WHAT ARE FRIENDS FOR?

by Naomi Horton

  Conn's reply was short and profane as he watched the screen.

  "Devlin, whose divorce from his second wife became final only this week," the woman anchoring the city desk was saying, "has been most recently linked with twice-divorced attorney Olivia Woodruff. Asked about her relationship with Devlin, Woodruff declined to answer."

  "I didn't think she'd miss the opportunity," Andie said sweetly.

  Grinning, Conn picked up the remote control and turned off the TV. Then he dropped his arm around her. "Want a drink?"

  "Maybe later." She looked at him for a long moment, then leaned back and gave him a slow smile. "So. What now, hotshot? Do you take me to bed, or do we just shake hands and say thanks, it was great, and that's the end of it?"

  Conn leaned forward to brace his elbows on his knees, rolling the glass between his palms. "Guess that's up to you."

  "Am I to infer that means you don't have an opinion?"

  "Oh, I have an opinion." He turned his head to grin at her. "Bed. That's my opinion." Then he let the grin fade and looked back at the glass, tipping it back and forth so the ice cubes rattled gently. "It could get complicated, Andie. Working together, sleeping together. Real complicated."

  "Yeah. I know." She sounded thoughtful.

  "And I'm scared of losing you." He glanced at her again, deadly serious now. "Sex has a way of making people crazy. If it starts to go wrong and you walk out like most of my other ladies have…" He shook his head. "I don't want to lose you."

  She looked at him for a long while, eyes pensive. "Yeah, I guess there's that." Then she smiled faintly, reaching out to rub his shoulder. "Take me to bed, Conn. Make love to me. And in the morning, when we get back to Seattle, we'll just take things as they come, all right?"

  It made him grin again and he got to his feet, pulling her up with him. "That's a hard offer to turn down." She came into his arms effortlessly, as though she belonged there, and he held her tightly against him and gazed down into her upturned face, feeling something pull wire-tight inside him, making him a little dizzy. "Why the hell would you want to spend time with a worn-out, twice-divorced playboy millionaire like me, darlin'?"

  Laughing, she leaned back in his arms and gazed up at him, her eyes as warm and inviting as an unmade bed. "I guess because I love you, you idiot. I always have. Isn't that reason enough?"

  Conn smiled and lowered his mouth to hers, nibbling her lower lip. "Guess it'll do," he whispered. "Guess it'll do."

  * * *

  And much later, deep within the liquid fire of her, moving between her thighs slowly and rhythmically, feeling her respond, watching her respond, he felt that wire pull taut again, white-hot, catching a little in his chest.

  She moaned very softly and tightened her thighs on his hips, shifting to take him even deeper, turning her head this way and that on the pillow and whispering his name in a breath-caught voice. He lowered his mouth and kissed her deeply and slowly, tongue sliding against hers in rhythms matching their lovemaking, feeling her shiver, tasting her desire as his own.

  She moaned again and turned her mouth away, close now, so close … and he smiled, loving watching her when she simply let herself go like this, oblivious to everything but him and the pleasure he was giving her. Panting, she arched under him strongly, whimpering a little, hips flexing urgently, and he smiled again. Knowing what she needed. Knowing exactly how to make it perfect for her, even after just a handful of times.

  He carried her through it and down, down the far side, finally letting himself go with the same abandon. And as it caught him in a dizzying explosion of pure sensation, he realized, very dimly, that this had to be the last time.

  The last time.

  Conn lay on his back, sheets kicked off, and stared at the ceiling. Beside him, Andie was sound asleep, curled up against him, her mouth lifted on a faint smile. He looked at her and reached out to brush her hair off her cheek, letting his fingers linger on her moist, warm cheek.

  He'd made some mistakes in his life before, but none quite like this. What the hell had he been thinking, anyway?

  Sex, that's what he'd been thinking. Like a damned stag in rut, that's all he'd been thinking. Him. It had all been about him.

