As Good as New

by Jennifer Dawson

  He’d trapped her, although she’d started it, so she supposed it was fair play. “Fine. Who do you work for?”

  They rushed to tell her and a second later the doors closed and she was once again alone with Evan. Why, after it had suffered so much at his hands, did her heart continue to betray her?

  She could have left well enough alone, but no, she had to engage. Because some part of her wanted to be alone with him.

  Evan grinned at her. “I’ll be at your office as soon as I’m done with Shane.”

  “You’re lucky I’m nice,” Penelope said.

  “I don’t think being nice has anything to do with it.”

  She squared her shoulders. “And what do you think it has something to do with?”

  Evan gripped her wrist and spun her so she faced him.

  She glared up at him. “What?”

  He jutted his chin toward the door. “Don’t pretend you couldn’t have gotten out of that.”

  She could have. So why hadn’t she? She had no good excuse for her behavior. “I suppose I couldn’t resist torturing you.”

  He pulled her close, sliding his hand around her waist. He bent low and whispered in her ear, “You’ve been torturing me since that first night in that basement.”

  The elevator shuddered to a stop and he let her go. On wobbly legs, she stepped back to an acceptable distance, and the door slid open.

  She walked out and he followed, catching up to her in two strides. They didn’t speak, but when she got to her office, right next to Shane’s, he called out, “I’ll see you soon, Penelope.”

  She ignored him, slamming the door behind her.

  * * *

  Luckily Penelope didn’t have to think too much about Evan, because as soon as she sat down at her desk, Collin and Nate from accounting came calling.

  Numbers, project schedules, and contract issues were far easier to manage than thinking about the game she was playing with Evan.

  And she was playing a game. That much was clear by her actions in the elevator. She’d obviously lost her mind.

  She’d think about it later; for now, she worked.

  Thirty minutes later, her phone rang and she raced to pick it up.

  Over the line, her admin spoke. “A Mr. Evan Donovan says he’s supposed to see you, but he doesn’t have an appointment.”

  Penelope took a deep breath and ignored the jump of excitement in her belly. And wasn’t that just the problem. Evan was the only time her belly jumped, her heart leapt, or nerves danced along her skin. “Give me a few minutes.”

  Nate, the accounting manager, closed his iPad. “I think that covers it.”

  She nodded and tapped a few keys on her computer, her mind already on the man outside her office. “Can you get me the revised numbers by close of business Friday?”

  Collin and Nate looked at each other, as though having a silent conversation, before Collin nodded. “We can do that.”

  “Great.” She stood. Was she rushing them out? Yes, yes, she was. She was picking up the matches and striking the flame.

  She ushered them to the door and when she opened it, Evan swung around to look at her.

  Nate and Collin blinked at Evan, their expressions taking on the light of excitement, but Evan didn’t seem to notice. His eyes were on her.

  She gestured into the empty space of her office and said coolly, “Evan.”

  “Penelope.” His voice had always done funny things to her, and age had only increased the smooth, deep sound of her name rolling across his tongue.

  The two men stared at them, and as casually as she could, she smiled. “Don’t forget I want those numbers by Friday.”

  Nate and Collin nodded. “Will do.”

  They walked away and Penelope said to Evan, “Are you coming?”

  Then she walked into the office and didn’t look back.

  A second later, he closed the door behind him with a soft click.

  She strolled to her desk and turned toward him. “That was fast.”

  “I was dropping something off for my mom,” he said, stopping before the chairs that separated them.

  She swallowed. They were alone. Again. This time of her own doing.

  He glanced around her office.

  Why did he have to look so damn good? It was warm out and he wore a gray T-shirt that stretched across his broad chest and highlighted his strong arms.

  “So this is where you work?” he asked.

  “Yep, this is it.” What happened to all the vows she’d made to herself after that night in his car? She took a deep breath. “You’ve been here before.”

  He clasped the back of the chair, his forearms flexing, highlighting all those muscles honed from years of football. “Yes, but you’ve always conveniently managed to not be here.”

  She leaned back on her desk. “I can assure you, it wasn’t intentional.”

  When his only response was a raised brow, she pointed at the closed door. “We’d better get this over with so I can get back to work.”

  He stared at her for so long she had to resist the urge to fidget.

  She crossed her arms. “What?”

  His gaze roamed over her face before settling on her mouth. “I can’t turn it off, Penelope. I’m trying, and I can’t.”

  She swallowed hard. “You’ll have to.”

  “How?”

  “We did it before, we can do it again.”

  His fingers flexed on the chair, his knuckles turning white. “But I don’t want to.”

  “What are you saying?” She held her breath, trying not to lean into his answer.

  “I can’t go on pretending I don’t want you.” His tone was gruff, sending a tingle of warmth down her spine. “Don’t pretend you don’t want me too.”

  What was the point in denying the obvious? The tension between them wasn’t going away. There was no settling back into the place they’d been all those years. “It won’t change anything.”

  He straightened, releasing his hold on the chair. “Maybe not, but it’s just a matter of time. We’re like a bomb waiting to detonate.”

