Beth Andrews - What Happens Between Friends

She had to force herself not to lean into him for longer than necessary, but he felt so good, so solid and warm and strong. Steady. She may not want steadiness in her life too often, but it might be a nice change of pace now and again.

Brushing her hair over her shoulder, she eased away and swung her legs up so she sat cross-legged. “I’m glad you like it.”

Silence surrounded them, the quiet hush of night, the only sound their breathing, the dogs’ nails clicking as they walked across the floor. It was peaceful. She’d never craved peace before, had always preferred the exhilaration of the next adventure, the surprise of jumping off that cliff, seeing how far she could fly before having her wings clipped.

But this, being with James in his overly drab house, was nice.

It was also dangerous. Sitting so close to him, wearing nothing more than a pair of cotton shorts and a T-shirt. He shifted, his knee brushing her bare thigh. He stiffened at the contact, but didn’t pull away. His gaze flicked to her chest before jerking up to her face again.

Her breasts grew heavy. Her heart pounded in her ears.

Dangerous. Exciting.

Two of her very favorite things.

Afraid he’d go to bed, that he’d leave her, she blurted, “So, what’s been going on with you? How’s work?”

“You know me,” he said, setting the book on the coffee table. “Same old, same old.”

“That’s good. I mean, that is how you like things. No surprises. No...bumps in the road.”

“That what happened in New Orleans? You hit one of those bumps?”

He knew her well. Too well.

She almost didn’t answer. She was feeling too vulnerable now. But this was James. He’d never take advantage of her weak state. And she was still strong enough not to give too much of herself away.

“Actually, things were going great in New Orleans. Really, really great.”

“And yet, here you are.”

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t say I hit a bump. More like the bottom dropped out. I wasn’t able to make enough tending bar and Doug—”

“Who’s Doug?”

“My boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend.”

“What happened to Tim?”

“We split up a year ago.” He’d dumped her for not being adventurous enough in bed to agree to bring in a second woman. As if she’d subject another woman to Tim’s clumsy hands and short...stamina. “Doug worked on an oil rig, but that was only until he got his big break.”

“Don’t tell me,” James said blandly. “Doug is a musician.”

“Artist.” Though he’d had that whole rock-star vibe to him. Long hair, scruffy facial hair, a penchant for wearing ripped jeans and his battered leather jacket. And then there was his Harley. Man, don’t get her started on that—talk about sex on a stick. Doug was perfect for her.

Until he’d found another muse.

Oh, well. Easy come, easy go.

“Anyway, Doug and I split a few months ago, and since the whole organic beauty products weren’t working out, I decided to come home.”

Had wanted to come home. To be home.

“That’s it?” he asked, studying her in that way she hated, as if seeing through all her bullshit, right to her soul. A girl had to have some secrets, didn’t she? “There aren’t any warrants out for your arrest? No ex-boyfriends you owe money to?”

“Of course not,” she said primly. “You know I don’t borrow money.”

It was a line, one of few that she refused to cross. Fail or succeed, she did it on her own.

He linked his hands together behind his head, causing the muscles in his arms to bulge and flex. “What are your plans?”

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