  But it was Andie who was going to get hurt. He'd do nothing but break her heart, just as he'd broken Liza's and Judith's. They'd both come to him thinking he was the man of their dreams, and look what had happened.

  Twice-divorced playboy millionaire.

  That was him, all right.

  That was the real Connor Devlin, not the man Andie had let take her to bed up in the mountains. That was the old Connor, the one she'd grown up with and had shared a hundred adventures with. The one she thought she loved.

  But there was no way he could be the man she needed and deserved. Hell, he had two exwives to prove he didn't know the first thing about commitment and love and making relationships work. If he led her on, if he let her think he was capable of giving more than he could, he was going to destroy everything between them. And he couldn't do that to his best friend. Even if he was halfway in love with her.

  So it had to end. Here. And he had to leave her with no doubt whatsoever that she was better off without him in her life and bed.

  * * *

  Chapter 10

  « ^ »

  "You're going to what?" Andie simply stared at Conn blankly, deciding she'd either gone stone-deaf or flat-out crazy. Because there was quite simply no way he could have said what she'd thought he'd just said.

  He looked at her from across his office, looking a little impatient at her apparent inability to understand plain English. "I said, I'm going to marry Olivia Woodruff."

  Andie took a deep breath, then eased it out again quite calmly. Thought about it for a moment. They'd come down from Timberwolf that morning, and he'd been silent and grumpy the whole way, not saying more than four or five words, not looking at her. He'd dropped her off at her condo and she'd showered and changed, then had come down to the office … and now he was standing there telling her he was going to marry Olivia Woodruff.

  "Connor, are you drunk?"

  "No, I am not drunk." His eyes glittered slightly.

  "Insane?"

  "No." He bit it off.

  "You can't be serious." She still sounded calm, she thought. Even rational. But inside she was screaming.

  "Dead serious."

  She drew in another careful breath, wondering if she could still be asleep and this was just a particularly nasty specimen of nightmare. "You cannot possibly marry Olivia Woodruff," she said very reasonably. "You don't love her."

  "That's the best damned reason I can think of to marry her," Conn growled. His eyes held hers almost challengingly. "Look, Andie, I'm sorry. I know this weekend got a little out of hand, but—"

  "Out of hand?" Her voice sounded almost too soft. Dangerous, even. "You spend most of the weekend making love with me, and all you can say is that it got a little out of hand?"

  "Andie…"

  "Tell me."

  "Tell you what?"

  "Tell me," Andie said through gritted teeth, "that I imagined the whole thing. That we did not make love – excuse me, have sex – about a dozen times in the past two days. That it meant absolutely nothing."

  "You didn't imagine it. And it did mean something, damn it."

  "Like hell it did! You didn't sleep with me because you wanted to – you slept with me because Marc Beck wanted to!"

  Conn stared at her. "That's the craziest thing I've ever heard! What the hell kind of a man do you think I am?"

  "That's why you can't stand the idea of me being with Alain, too. Not because you want me, but because you don't want him to have me. I'm like … like damned property to you! What are you going to do, make love to me once every decade just to keep your flag flying over me so no other man will dare even look at me?"

  "Andie, we—"

  "Don't!" So furious she was shaking, Andie clenched her fists at her sides, clinging to the fury for dea
r life. If the anger slipped even a little bit she'd fall apart, here and now and right in front of him, and there was just no way that was going to happen.

  "Don't you dare hand me a bunch of morning-after platitudes like I'm just someone you picked up in a bar! I am not the flavor of the week, Connor Patrick Devlin. You do not spend a weekend in bed with me and then turn around and casually announce you are going to marry Olivia Woodruff and expect me to smile and step back and wait for another ten years to go by!"

  Her voice nearly broke but she managed to catch it in time. "Not this time. Not ever again!" She wheeled around and stalked toward the door, so stiff, she was half afraid of shattering before she got there. She felt sick and numb to the bone, her mind spinning with disbelief and anger and a pain so great, it was like a deep surf sweeping over her.

  "Andie? Andie—!"

