“Undress me, El,” Shane said as he grazed her breast with his fingers

“But we’re friends.” Maybe if Ella forced herself to remember that, she could back away.

“So maybe more friends should fool around,” he said. His hand snaked down, teasing the soft skin on the inside of her thigh.

“Shane, I think—”

He cut her off with a kiss so long and deep, she was sure she was going to lose herself.

“Don’t think,” he said. “Let’s finish what we’ve started.”

Ella swallowed, but her fingers went to his jeans, fumbling with the button. Even though she knew she ought to stop this right now, somehow she couldn’t. Somehow she had to have Shane. Now. Tonight. She wanted him inside her more than she could remember wanting anything before.

“Tonight doesn’t really feel real, does it?” she whispered. “It’s almost magical.”

His lips brushed her ear. “There are always possibilities in the dark,” he murmured. “And with a blackout…” When he trailed off, she looked up to see his wicked smile. “Well, the possibilities are endless.”

Also available

SILENT DESIRES

THE PERFECT SCORE

STARSTRUCK

NOBODY DOES IT BETTER

MOONSTRUCK

MAKING WAVES

UNDERCOVER LOVERS

Night Moves
J. Kenner

www.spice-books.co.uk

J. KENNER has always loved stories—reading them, watching them on television and on the silver screen, and making them up herself. She studied film before attending law school, but knew that her real vocation lay in writing the kind of books she loves to read. She lives in Texas with her husband, two daughters and several cats.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

1

As I touched her thighs, she put both hands down to stop me with a suppressed “oh,” neither action nor word those of a woman who was shamming. It wasn’t the fierceness of a girl who first feels a man’s hand about her privates…. It was the exclamation and manner of a woman not accustomed to strange hands….

THE WORDS FLOWED OFF THE page of My Secret Life, sparking Ella’s imagination and surrounding her with a haze of sensuality so thick and so hot that her pulse rate increased and breathing became an effort, like someone trying to suck in a deep breath in a sauna.

She’d been enrolled in the class for three weeks now and she still felt a jolt of excitement when she read a sensuous passage, little sparks deep down inside that made her wish for long nights with a determined man.

She’d never expected to be quite so intrigued by the words, although she’d signed up for Professor Archer’s class not only because of Veronica Archer’s stellar reputation as an expert on erotica through the ages but also because Ella, frankly, needed to do something just a little wild. Just a little bit off the straight and narrow.

Not that she’d told Tony that. No, she’d told her boyfriend that she was taking the class out of loyalty and to investigate more fully her professional field. After all, she’d known Ronnie Archer for a few years now, and the two had become friends. So naturally she was curious about her friend’s expertise. Plus, Ella was working toward her master’s in art history, and Ronnie knew a lot about erotic art through the ages. So much that she’d been recruited to teach at the university in an adjunct capacity.

It was a reasonable explanation, and Tony hadn’t batted an eye. It wasn’t, however, an entirely true explanation.

The truth was, she’d seen something in Ronnie’s work that she needed. Something that reminded her of her past. She used to drive fast cars and date fast men. She used to ride motorcycles along country roads with her best friend, Shane, or take a skydiving class just because he’d dared her to. Lately, though, she’d slowed down, the rough edges of her life smoothing out. She liked that, wanted it. But that didn’t mean she’d erased the past—or that she didn’t have the odd moment where she wanted to go a little crazy.

She smiled a little as she thought of Tony, with his clean-cut good looks and bank-officer wardrobe. While he’d indulge her with a night on the town to satisfy her wild streak, he was never comfortable with it. His sisters were another story, and when Tony was away or working, Ella and the girls sometimes went dancing or rock climbing or out to the track to rent and race fast cars. Fun, but not her life anymore. She was with Tony now, and unlike his sisters, Tony wanted a calm and orderly life. A family, with a picket fence and a dog—the whole nine yards.

And she wanted that with him, even though there were downsides.