  He was right. She looked out the window. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

  He stepped around the chair and came to stand in front of her.

  She met his gaze.

  He reached for her, and her heartbeat kicked into double time as his fingers tangled in her hair. “I want you to admit I’m going to be inside you.”

  He would be. The air crackled with it. And she wanted him there. “We can’t relive the past, Evan.”

  “That’s not what this is about.” His thumb stroked across her pounding pulse. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

  She couldn’t. “You’re not wrong.”

  His hand tightened on her neck, sending heat through her whole body. “Will you have dinner with me tonight?”

  A date? Now? The suggestion surprised her so much she sputtered, “What? Why?”

  “Because after everything we’ve done, I think it’s time we went on a proper date.”

  It threw her off as nothing else could have and she said the first thing that popped into her mind. “What if someone sees us?”

  A stroke down the curve of her throat. He needed to stop touching her so she could think. “So your objection is that someone might see us? Not the dinner itself?”

  “My objection is everything.”

  “Come to dinner with me.”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “Yes.” Another slide of fingers through her hair. “You have no idea how much I want to kiss you. And someday I hope to be able to without worrying I’ll end up fucking you where you stand.” His attention dipped to her mouth. “But today is not that day.”

  Her belly dipped, and to steady herself she put a hand on his wrist, meaning to push him away. Instead she dug her nails into his skin. “Evan.”

  “Please, Penny.”

  “It will only make things more complicated.”

  “I know.” He
dipped down, skimming a path with his mouth over her jaw, and she shuddered. “Come anyway.”

  She didn’t want to say no. She inhaled, her breath ragged. “All right.”

  “I’ll pick you up at seven.” He lifted his head and released his hold on her.

  “This is stupid.” So, so stupid.

  “Seven o’clock,” he said, his tone sure.

  “I’ll be ready.” She wasn’t ready at all, but she would be. She’d agreed. This was happening. After fifteen years, she was going on a date with Evan Donovan.

  Chapter Ten

  As he rang Penelope’s bell, Evan had no idea what to expect from the evening. When he’d woken this morning, taking her to dinner hadn’t even been on his radar screen.

  He was surprised to find he was nervous.

  Through the panes of glass he watched her walk down her hallway, her stride brisk and purposeful. Efficient. He couldn’t help but smile. If anyone ever guessed what she hid under all the efficiency, wouldn’t they be surprised.

  She opened the door, ready to go in a light beige trench coat. Her hair was down in soft waves around her shoulders, just the way he liked, and her blue eyes were direct and steady on him. She nodded. “Evan.”

  He drank her in. Nothing about her spoke of sex or seduction, but it didn’t stop him from wanting her with an intensity that bordered on insanity. He cleared his throat and tried to rid his mind of the illicit images that ran rampant. He’d vowed to take her on a proper date, to court her, and that’s what he was going to do. “Are you ready?”

  “Nope,” she said, her voice a bit shaky. “You?”

  His gaze met hers. “Not even a little bit.”

  The corners of her mouth lifted in the barest hint of a smile. “This is pretty awkward.”

  He put his hands into his pockets to keep from reaching for her. “Sad, isn’t it? For two people who’ve known each other for almost their whole lives.”

  “It is sad.”

  He gave her a grin, hoping to lighten the mood. “I guess that’s what we get for ruining a perfectly good friendship with sex.”

  The muscles in her neck worked as she swallowed before she cleared her throat. “I’ve been thinking.”

  “That’s dangerous.”

  “Indeed,” she said, her voice so prim and proper, he was sure it was an act. “Maybe the best strategy to deal with this current predicament is to stop making such a big deal about it.”

  “You have a strategy to deal with us?” Some of the tension riding him hard, eased, but he was no more relaxed.

  “Of course. I’m thinking the best course of action is to focus on having a lovely evening and try and get things back on friendly ground.” She looked over his left shoulder to the street below. “I need to get my purse.”

  What a crock of shit. “As friends?”

  “Yes, well, maybe more as friendly.” She tightened the belt at her waist. “We were that way once.”

  “We were.” This was a total act, and he wasn’t buying it for a second, but he’d play along. For now.

  “And we can be again.” She pointed to the hall. “I need to get my purse.”

  “I’ll wait here.”

  “You can come in.”

  He could, but despite her current line of defense, they were on the verge of exploding from sexual tension, and going inside wasn’t a good idea. But maybe he could work with this game she was playing. After all, he knew just how to drive her crazy, and if she wanted things out in the open, he could do that. “If you want to get back to friendly, you and I both know we can’t be alone in your house.”

  Her breath caught on an inhale. She was just as affected by him as he was by her, no matter how composed. “We wouldn’t even make it up the stairs, Pen.”

  She nibbled on her bottom lip and then tilted her head. “I’ll get my purse.”

  “You do that.”

  She shut the door in his face, then returned thirty seconds later, purse in hand. He stepped back and she looked at his car and sighed. “You brought the batmobile.”

  “I know how much you like it.” He put his palm on the small of her back and her muscles tensed at his touch.

  Friends his ass.

  “It’s not very inconspicuous.” She frowned at the car. “How many people drive around town in a gunmetal Lamborghini?”