  But she was out the door and gone, snatching up her handbag from her desk and storming out, leaving a trail of slamming doors and astonished looks behind her.

  * * *

  To Conn's surprise, she was back in an hour. Looking calm and under control.

  Maybe too calm, he decided warily, watching her through the open door of his office as she walked across to her desk and dropped an armful of packages she'd been carrying.

  She took off her jacket and tossed it over the back of her chair, then turned and walked toward his office, giving him a cool look as she strode through the door. "Margie says you were looking for the production figures for the DeepSix Project."

  She sounded brisk and no-nonsense, and he nodded even more warily. "Yeah."

  Reaching across to a pile of papers stacked on the corner of his desk, she pulled a folder out, opened it and slapped it down on the desk in front of him.

  Conn winced. "Sorry. Sometimes I can't see what's right in front of me."

  "You got that right!" Turning on one heel, she stalked back toward the door.

  He watched her as she sat down at her desk and started typing briskly at her computer, starting to feel uneasy for no reason he could pin down. God knows, she'd been mad at him before. Plenty of times. But there was something different this time. Something … final. Maybe he'd gone too far this time. Maybe he should have figured out a better way to handle it.

  He was mulling this over, thinking about how he could start making amends, when she appeared at the door to his office again. She walked across with a sheet of paper in her hand, her face expressionless, and put it on the desk in front of him.

  "I think this is all that's required. I've called Personnel and told them to get the paperwork ready. I'll sign everything I need to sign on my way out."

  "Out?" Frowning, he glanced down at the paper she'd set in front of him, scanning it swiftly. Not understanding a damned word. Seeing only one thing … one single word that leapt out at him as though highlighted with neon ink. Resignation.

  "What the hell's this?" He looked up at her.

  "You can read. What does it look like? I'm quitting."

  "You can't quit." He nearly laughed as he said it, the idea so preposterous, it had to be a joke. Her way of getting even with him.

  Her eyes just held his, glowing with a deep anger he'd never seen before. "Yes, I can, Connor. And I am. Effective three weeks from today."

  "Like hell, lady. Not with this Becktron deal in the bag. I need you."

  "No. You want me, but you don't need me. I know you've never quite understood the difference, but you'll figure it out. Margie can handle whatever needs doing. As of now, I'm out of here."

  "As of now?" He said it dryly, pushing the sheet of paper away from him. "I don't think so."

  "I've got three weeks of vacation still coming, and I'm taking it." She smiled very slightly, but there was a distinct chill to it. "For a honeymoon."

  He just stared at her, not smiling now. Knowing she didn't mean it, but not appreciating the joke. "Honeymoon."

  "I bought my wedding dress. Would you like to see it?"

  "Wedding dress."

  "Invitations are going to be a problem though," she added conversationally, as though they were talking about what to have for lunch. "It takes about three weeks to get the engraving done, but I don't have three weeks. So…" She smiled. "Consider yourself invited, Connor. I'll let you know the details later."

  He narrowed his eyes. "What the hell are you talking about, Andie? I'm the one who's getting married, not you."

  "Oh, didn't I tell you? I've decided to marry Alain after all."

  Slowly Conn got to his feet, feeling the blood starting to thrum in his temples. "Quit fooling around, Andie. Enough's enough. I know you're just trying to—"

  Her eyes glittered with anger. "I'm not trying to do anything, Connor. I'm going to marry Alain. I've already called him and told him I'll be in Montreal tomorrow."

  "You called him?" Something went through Conn like a sword blade, ice-cold and deadly and right through the heart. He forgot to breathe for a moment or two, his mind wheeling with the enormity, the impossibility, of what she'd just said. "You actually told Alain DeRocher you're going to marry him?"

  "Do you have a problem with that?"

  Somehow, Conn managed a bark of laughter, raking his hair back with his hand. "A problem? A problem? Good God Almighty, woman, of course I have a problem with that!" His voice reverberated through the room and he fought to lower it, trying to stay calm. "You don't love the man! How the hell can you marry him when you don't even love him?"