For example, she’d tried twice to read him particularly enticing passages, but he’d managed to shift the subject, the mood, and very handily gotten her to drop the whole thing. Talking about sex, experimenting with sex—those weren’t Tony’s things.

Not that sex wasn’t his thing. It was. The man was just fine in that department, if a little unimaginative. She loved him, though, and that made everything else balance. He was exactly what she wanted in a boyfriend. And, if she was reading the hints right, in a husband. Any day now she expected him to give her a ring, and she’d slip it on her finger without hesitation. Because Tony was everything she wanted, the man himself and his family. A big, boisterous, happy family. Exactly what she’d always dreamed of and never had.

Idly she flipped the page of the book in front of her, thinking how lucky she was to have Tony. She needed to get back to work, though, so she firmly pushed thoughts of her boyfriend from her head and forced herself to concentrate on the pages she was turning. Not difficult, since the lusty words caught her attention, pushing thoughts of her boyfriend from her head. In their place flooded erotic descriptions that had her imagination working overtime to bring her a vivid mental picture.

My, oh, my…

She leaned back in her chair, only half realizing that she was using a battered manila folder to fan herself. Usually her favorite study carrel in the back of the library was quite chilly. Today, however, it seemed remarkably warm.

I had drawn her near to me, was feeling all round her bum with one hand and wetting the finger of the other in her—

Wow.

How could anyone approach this from a purely academic angle? She certainly couldn’t, at least not today. A particularly frustrating fact considering she was camped out in NYU library for the specific purpose of working on her term paper, or rather for the purpose of deciding the topic of her paper. She knew she wanted to do something that juxtaposed historical erotica against modern works, but that was too broad a topic. And as for brilliant plans to narrow her theme, so far she was drawing a blank. Not good, since she was due to meet with Ronnie on Monday to go over the paper’s thesis and outline.

Usually she was much better at focusing, but today her mind had been all over the place. Maybe because it was a stifling summer Saturday. Or maybe because she’d already finished papers in the two other classes she was taking this summer. She’d piled on a killer course load, as usual, and the demanding schedule was probably getting to her.

Not hardly.

The familiar voice in her head was her own, and she knew exactly what it would say: she wasn’t cowed by a heavy workload. Deadlines and pressure were what got her going. She was an adrenaline jockey all the way, and had been all her life.

No, as much as she hated to admit it, her distraction wasn’t caused by anything relating to her degree program. The explanation was both simple and complicated: Shane.

He’d been her best friend for years, but now he was abandoning her to move from Manhattan back home to Texas, and she still hadn’t quite gotten her head around the fact that he was actually leaving. He’d been in her life for as long as she could remember. They’d done elementary school together, and they’d split the cost of a U-Haul when they’d both come to New York as freshmen, thrilled to be escaping their equally nightmarish families and vowing to help each other through every ordeal the city might throw their way.

Seven years later, Shane had blown through college and law school and was now working as an assistant U.S. Attorney. Though just as ambitious, Ella was moving more slowly, with a degree in history completed and several credits under her belt that went toward her master’s. She was determined to rack up the best academic qualifications. The kind that would get her a job at the Met—or, if her fantasies prevailed, the Louvre. She and Shane might have taken different paths, but they’d gone the distance together.

That he was now leaving wasn’t something she liked to think about. A whole jumble of emotions kept washing over her. Hurt, anger, betrayal. They’d promised each other, but still he was going back. What made it worse was her certainty that Tony was going to propose. How was she supposed to plan a wedding without her best friend there for moral support? Although she had to admit that Shane might balk at that particular duty. She could occasionally talk him into crossing the threshold of Sephora with her, but Shane was a guy’s guy. Wedding planning was probably a little too froufrou for his blood.

Still, she wanted him nearby. And she couldn’t quite get her head around the fact that in two days he’d be outta here. That went against everything she believed in, most particularly her firm belief in happily ever after. Shane was part of hers, his friendship essential. And she hated the idea that they’d be nurturing that friendship across fifteen hundred miles.

She hated it, but there wasn’t anything she could do about it. Lord knows she’d tried.

