Anything for You. Sarah Mayberry

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