Her Best Friend (14 page)

“You’re my bud. Always were, always will be.”

She could see all the tiny individual bristles of his beard. His eyes were very dark, rich as bittersweet chocolate. His mouth was mere inches from hers, his breath fanning her face. For the first time she fully registered the fact that she was lying on top of him, hip to hip, chest to chest.

Like a lover.

She could feel the hard, hot resilience of his body beneath hers, could smell his skin, his aftershave. Awareness flooded her, sending heat up into her face and down between her thighs.

She hadn’t been this close to him for years. Not since they were kids.

Suddenly her heart was pounding for an entirely different reason. Her gaze dropped to his mouth.

If ever there was a moment of temptation, this was it. If ever she was going to press her lips to his, touch him, move her body against his in the way that she’d dreamed so many, many times, this was it. All she had to do was close the small distance between them and lower her mouth to his. Kiss him. Run her tongue over his lips. Taste him. Give in to sixteen years of desire and need.

You’re my bud. Always were, always will be.

His words echoed in her mind and she forced herself to listen to them, absorb them. If she kissed Quinn, there was a very good chance that he would be appalled. Shocked. Embarrassed.

It was enough to make her start to withdraw. Then she remembered the discussion she’d had with her mother last night.

Some smart woman will snap him up. And it won’t take long, either.

“Ames?” Quinn’s mouth curled into a curious half smile.

She took a shaky breath. Was she really going to let him slip through her fingers a second time? Was she really prepared to love him from afar for years and never, ever take a chance? Even if that chance carried with it an enormous risk of rejection and loss?

He was lying beneath her right now, six foot plus of hard, warm male. And she was sick of not knowing. Of wanting and not having.

It was now or never.

Now.

Or never.

Her heart pounding, Amy closed her eyes.

Then she lowered her head and kissed her best friend.

Amy,
for God’s sake.

His hands found her shoulders, but he didn’t know what to do. Push her away? Pull her closer?

Then suddenly she was gone, rolling away from him. She landed on her belly beside him, her face pressed into her hands.

What the hell had just happened?

“Ames…?”

He reached out to lay a hand on her shoulder. She tensed. A long moment passed. Then her shoulders lifted beneath his hand as she took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know—I didn’t mean for that to happen,” she said, her voice so choked it was almost inaudible.

“Amy. Talk to me. What’s going on?”

“Nothing. That was…dumb.” She shook her head. “Let’s just pretend this never happened.”

He laughed, even though he was far from amused. He’d spent the last few days feeling like a sick puppy for getting hot over his best friend, and now she wanted him to forget she’d kissed him?

“Not likely, Ames.”

She started to scramble to her feet but he sat up and caught her arm.

“Hang on a minute. You can’t stick your tongue down my throat then make a run for it.”

She crouched awkwardly beside him, anchored by his hand on her arm. Her face was averted, her gaze fixed on the floor as though she was afraid to look at him.

“It was a mistake.”

Maybe. Almost definitely. But he still needed to know why it had happened. Why now, after all these years?

He caught her chin with his free hand, forcing her to make eye contact with him.

“Why?”

“You’re a smart guy. Work it out.”

“I don’t want to guess. I want to know.”

The look she gave him was tortured. “Please…”

Part of him felt like an ass for forcing an answer from her, but his gut told him this was important. Vital, even.

“Tell me.”

Her jaw muscle flexed beneath his hand. She closed her eyes for a long beat. Then she opened them and looked straight into his eyes.

“Haven’t you ever wondered what it would be like? The two of us, together?”

He stared at her. For a moment his mind was a perfect blank.

Color flooded Amy’s face. He could feel the embarrassed heat of it beneath his fingers.

“See? I told you it was dumb.”

She tried to pull away from him again but he didn’t release his grip.

“Let me go. I told you—”

“Yes,” he said. “The answer is yes.”

She stilled. He’d shocked her. Well, she’d shocked him.

Somewhere, in the back of his brain, a voice was screaming out a warning. Something about there being no turning back from this moment.

He could barely hear it over the thumping of his heart. Amy was attracted to him. She’d thought about the two of them together. Skin to skin. Him inside her.

His gaze dropped to her mouth. How many times had he studied it over the past few days? Wondered what she would taste like, how she would feel? How many times had he dreamed about her in that long-ago summer when they were both fourteen?

He stroked his fingers along the delicate line of her jaw.

“Amy,” he said, his voice very low.

She made a small sound in the back of her throat. He slid his hand around to palm the nape of her neck. Her gaze dropped to his mouth.

Time slowed as he pulled her gently toward him.

Her lips parted.

Then his lips were on hers. Moving over them, learning the shape of her, the feel of her. Soft and full. Silk and velvet. She opened her mouth to him and their tongues touched for the first time. She tasted good, sweet and hot.

He wanted more. Much more. He drove his fingers into the hair at the base of her skull and held her head in the palm of his hand as he explored her mouth with his. Her hands found his chest, clutching his T-shirt, the fabric biting into the back of his neck as she dragged him closer.

Closer was good. Closer was what he wanted, too. He spread his free hand on her hip, pulling her down with him as he sank to the floor. A wave of pure heat rolled through him as her weight settled over him. He slid his hand onto the roundness of her backside, his fingers curving to her shape as he pulled her against the hardness of his erection.

“Quinn,” she breathed, her hips circling against him.

His hands were shaking as he found the waistband of her sweater. He wanted so much, needed so much, he didn’t know where to begin. He smoothed his palm up her warm belly. He cupped her breast, his thumb brushing over her nipple through the silk of her bra. She quivered like a plucked guitar string, her breath coming in desperate little pants.