Part of her wished Monday would never come, so that he’d never leave. And part of her wished it were already next week, so he’d be long gone and her head could get back to focusing on her work.

Right. Her work.

As if beckoning, the pages fluttered in the breeze, stirred up by the makeshift fan she still held in her hand. Her gaze drifted back down, and the evocative language caught her attention once again.

Ella closed her eyes, her own imagination supplanting the words on the page. She wanted to pretend she was a total academic, interested in the language for its higher literary or scholarly significance.

A nice fantasy but not true.

Instead the language intrigued her, heated her blood just as she’d known it would. And made her wish she’d stayed in the privacy of her own apartment to study rather than coming to the library, where anyone who wandered into her dreary little corner might see her face and figure out exactly what was on her mind.

In the story, the man wasn’t described at all. In her mind, though, he had dark hair, almost black. Tony’s hair, of course, because who else would her imagination conjure? And although that hair could be smooth and debonair, at the moment it was tousled by her fingers, which ran through the coarse strands. A wilder Tony who existed only in her imagination.

His hands were rough, as if he occasionally worked with them, but not gnarled or calloused. They were strong and confident, and as she leaned her head back, his hands kneaded her breasts, his thumb and forefinger finding her nipple and rolling the soft nub between the pads of his fingers.

In her mind’s eye, she arched back, hot wires of pleasure shooting from her breasts all the way down to her clit. He was there, between her thighs, the rough stubble on his cheeks scratching her sensitive skin as his tongue stroked her, a delicious counterpoint to the thrill of his hands on her flesh.

She couldn’t see her lover’s face. Just the dark hair on his head so intimately nestled between her legs, and the broad shoulders, muscles straining under his thin T-shirt as he stroked his hands down her belly, closer and closer to where his mouth was providing such wonderful attention.

She might not be able to see Tony, but she knew his touch. Strong. Confident. Just like the man himself.

Soon the pad of one thumb joined his tongue, and the added sensation sent her almost over the top. His other hand pressed on her lower belly, though, calming her and silently promising even more thrills if she was patient.

Oh, yeah. She could be patient….

She shifted just slightly in her chair, still half aware, thank goodness, that she was in a library and, though her mind might be going crazy, she had to keep her body under control. The devil between her legs shifted, as well, the brush of his cheek against her thigh sending a fresh wave of sparks swarming through her body. She almost moaned aloud, but her breath caught in her throat because right then his head lifted enough so that she could see his eyes—and they were not the deep brown of Tony’s chocolate eyes.

These eyes were emerald green and all too familiar.

No. It couldn’t be. There’s no way he would be in her fantasies.

But then she could see his entire face, and there was no mistaking that fabulous jawline or that devil-may-care grin. She knew this man, all right. This man, with his tongue on her clit and his hands on her body. Oh, yes, she knew him well.

Shane! Her best friend. And a man who didn’t belong within a hundred miles of her fantasies.

So what, she thought, was he doing there now?

THE APARTMENT WAS ONLY three hundred and fifty square feet, and in a space that small the fumes were making him giddy. At least, that’s what Shane Walker told himself as he unscrewed the last of the kitchen cabinets so that he could take the doors out to the fire escape to sand and stain.

The chemicals in the stain had to be getting to him. There was no other explanation. Never mind that he had all eight of the windows open and the fan in the window unit going, and the vent over the stove going and the ceiling fan chugging away at high speed.

Never mind that there was barely a hint of chemical smell in the tiny apartment.

No, he had to be light-headed or giddy or something. Because if he wasn’t, then what excuse did he have for taking a break, settling himself in the middle of Ella’s floor and pawing through the box of old photographs and letters he’d found on the top shelf in the kitchen, just behind the bottle of tequila with the actual worm inside? The bottle she kept but refused to drink from, citing the ick factor of dead invertebrates.