  "Oh, so now marrying someone you don't love is a problem." She just looked across the desk at him, her eyes as cold as ice. "My God, you are a piece of work! You'd do it, wouldn't you? Marry Olivia and expect me to just step into the background and pretend it doesn't matter."

  She gave a rough, unsteady laugh, shaking her head slowly. "No more, Connor. I've been through this more times than I can count already. Sharon Newcombe. Liza. Judith. And all the others, all your in-between girlfriends. Well, no more. Good old Andie isn't taking it anymore. I am out of here. You're on your own."

  "I don't know what the hell you're talking about!" It was a bellow of anger and confusion, and he glowered across the desk at her, wanting something that made some sense.

  Something softened in her eyes for just a moment, a hint of gentleness that warmed her mouth. "I know you don't, Conn. And I guess that's the real reason I'm leaving."

  He simply stood there as she turned and walked out, not really believing it. Still not believing it as he watched her walk through the outer door to her office a few minutes later without even a backward glance, closing it quietly behind her.

  He took a deep breath. Then another. It was very quiet. Too quiet. As though all the energy and life had been drained from the world. He could hear the old antique clock on the wall behind him ticking. Could hear, faintly, the sound of traffic on the street below. Voices, far away. Unimportant. The sound of his own heart beating, echoing in the emptiness his life had just become.

  He felt oddly hollow. As though he were merely a shell of someone he'd once been, the core of him gone, nothing left but the outer wrappings. He thought, fleetingly, of the Becktron deal. Of how hard it was going to be without her.

  Without her.

  It wasn't possible, of course. She'd get halfway home and realize she'd overreacted and would be back up here, a bit embarrassed, laughing about it. And it would be like old times again. Just him and Andie against the world.

  It made him feel better, thinking it through like that. He sat down and started reading the production report she'd found for him, but none of it made much sense. Margie came in, her eyes red-rimmed, not looking at him, putting some things on his desk and walking out again without a word. He heard the elevator whisper to a stop down at the end of the corridor a little while later and looked up expectantly, waiting for Andie to come striding through the door, hair flying, eyes sparkling, trailing laughter and sunshine and that special magic she always had.

  But no one came through, and after a while he told himse
lf he was being stupid and to get back to work. She'd be back. She had to come back. She was his best friend. And best friends didn't just leave like that.

  * * *

  But she didn't come back. And he went home that night more pensive than usual. He thought of calling her three or four times but decided not to, half-afraid of making things worse until he could figure out what had gone wrong.

  He was still thinking about it when he went to bed a little after midnight. Lay awake half the night thinking about it, dozing once or twice then jolting himself awake, calling her name.

  And finally, just before dawn, he made up his mind. He'd call her and tell her he was coming over. That they had to talk it out. Work it out. That she didn't have to marry DeRocher. That she couldn't marry deRocher. Because she didn't love DeRocher, she loved him.

  I guess because I love you, you idiot. I always have…

  Conn felt something cold run through him, hardly breathing, the words echoing and reechoing through him. Because I love you.

  She hadn't just been saying the words because they were what he'd wanted to hear at that moment. She'd meant them.

  Andrea Spencer was in love with him. I always have.

  "Oh my God." A wave of vertigo washed over him and he closed his eyes. Love. The one damn thing in this entire universe he didn't understand.

  It had always eluded him. He'd thought at one time that love and passion were the same thing. That if you had the heat, you'd have the fire. But Liza had proved that wrong. And Judith. He'd stirred up considerable heat with both of them, but it had died out. Not even embers remained.

  With Andie, it was different. There had been moments of passion – with enough heat to set the world aflame – but with her, there had been something else, something deep and profound and important. Something he'd never really taken apart and looked at until now. A quiet thing. A solid, never-ending thing.

  Love.

  Slowly, very slowly, he eased out a tight breath he hadn't even known he'd been holding. Thought of it again, letting the word run through him.