He rolled so that she was beneath him, ignoring the ache of protest from his bruised ribs. He was so far beyond pain it wasn’t funny. She spread her legs to create a cradle for his hips and he lost his mind for a minute as he pressed his hard-on into the heated juncture of her thighs.

He reached for the hem of her sweater and pushed it up over her breasts, then shoved her bra up, too, finesse be damned. She was a study in pink and cream, so pretty and sexy it hurt to look at her.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, then he lowered his head and pulled one of her pouty little nipples into his mouth.

She gasped and gripped his shoulders.

“Quinn.”

Her hands slid across his back, his chest, his ass. Then she was sliding a hand between their bodies and smoothing her palm up and down the swollen length of his erection through the denim of his jeans.

His breath hissed between his teeth. He wanted to be inside her. He wanted to feel her slick and firm around him. His hand found the stud on her jeans, popping it open. She lifted her hips encouragingly as he found the tab on her zipper and tugged it down. Her belly trembled as he slid his hand beneath the elastic of her panties. His fingers caressed silky hair then slid into slick heat.

His gut clenched as he felt how incredibly wet she was. He traced her intimate folds, then slid a finger inside her. She tightened around him, sexy and hot, her hips lifting off the floor as he stroked in and out of her.

“Amy.”

“Hurry. Please.”

He reached for his belt buckle, tugged it free. Her hands found his zipper and pulled it down. Then she was inside his underwear, stroking her hand up and down his shaft, her thumb caressing the head of his penis.

He shuddered, his whole body tensing. He started to peel her jeans away from her hips. Five more seconds and he’d be inside her, inside all that tight, wet heat, his—

“Amy? Hello?”

They both froze.

“Shit,” Amy whispered.

It was her mom. They stared at each other, their bodies slick and steamy with lust. Amy was flushed, her nipples still tight and wet from his mouth. Her mouth was swollen, her eyes hazy with need.

“Amy? Is there anybody here or am I just talking to myself?”

They heard the scuff of footsteps, then the distinct sound of someone climbing the stairs.

“She’s coming up here!” Amy hissed.

They rolled away from each other, Amy jerking her bra and sweater down while he struggled with his zipper and belt buckle. They’d barely scrambled to their feet when Mrs. Parker crossed the upper foyer and entered the balcony.

“Mom. Hi. Um, no, Quinn and I were busy discussing a thing.”

Her mother’s gaze went from Amy to Quinn and back again.

“How are you doing, Mrs. P.?” Quinn said.

“I’m fine, thanks, Quinn. Thought I should pop in and check how things are going down here.”

“Things are going well. Really well. We’re getting lots done,” Amy said.

She risked a glance at Quinn. His hair was mussed and his T-shirt rumpled, the fabric strategically bunched in front of his crotch. He looked as though he’d rolled out of bed. Which, in a way, he had.

I rumpled that hair. I gave him the hard-on he’s hiding beneath that T-shirt.

It was almost inconceivable, and yet it had happened. Her heart was still pounding, her body still throbbing with need. Quinn had wanted her.

Quinn.

Her wildest dream come true.

Her mother shifted the strap of her handbag higher on her shoulder. “When do you think you’ll be ready to paint?”

Out of the corner of her eye Amy saw Quinn stoop to collect Ulrich’s letter from the floor.

“Soon. We need to finish prepping the walls. I was hoping to have it done over the next few days,” Amy said.

Quinn cleared his throat. “Ames, I might leave you two to catch up for a bit. I’ve got some business to take care of.”

His face was shuttered, utterly unreadable.

“Um, sure.”

He nodded to her mother, then turned and headed for the archway to the upper foyer. She stared after him.

“Amy?”

Her mother’s words jolted her focus back into the room. Amy blinked, turned to her mother.

“Sorry?”

“What’s going on?”

“I told you. We’re still prepping the walls.”

Her mother crossed her arms over her chest. “I didn’t come down in the last shower. I know what I walked in on.”

“Mom, nothing’s going on.”

Her mother sighed heavily. “All right. Keep it to yourself. But just remember, Quinn’s going through a difficult time right now.”

“I know that.”

“Men do strange things when they come out of long-term relationships, Amy. Whatever is
not happening
between the two of you, make sure that you’re both on the same page. I’d hate to see you get hurt.”

“Nothing’s going on.”

“Hmm. Show me how the floors came up after the spill.”

Amy took her mother downstairs, watching a little impatiently as her mother inspected the floor.

“Not too bad. You might need to get into some of these cracks with a wire brush, but most of it should sand out when you do the refinishing,” her mother said.

At any other time, Amy would appreciate her mother’s expert opinion, but all she wanted right now was to talk to Quinn. She needed to hear his voice, to know where he was at, what he was thinking. Why he’d left the way he had.

“Well, I guess I should get back to the store.”

“Okay. Thanks for dropping by.” Amy was already fingering her phone in her pocket.

Amy kissed her mother goodbye and waited till her footsteps had faded before flipping her cell phone open.

If her mother hadn’t arrived, she and Quinn would be lovers by now. They would have been as close as two people could get. It would have changed everything.

But her mother had arrived. And Amy was afraid that everything had changed anyway.

You don’t know that. You don’t know what he’s feeling right now, what he’s thinking.

But she kept remembering the shuttered look on his face before he’d ducked and run for cover. Not exactly inspiring stuff.

She pressed speed dial and waited for him to pick up. His phone went straight to voice mail. She tried his parents’ place, but the phone simply rang out. Then she tried his cell again, and again she got voice mail.

Finally she closed her phone.

He didn’t want to talk to her.

It might not mean anything,
Weasel piped up.

But she knew Weasel was wrong. As always.