But that’s what he’d done not ten minutes ago, and he felt like a total bastard for doing it. The pictures in the box were tame enough. Pictures of him, of Ella, of the two of them together. Boating, biking, hitchhiking from Houston to Mexico, hanging out on the boardwalk in Atlantic City. Souvenirs of the fun they used to have. None of their families, of course. No surprise there. But lots of pictures of their mutual friends. All no big deal.

And all of it none of his business.

He consoled himself with the knowledge that Ella would have happily let him look through the box if he’d asked. He knew she would. They’d been best friends since second grade, and there wasn’t a request he could make that she would deny. For that matter, as far as he knew, there wasn’t a single secret that Ella kept from him. He knew that her tortured relationship with her mom still gave her nightmares, waking her up in a cold sweat all too often. He knew she’d decided, so many years ago, to get a motorcycle license because she’d been surprised and aroused by the vibration between her legs when an old boyfriend had given her a lift home on his Ducati. And he knew that she’d enrolled in Ronnie’s class on erotic fiction as much from prurient interest as from academic fascination.

They’d never actually voiced any plan to be so open; it had just happened as a natural growth of their friendship. By the time they’d reached college, they’d known pretty much everything about each other, from what type of birth control she used to which paralegal he’d fooled around with in the supply room at his first office Christmas party.

They knew everything, he thought, except the one secret that he kept from her. A big one. The biggest of the big. More to the point, the kind of secret that just might make her say no if he asked to look through the box behind the tequila.

But she didn’t know his secret. He hadn’t told her because he’d been too afraid the secret would screw up their friendship, and Shane hadn’t been willing to run that risk. The truth was dangerous. The truth was hard and painful and wonderful all at the same time.

The truth was he loved Ella Davenport.

Looking back, he supposed he’d loved her from the first moment he’d seen her. Right there next to the slide in the playground at Sam Houston Elementary School. They’d both been seven, and he’d tripped and fallen, his very drippy Fudgsicle flying out of his hand. It had landed smack on her pretty pink dress and, unlike a lot of girls who would have yelled and cried, Ella had just laughed, brushed off the dress—making an even bigger smear—and offered to share her Eskimo Pie bar with him.

From that day Ella had become his best friend, his closest confidante. Never once had he thought of her as more than a friend, though. Not once in all those years in Texas.

Not once until about six months ago, when he’d come home from a particularly bad date, called Ella on the phone to bitch about the so-when-will-you-join-a-big-law-firm-and-be-a-partner? bimbo he’d escorted to dinner and suddenly realized.

Ella.

The woman who’d been there in front of him all along. She was the woman for him. Absolutely and one hundred percent.

Not that he’d been able to tell her. Not then. The downside of knowing a woman as well as he knew Ella was that he was all too familiar with her quirks relating to relationships. If an ex-boyfriend said he really just wanted to be friends, no problem. But if the poor guy still had a boner for her—or, even worse, flat out said he was still in love with her—then once broken up, they were really broken up. She even went so far as to delete his entry from her Palm Pilot.

“Too awkward,” she’d told him once. “Billy Crystal was only half right,” she’d explained, referring to When Harry Met Sally, one of her favorite movies. “Guys and girls can be friends. Look at us. But only if sex and romantic love never enter the equation. If they do, every chance for happily ever after is shot to hell…” She’d trailed off, shaking her head, but he’d known what she’d meant. Ella’s life hadn’t been easy, and she’d survived the rough places by acting tough. Underneath it all, though, she was a cockeyed optimist, absolutely certain that everything would be rainbows and sunshine in the end. Hell, maybe that’s why she clung so fiercely to adventures like skydiving and rappelling—she innately believed that nothing could possibly go wrong, that the only possible outcome was a good one.

“God, can you imagine if we’d ever slept together?” she’d asked him during that same conversation. “How would I have lived without you in my life all these years?”

It had been a rhetorical question, and one he hadn’t bothered answering. They’d never dated in high school or college, unless you counted the string of double dates, including a lot of dates-gone-bad where the two of them had ended up talking together in the bowling alley or on the dance floor while their respective dates had gotten plastered or flirted with someone else.