  He led her to the car and got her settled, then slid into the driver’s seat. The purr of the engine sprang to life. “Are you afraid to be seen with me?”

  She frowned, her brows furrowing as though she didn’t understand the question. “I think you’ve got that backward.”

  He turned toward her and put his hand on the edge of her seat. “All right, this is item one we need to deal with.”

  Her eyes widened as though shocked. But he kept on going. “I was a stupid, fucking teenage boy, Penelope. You were my little sister’s best friend. I was older than you. I was more experienced. And my parents thought you were a goddamn saint. You were off-limits and I wasn’t supposed to take advantage of your virtue. I’ve done a lot of shitty things to you, and I’m more than willing to pay for them, but get this through your head: you are not in any way an embarrassment. I didn’t hide what we did because I didn’t think you were hot enough—for fucks sake, Penelope, you practically burned me alive—I hid it because I wasn’t supposed to be doing it in the first place.”

  She blinked, then turned in her seat. “We should go.”

  “Fine,” he said, and they didn’t speak for the rest of the drive.

  Twenty minutes later, the hostess took Penelope’s coat and he had to clench his teeth to keep his jaw from dropping to the floor. Her dress was black, low cut enough there was no way she was wearing a bra, and slinky. It clung to her lean frame, hugged all her curves, and while it ended at her knees, it was slit up the side. When she turned around to follow the hostess to the private booth he’d requested, toward the back corner, there was no back to her dress.

  She looked like sex, and if he hadn’t thought her a femme fatale before, he sure as hell thought it now. People were looking at her. Men were staring. He was used to that, but this was Penelope.

  She was off-limits. To everyone.

  They sat down, and when the hostess left he glared at her.

  Calmly she picked up her menu and raised a brow. “What’s wrong?”

  In an overly controlled voice, he said, “That’s not exactly a friendly dress.”

  “It’s not.” She returned her attention to her menu.

  “That’s it? That’s all you have to say for yourself?”

  She shrugged one bare shoulder. “To be honest, my plan was to wear something conservative.”

  “Well, what the hell happened?” He hissed the words, realizing how fucking crazy they were being. Which is why he needed to have her. So he could get some control back in his life and start acting like a normal person.

  She set down her menu and looked him straight in the eye. “I had it all picked out. A nice gray pantsuit with a white button-down. It’s my outfit of choice when I’m undertaking tough negotiations.”

  Yes, that sounded quite boring and just the outfit to allow blood to get to his brain so he could think. He demanded, “And?”

  She smiled, her lips a glossy red, and flicked her hair back over one shoulder, looking like sin. “Well, if you must know, I decided it would be more fun to torture you.”

  * * *

  Penelope had no idea what possessed her to say that. Yes, every word was true, but still. She’d stood in her closet looking for the perfect outfit. She’d intended to go with something conservative and businesslike, but then she’d spotted the dress Sophie had talked her into on one of their many shopping trips, and thrown caution to the wind. She wanted him to sweat. It seemed only fair. And to her petty satisfaction, Evan’s shocked expression had been worth it. She wanted to throw him off. Just like he’d thrown her off after his little speech in the car.

  She gave him her sweetest smile. “Any
more questions?”

  When he continued to stare at her, openmouthed, she picked up her menu and pretended to read.

  The waiter came up to take their drink orders. She beamed at him and said, “I’ll take a mojito.”

  “And for you, sir?” the waiter asked.

  Evan seemed to come out of his stupor. “Whiskey, neat.”

  The waiter nodded and walked away and Evan’s gaze narrowed. “You do realize you just declared war.”

  “Did I?” She kept her voice cool, even as her blood pounded in her ears. Evan was a warrior, his skills honed on the gridiron battlefield. Competition burned in his cells, and here she was stoking the flames.

  “Yes.”

  She waved a hand. “What’s a little warfare between friends?”

  This afternoon she’d spent a long time thinking things through. She’d always been a practical person, she was well known for her cool business head, logical brain, and analytical skills. And she’d decided to attack the problem of Evan with the same skills that made her successful at work. She’d gotten out her spreadsheet, worked through all the angles, and in the end, kept coming to the same conclusion.

  There was only one way to deal with the tension that plagued all their interactions.

  They needed closure.

  To deal with the past and be done with it. The only way out, was through, and the more she tried to resist or deny the inevitability, the more out of control the tension became. If she cut the power supply, they’d slowly die a quiet death.

  She’d decided to play it cool, employing a sort of fake-it-till-you-make-it type of strategy in order to facilitate her end game. They might end up in bed, but they’d never end up together. They were too different. When it was over, she wanted him to believe she was done, and capable of being friends with him. That she thought of him as another Donovan brother she had to put up with because of Maddie.

  Evan’s green-eyed gaze narrowed. “All right, what kind of game are you playing?”

  “I’m not playing a game. I’m approaching this practically.”

  “This should be good,” he said, tone clearly derisive.

  She clasped her hands in front of her and fixed an impassive expression on her face. “We both agree that what we’re doing isn’t working, correct?”