done by, he moved past her and out into the hall.

“I just hope you know what you’re doing,” Sam said.

“Hey there, Sam,” a voice said from behind him, and he turned to see Jake approaching down the corridor.

The cheesy schemer was dressed like Mr. Slick from a fashion catalogue, and he was even carrying a bunch of flowers. Sam felt his lip curl as he eyed the other man.

“Jake,” he managed to bite out. Jake offered his hand, and Sam stared at it for a beat before reluctantly shaking hands. He made sure he squeezed the other guy’s knuckles good and hard, though, just so Jake would know who he’d be dealing with if he got out of line with Delaney.

“Sam was just leaving,” Delaney said meaningfully.

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?