As the years passed, he dated often and sex was a given, of course. On occasion, he and El would get sloppy drunk and joke about going to bed, but they were never serious. They’d known each other for years—years—so why was he suddenly seeing her in a different light? Desperation born of the fact that he hadn’t yet met another woman who could make him laugh as she did? Another woman he wanted to spend hours with watching late-night episodes of Monty Python?

No, it was more than that. Ella wasn’t a last resort, she was his only resort. It had just taken him an ungodly amount of time to realize it.

And now—this week—he’d realized something else, too: he had to tell her. He had to risk everything and tell his best friend that he loved her.

Of course, a part of him believed that if he told Ella how he felt, it wouldn’t be unrequited. Or, even if it was, that she’d put him in some stratosphere different from the other men in her life. Him she’d surely keep in the Palm Pilot.

Trouble was, he couldn’t be sure. He couldn’t imagine Ella ever shoving him out of her life. But things happened every day that he couldn’t imagine. Like, for example, him moving back to Texas. Who would have thought after managing to escape the hellhole that had been his childhood that he’d willingly go back?

But here he was, two days shy of leaving New York to head back to Houston, Texas, to join a handpicked Justice Department task force. A huge vote of confidence for a second-year attorney, especially when coupled with his superior’s promise that if he did as well as they were expecting, he’d be transferred to D.C. once the task force disbanded.

Working for the U.S. Attorney’s office in D.C. Now that was a gamble worth taking. He’d be a fool to walk away. And where his career was concerned, Shane was no fool.

About Ella, though…on that front, he’d admit to a little foolishness, especially lately. Foolishness with an edge, though. Foolishness with a plan.

For the past two years, he’d helped put away some of the nastiest criminals to face the Justice Department. He’d aced law review, interned for two federal judges and basically kicked butt where the law was concerned. He could plan, collect evidence and cross-examine a witness with the best of them. He might be raw, but he was getting better every day. Honing his skills, building his craft.

Now he was going to put those skills to work for personal reasons. He was going to tell her. Today. And he was going to prove to her that he was the man she belonged with, that she was his and always had been, even before either of them had realized it. He’d procrastinated for six months, but now he was on the verge of heading back to Texas. He couldn’t wait any longer.

But it wasn’t just the trip that was prodding him forward now. If that were it, he could take the coward’s way out, fly to the new job, get settled, then fly back up to talk to Ella.

But there were other factors in play now. From what Ella had been saying recently, Tony was going to propose soon. And Shane couldn’t lose her that way—not because some other man took her right out from under him. Especially when Tony was the wrong man for her. And Shane had no doubt that Tony was wrong. Ella was enamored, that much was true. But she was also trying too hard, smoothing out her own edges so that she could fit into the box that Tony expected her to fit into.

If, at the end of the day, she chose Tony, then so be it. But she needed to know all the facts. And the one big glaring fact was that Shane loved her. He wanted her. And they fitted together smoothly, perfectly without one alteration to her rough edges.

He knew that fact without a doubt, even as much as he knew that Ella might fight that simple truth. She had her reasons for wanting Tony, and he understood them. That understanding gave him an advantage, one he intended to use.

He glanced toward the kitchen, where he’d left his briefcase, smiling when he remembered what it contained. Not briefs and notes and legal memorandums, but still something he’d put all of his skill into creating. A little bit of demonstrative evidence for the plan he’d come to think of as Shane v. Tony, Judge Ella presiding.

He knew he might end up destroying their friendship. But he had to take the risk. Because, for the first time in their lives, another man might claim her for good. And Shane wasn’t about to lose without even being in the game.

He’d win her over. He’d do it tonight.

Because in this game, Shane didn’t intend to play fair.

2

ELLA PRESSED HER LEGS tightly together, determined not to let her imagination get the better of her. Were the fantasy about Tony—or anyone else, for that matter—she might have just gone with the flow. Even better, she might have headed home, drawn a hot bath, then lay naked on her bed and…

But this was Shane in her head, and he really had no business being there. More to the point, she had no business putting him there. He was her best friend, not her lover, and these wild thoughts were nothing more than the product of an active imagination. Really.

