Nights In White Satin. Jule Mcbride

feet into flats, generating a soft brushing sound. “Which is why you’re going on vacation with her at the drop of a hat?”

      Obviously, his love life was going to remain cursed until Bridget was a closed chapter. This gorgeous woman had been right in front of him, naked and holding a bottle of champagne. “Only because I’m going to tell Bridget we can’t be friends.”

      Whisking her coat from a chair, Carrie swirled it around her shoulders, then surveyed him. “Are you serious?”

      “Yes.” He’d tried to cool it with Bridget over the years, and for just this reason. It never worked. While he suspected Bridget felt attraction for him, she hid it so well, even from herself. Especially from herself. “She relies on me,” he continued simply. Bridget needed him, but he was going to have to take some action. “She denied it, but I think she really believes in the ghosts her grandmother says are haunting her house.”

      “I overheard.”

      “Maybe if I help her sort this out, she’ll get over the idea that she’s cursed. She dates somebody new every week,” he added, just in case Carrie misunderstood his intentions. “So, it’s clear she’s not interested in me, except as a friend. Maybe one of those guys will work out for her, and she’ll learn to be less reliant on me.”

      Carrie headed toward the front door. Once there, she turned. “You actually seem to believe what you’re saying.”

      “What’s not to believe?”

      When she rolled her eyes, his heart hardened. He really was sick of this. Carrie Masterson was hardly the first woman to object to his relationship with Bridget. Every woman he’d dated expected to find him in bed with her—and never had. Funny, he thought now, most were less threatened by the idea of him and Bridge hitting the sheets than by their twenty-year friendship. That’s what should have unsettled them. But he was tired of playing the best friend. He was ready to give her up.

      He eyed Carrie. She was the kind of woman who could have anyone she wanted—and she’d chosen him. She could make a nice home for a man, she was talented and sexy as hell. Once more, Bridget was helping him blow it. “Bridget and I have been close for years,” he found himself saying. “So, I need time.”

      “To end the friendship, so you can move on?” Carrie kept her eyes on his. More softly, she said, “She’s getting in your way, Dermott.” As she opened the door, she added, “I almost believe you. Okay. One week. I’ll call your cell while you two are gone.” She flashed a smile, her dark eyes holding the promise of a future if he let go of Bridget. “You know, monitor your trip, Dermott.” Her eyes hardened. “But you need to put an end to this. It’s at a stalemate for you. No sex. No progression. Just her being a buddy, when other women want to give you so much more, Dermott.”

      With that, Carrie swept across the threshold; the click of the door seemed to resound in the silence. Alone, Dermott pushed away a recollection of the shocked look on Bridget’s face when she’d caught him with his pants down. She’d actually fumbled in her bag, looking for her glasses to get a better look at Carrie before she realized they’d already met. Yeah, Bridget’s behavior had communicated sexual interest, but then, he’d seen that look at the Tiffany’s Christmas party, too, and on a thousand other occasions.

      Carrie was right. Bridget would never allow that part of the relationship to progress. And the way he held on to the friendship made him look like a fool, not that he really cared what other people thought. Still, Carrie had underestimated his frustration. Bridget hadn’t been good for him. While most women treated him like a sexy male—Carrie was hardly the first he’d found naked—Bridget made him feel like a ghost, and while her clear blue eyes might haunt him, he wasn’t going to let her ruin any more of his chances.

      Yeah, he was blowing out this torch. No matter what Bridget said or did, and no matter how much she tempted him, he wasn’t going to let her ignite any false hopes again. Yeah. Bridget Benning could rub her thin, sexy body all over him…she could even pull down his zipper, slip a warm hand inside and…

      He sucked in a breath. Anyway, the point was, he wouldn’t give in to temptation. When they parted company a final time, he’d miss her like hell. He’d love her forever. But he had to move on. So, he was going to the Sunshine State, and by the time he returned, he and Bridget, just like the supposed ghosts of Hartley House, would be a closed chapter belonging to history.