What Are Friends For?. Naomi Horton

of separation while their lawyers hammered out a deal...then a handful of papers and he was single again.

      It made him laugh for some reason, although God knows it wasn’t even remotely funny. Still grinning humorlessly, he stood up and stretched until his muscles popped. Andie was nowhere to be seen but he could hear her in the kitchen. Suddenly he was starved. He picked up the bottle of Scotch and capped it tightly, then grabbed the half-empty glass and followed the clatter.

      She was taking plates out of the dishwasher and stacking them on the counter. Conn paused by the end of the counter to watch her, enjoying the play of faded, soft denim across the rounded contours of her trim little bottom. That was one thing he didn’t see enough of these days. Hiring Andie to work with him had been smart in a lot of ways, but it also meant that she spent most of her time with him dressed in business garb.

      Which was a damned shame, he found himself suddenly thinking. A real damned shame...

      He set the glass on the counter, then slipped both arms around her and nuzzled the side of her throat. “You know what I was just thinking?” he purred against her ear.

      “I’m afraid to ask.”

      “I was just thinking that we could take the day off. The Becktron deal can wait a day or two—if anything, it’ll just make Desmond Beck more agreeable.” Her skin was slightly salty, and Conn ran the tip of his tongue around the lobe of her ear, feeling her give a tiny start. He wondered why he’d never done this before. Hell, it wasn’t as though the idea hadn’t occurred to him now and again. But it just never seemed...well, right, somehow, making a pass at your best friend.

      “Connor...” There was a hint of alarm in her voice.

      “I have another idea, too,” he murmured, running one hand gently up under her sweater and settling his palm on warm, bare flesh, caressing her gently.

      “Conn...” She’d stiffened at the first touch of his hand on her abdomen, as though not entirely believing what he was doing.

      “We could go to bed for an hour or two,” he whispered, slipping the fingers of his left hand under the waistband of her jeans while letting his right glide up to lightly touch her breasts through silk and lace. They were warm and full and he remembered how sensitive they’d been those long twelve years ago, how she’d groaned softly when he’d—

      “Connor...!” Breathless with surprise, she recoiled back against him.

      “God, you feel good,” he growled, filling his hands with the incredible softness and warmth of her. “I’d forgotten how good you feel, Andie.” Nuzzling her throat, he splayed his fingers across her belly and pulled her against him, pressing gently against her, already fully aroused.

      “Remember what it was like that weekend up at Mount Baker?” He felt her breath catch very slightly and smiled, running his fingertips along the edge of her bra and hoping she still wore the kind that fastened in front, smiling again when he discovered that she did. “We could have that kind of magic again, Andie. We could—”

      “Conn, wh-what are you doing?” Her voice was just a dazed whisper.

      “What the hell do you think I’m doing?” he asked with a throaty chuckle. “It’s been a while, but I think it’s called foreplay....”

      He thought about what it had been like, making love to Andie that first time, wild and vital and so hungry for each other they’d practically gone up in smoke.

      Twelve years later, and he could remember that first long silken slide into heaven as though it had happened no more than an hour ago. Could still hear the soft noise she’d made deep in her throat, the way her body had taken him, welcomed him, loved him as he’d pressed deep, deep...slaking himself in the hot, satin depths of her.

      Conn groaned and moved against her. The catch on her bra gave way easily. He caressed her breasts, the nipples hard against his palm, and he could hear her moan very softly as he rubbed them, teased them.

      She’d grabbed his wrist and he felt her fingers tighten convulsively. He remembered what it had been like with her twelve years ago, how she’d gasped with pleasure the first time he’d taken one taut nipple into his mouth, sucking it, caressing it with his tongue.

      He remembered other things, too...touching her for the very first time, fingers seeking, finding, teasing. The way she’d pressed her thighs together, embarrassed and a little uncertain, until finally, with a soft sigh of raw pleasure, she’d relaxed and had let him ease his hand under the narrow bikini panties she’d been wearing. She’d been fire and honey and hot silken need, and in no time at all she’d arched against his hand, eyes wide with shock and delight.

      The knot in his belly tightened, and he moved against her again, pressing himself against her round, denim-clad bottom and feeling his own breath catch. He slipped the metal button on her waistband free and tugged the zipper down impatiently, slipping his hand inside to cup the feminine curve of her belly before sliding down and beneath the band of her panties. “Andie, I want you....” he groaned, moving evocatively against her.

      “Connor!” The word was little more than a gasp. “P-please!”

      Growling something, he drew his hand from her and turned her in his arms, pressing her back against the dishwasher, one thigh pressing between hers even as he slipped his fingers into her hair. Tipping her face up, he brought his mouth down over hers, tongue sliding deep, seeking hers, finding it, as familiar and welcoming as coming home. She kissed him back, her arms going around his neck, lithe body arching against his....

      And then, very suddenly, she wrenched her mouth away and turned her face so he couldn’t kiss her again, planting both hands on his shoulders and pushing him firmly away. “Damn it, Connor, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

      “Kissing you,” he muttered, trying to do it again. “Damn it, Andie, quit turning away and—”

      “Stop it!”

      She was stronger than he would have guessed and she shoved him back roughly, panting for breath, cheeks flushed, eyes snapping. Giving her head a toss to get her tousled hair out of her eyes, she glared up at him. “Back off!”

      “Andie, for the love of—!” Swearing, he took a step back, blood hammering in his temples, so aroused it hurt just to stand there, breathing hard. “What’s wrong? What the hell is—?”

      “I am not some vacant pair of hips you can just use when the mood strikes you, mister! If you need to reaffirm your manhood or drown your sorrows or celebrate your newfound bachelor status or whatever the hell it is you’re doing, fine—but not with me!”

      “What?” Conn just stared down at her, mind spinning with confusion. “Honey, that’s not what—”

      “No!” Mouth tight with fury, she glowered right back up at him, wrenching the gaping fly of her jeans closed, then reaching under her sweater and fastening her bra. “Is that why you called me over here tonight? Because you’re feeling a little sorry for yourself and figure all you need to get over the divorce blues is a good—”

      “Don’t even say it,” he growled, raking his fingers through his hair. “Look, I—” Swearing ferociously, he wheeled away and planted his hands on the edge of the counter, letting his head sag, eyes closed. “I’m sorry,” he muttered finally. “Damn it, Andie, I’m sorry. I don’t know what...” He shook his head.

      And he didn’t know, he realized glumly. Sure, now and again he’d thought about what it would be like to make love to her again, but it was more out of idle curiosity than any real sense of desire. She was Andie, for crying out loud. His best friend. And a person didn’t hit on his best friend!

      “I’m sorry, too,” she said finally, sounding subdued. “It was... Let’s just forget it, okay? It’s five-thirty in the morning, I’m tired, you’re a little drunk....”

      Her small hand settled warmly between his shoulder blades,