Naomi Horton - What Are Friends For?

How much he’d enjoyed it twelve years ago, he reminded himself with an inward smile. Strange, how a man could forget something like that until it all came rushing back, every detail of it, of her, so clear it could have been merely a night ago.

He realized what he was doing suddenly and sat upright with a breathed oath, irritated at his own wandering thoughts. He had to stop this. She’d kill him if she even suspected he was thinking of that night more than a decade ago, let alone remembering it in fond detail.

And this morning. This morning had nearly been the mistake of his life.

It had been too easy, reaching for her like that. Too comfortable. Granted, it had been a hell of a long dry spell since Judith had walked out, but a little sexual deprivation hadn’t killed a man yet. Simple lust was no excuse to ruin the best friendship he’d ever had or would ever have, so unless he was prepared to lose Andie completely, he had to make damned sure he kept things strictly business between them from now on.

* * *

Andie glanced at her watch, frowning at how quickly the morning was slipping by. Bob Miller and Frank Czarnecki would be in the third-floor meeting room in another half hour. And if she wasn’t there to referee, they’d be at each other’s throats in minutes, each convinced the other was responsible for the seismic unit’s dismal failure rate on the assembly line.

It wasn’t that neither wanted to take responsibility, it was just that both felt more loyalty to Devlin Electronics—and Conn—than they did to each other. They wanted the DeepSix seismic project to work. And took it very personally when it didn’t.

Her phone gave a subdued chime and she reached for it absently, doing some quick mental calculations on the new production figures for that gigantic order of memory boards they were putting together for a well-known computer company. On schedule and under budget, so far. She made a mental note to congratulate Bob Miller.

“Andie,” Margie said into her ear, “trouble’s on its way.”

“Trouble?” Instinctively, Andie looked up at her office door. “Who and what?”

“Killer shark,” Margie said with a chuckle. “Good luck.”

“Killer what? ” But Margie had put the receiver down with a click, and before Andie could figure out what on earth she was talking about, her office door swung open and a swirl of red silk, swinging blond hair and expensive perfume came through.

Andie felt her hackles rise. “Good morning, Olivia. It’s nice to see you.”

“I doubt that,” Olivia Woodruff said with a quiet laugh. She smiled down at Andie. “Protective little enclave you have here, isn’t it? I have to practically submit to a strip search to get a visitor’s badge from Security, then I have to fight my way by Margie to get in here, then by you to see Connor.”

Smiling with equal warmth—that is to say, none at all—Andie leaned well back in her chair, legs crossed, and eyed the intruder calmly. “I’d tell you to go right in, but he’s not here.”

“In a meeting, I suppose.” Olivia’s eyes drifted toward the door to Conn’s office, as though suspecting a lie.

“No, he’s down on the production floor somewhere.”

“And I suppose having him paged is out of the question?”

“I wouldn’t suggest it. He doesn’t like being interrupted when he’s busy.”

“Not even for me?” The smile was bold. The eyes above it bolder.

“Not even for me.” Check and mate.

“Mmm. Serious indeed.” Olivia’s smile was as cool as her pale blue eyes.

As always, she was dressed for battle, clad in purple silk trousers and a coordinating purple-and-apple-green blouse, over which she’d carelessly tossed a brilliant red silk jacket. The effect was dazzling and expensive and probably created whiplash up and down the street as she passed by.

“So, our mutual friend is single again, I hear.”

“I don’t discuss Mr. Devlin’s personal business, Olivia,” Andie said with a smile. “You should know that by now.”

“True. Getting information out of you is like prying money out of one of my ex-husbands.” Shoving her hands in her jacket pockets, she gazed down at Andie companionably. “I suppose it’s only courtesy to advise you that I have designs on him.”

Andie bit back a hostile reply and smiled gently. “Well, then I suppose it’s only fair to tell you that you’re just one of many, Olivia.” She was amused to see a flicker of annoyance deep in the other woman’s eyes. She let her smile widen. “I figure by the time word gets around, he’ll be knee-deep in women with designs comparable to yours.”

Olivia didn’t smile back. “And what about you, Andrea? I get the impression you may have a design or two yourself.”

“Dating the man you work for isn’t good business, Olivia.”

“Oh, I don’t know. It’s been a long while since I worked for anyone but myself, but I seem to remember that dating the boss added a bit of excitement to the day. Although I suggest that if you decide to indulge in some midday desk-top lovemaking, lock the office door unless you want to startle the secretarial staff.”

Andie had to laugh. “Have you taken a good look at the top of Conn’s desk lately? Making love on it would be like making love in a mine field—if you came down on one of those prototype circuit boards the wrong way, you could hurt yourself.”

To her surprise, Olivia gave a snort of genuine laughter. “God, he’s like a kid with all that electronic junk, isn’t he? We were in his car last week, stopped at a red light, and the next thing I know he’s got his window down and is talking with a ten-year-old in the car beside him about video games!”

“If you’re serious about having designs on him, you’d better get used to it. And it would be a good idea if you learned how to play some of those video games, too.”

Olivia shuddered delicately. “I don’t think so, thanks.” She displayed long-tapered fingernails painted the exact shade of red as her jacket. “I’m certain I can interest Conn in games of a more personal nature.”

Andie thought fleetingly of being in Conn’s arms that morning, could still almost feel the coiled strength in his lean body as he’d pressed against her, wanting, needing....

“I have no doubt of that,” she said with forced calm, fighting the temptation to launch herself at Olivia’s slender throat. Killing Olivia wouldn’t do much good in the long run. Another woman would simply take her place. Trying to keep women away from Conn was like trying to keep bees away from a picnic.

“Well...” Olivia made an exaggerated show of looking at her watch. “I can’t spend all morning here. Are you sure you can’t call Conn and tell him I’m here?”

“I have no idea where he is,” Andie said quite truthfully. “It could take twenty minutes to track him down, and even then there’s no guarantee he’ll stop whatever he’s doing to take my call. You said it yourself—he’s like a kid when it comes to electronic gadgets. And the production floor is like a gigantic toy shop. He could be down there all afternoon.”

Olivia’s expression darkened and she glared at the door to his office impotently. “Tell him I was here, will you?”

“Of course. Does he have your number?” Low shot.

It earned her a cool look. “You know he does, Andrea. And trust me, honey—I have yours.” Countershot.

Andie had her mouth open to make a pointed retort when the door banged open and Conn strode in, grinning broadly. He had his expensively tailored suit jacket tossed carelessly over one broad shoulder, the top two buttons of his Armani shirt undone, hundred-dollar tie hanging loose around his neck. There was a smudge of grease on his shirtfront, his hair was tousled as though he’d run his fingers through it in exasperation and he was brandishing a circuit board like the Grail itself.