“How long this time? A week? Two weeks?” she asked.
“Three. With time out for bad behavior,” he said.
“Bad behavior?”
“Yeah. Caught her kissing her dog on the lips,” Sam explained with a grimace. “Had to wait for the cooties to settle.”
“Ew. That’s just plain wrong, as well as giving the dog false hope,” Delaney said.
Sam threw back his head and let out a crack of laughter, and she felt a warm surge of pleasure that she’d amused him.
She realized she was staring at the strong column of his throat, her eyes caressing the firm, muscled planes of his chest and shoulders, nicely defined by the soft material of his T-shirt and his hanging-off-the-doorframe posture. She could feel her nipples tightening, and she crossed her arms over her chest. Occupational hazard number two: unruly body parts that always seemed to be on the verge of betraying her.
But not for much longer, she promised herself.
“Coco wanted us to feature her in the magazine,” Sam said.
Delaney blinked. “Does she skate or something?” she asked, her mind boggling at the effect those D-cups would have on the boys down at the skate ramp.
“Not exactly. She must have misheard me when I told her the name of the magazine. She thought it was Triple X,” Sam said, deadpan.
Delaney’s mouth dropped open. “As in…?”
“Yep.”
Delaney broke into giggles. “That’s why she was looking so pissed off outside,” she said.
“Was she?” Sam looked a little piqued. “It’s not as though we didn’t have some fun. What is it with women these days? Multiple orgasms not enough anymore?”
Delaney suddenly got very interested in tidying up her desk. Multiple orgasms with Sam Kirk. It was enough to set her underwear on fire.
“How was the holiday? Did those horrible brats of Claire’s drive you around the bend?” Sam asked, dropping onto the visitors’ couch.
“The holiday was great. And they weren’t brats. They were…perfect,” she said, her voice softening as she remembered all the special little moments from the last two weeks: Travis’s pencil drawing to say goodbye, Callum’s nightly insistence that she be the one to read his bedtime story, Alana’s repeated intrusion into her suitcase to play dress-up—a high compliment, her sister assured her.
“You catch any waves? Heard Gunnamatta was going off,” Sam said, naming a famous surf beach a few minutes drive from where they’d been staying.
“Not really. Just paddled around on the bay with the boys. Travis wants to learn how to surf,” she reported.
“Excellent. Another little grommet to clog up the waterways,” Sam said wryly.
“You were a grommet once. A particularly annoying one, as I recall, always dropping in on other surfer’s waves,” she reminded him.
“I was precocious. Oozing natural talent,” he said.
“Oozing something, that’s for sure.”
Sam just grinned at her. “Missed you, Laney,” he said, sliding a hand casually beneath his T-shirt to scratch his stomach.
She was treated to a flash of taut, muscled belly, the tanned skin sprinkled with crisp, caramel-colored curls that tapered down toward the waistband of his favorite jeans.
She snatched her eyes away and took a deep breath. Do it now, she told herself. Before you spend too much time with him and lose your nerve.
“Um, I need to speak to you sometime, too,” she forced herself to say, eyes fixed on the stack of papers she was shuffling together.
“Sure. What’s up?” Sam asked.
“I didn’t mean now,” Delaney said, panicking.
“No time like the present,” Sam said easily.
He was right, even if he didn’t know exactly how right. Suck it up, Michaels, she told herself.
Crossing to the door, she kicked it shut. Sam raised an eyebrow.
“A closed door conversation. My, my—I must have been really naughty this time,” he said lightly.
Delaney moved back to her desk and sank into her chair. Then she just stared at him for a moment, her eyes lovingly cataloguing his handsome, open face. This would be the last time she saw him without anger or confusion or resentment clouding their relationship. The last time that he would be her old, much-loved friend, no strings attached, no issues between them.
The lines around his eyes crinkled as he smiled nervously. “Okay, you’re freaking me out now. What’s going on?” he asked. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Talk to me, Laney,” he said.
Delaney closed her eyes for a moment. She took a deep breath, then opened them.
“I want to sell you my half of the business,” she said in a rush.
Sam shook his head in confusion. “Sorry? Do you need money or something, Laney? Because you should have said—”
It was her turn to shake her head.
“No. I want out. I want out from the magazine, Sam.”
2
SAM FELT AS THOUGH he’d been punched in the gut. Delaney wanted to sell her half of the magazine? It just didn’t make sense to him. He shook his head again, frowning.
“I don’t get it. What’s changed all of a sudden?” he asked.
She was staring at the carpet, but she lifted her eyes to meet his before she spoke.
“I’ve had enough. I realized while I was away that I wanted to do something different. Maybe travel. I don’t know,” she said.
She was lying. He knew her better than he knew himself, and there was something she wasn’t telling him.
“Bull. Tell me what’s really going on,” he demanded, starting to feel angry and a little threatened.
Delaney couldn’t just walk out on him. They were a team, a tight little duo. He’d barely survived her annual two-week vacation with his sanity intact, for Pete’s sake.
“Sam,” she said, then she sighed heavily and put her head in her hands.
After a shocked second he saw that she was crying. Delaney never cried. Ever.
“Hey,” he said, shooting to his feet and moving to stand by her chair. Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, he held her tight. “Whatever it is, we’ll work it out,” he said.
He felt her body stiffen under his arm, and she sat up straighter. He got the message—she didn’t want his comfort. Feeling doubly rejected, he returned to the couch.
There was a long silence as they stared at each other across the small space that separated them. He studied her closely, trying to find some clue as to what was really going on. But she looked the same as ever—her long mid-brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, the fringe sitting straight across her brow. Her hazel eyes were clear and bright, not a skerrick of makeup in sight, as usual. Her nose was a little red on the end, true, but that was from the crying, he guessed. And she was biting her lower lip, her teeth nibbling at the full curve. She had a small mouth, but her lips were full, the lower one particularly so. A Cupid’s bow, Delaney’s mother always called it, to which Delaney inevitably rolled her eyes.
She looked the same as she always had—like Laney. His best friend.
“Come on, spill,” he said softly.
She