It took a more or less superhuman effort—and a Diet Coke from the machine on the first floor—but Ella managed to get her mind off Shane. Or, more to the point, off the vision of a hot and sweaty Shane who was doing absolutely delicious things to her body.

Her Shane wasn’t dangerous. This imaginary Shane, however…

Ella let out a low, involuntary moan, hiding the reaction by taking the last swallow of soda, then tossing the can into the garbage. She headed back to her study carrel, her mind wandering back to her friend despite every effort to shift her thoughts to something less dangerous, like, say, nuclear holocaust.

No such luck, and with a sigh she gave in, accepting the fact that, for whatever reason, Shane was on her mind.

That wasn’t even the problem, actually. He’d certainly been on her mind before. He was her best friend, after all. She thought about him all the time. But thoughts of a hot, naked, sexy Shane…a Shane whose rough fingers touched her and stroked her…

She shook her head, settling back into her seat. That Shane didn’t belong in her thoughts. More importantly, she didn’t know where the thoughts had come from. He was her friend. He had never even been on her nonplatonic radar. Not even one little bit.

They knew each other too well, too intimately, and nothing had ever once happened. In college, they’d slept over at each other’s dorms, camped out in hotel rooms when they’d traveled back to Texas and been in every type of closed-quarter sort of situation. She’d never wanted to sleep with him.

Until today.

No, she corrected. She did not want to sleep with him. And even if she did—a teeny, tiny little bit—she wasn’t stupid enough to go through with it. Shane was too important to her. And so, for that matter, was Tony.

Frustrated, Ella shoved her books aside, then rubbed her temples. As Saturdays went, this one was really not going well.

“I’ve got some Advil in my purse if you need it.”

Ella jumped at the calm voice behind her laced with just a bit of humor. Veronica Archer, her professor for Lit 317, Erotica and the Victorian Society. And her friend.

When Ella spun around, she saw that Ronnie was smiling, and she returned the grin. Veronica Archer was stunningly beautiful and extremely self-assured, but she’d never seemed unapproachable.

“What are you doing among the stacks on a Saturday?”

“Looking for you, actually,” Ronnie said. “I called your apartment and Shane told me you were camped out here working on a paper for my class.”

“You talked to Shane?” Ella fought to keep her voice from squeaking.

“Like I said, he told me you were here.”

“Oh.”

Ronnie’s brow furrowed and she looked over Ella’s shoulder at the open page of text. A slow grin spread across her face. “Well, that explains why you looked so distracted when I walked up.”

Ella snapped the book shut. “Don’t tease me. I’ve got an academic interest only. You should know. It’s your class I’m working on.”

“I’m not teasing. I’m totally serious. You’re the one who told me Tony’s about to pop the question. Is it really that big a stretch to assume the direction your mind is going when reading erotica?”

“Oh. Right. Tony. Yes.” She drew in a breath and told herself to just shut up because babbling really wasn’t working for her.

“Weren’t you—oh.”

Ella closed her eyes and counted to five. “There’s no ‘oh’ about it,” she finally said when she looked Ronnie in the face again. “My mind was just wandering. That’s all.”

“To Shane,” Ronnie said. She nodded sagely. “Interesting.”

“Excuse me? What are you talking about?”

“Admit it,” Ronnie retorted, “you were thinking about Shane when I came up. That explains that little catch in your voice.”

“There was no—”

Ronnie shut her up with a wave of her hand.

“Fine. I was thinking about Shane,” Ella admitted. “My best friend is packing up and moving fifteen hundred miles away from me. I’ve been thinking about him a lot.” As soon as she spoke the words, relief flooded her. Of course! That’s why she’d been lusting after Shane. It was so simple, any Psych 101 student would see it: she’d been feeling frustrated and angry when she couldn’t beg and plead and force Shane to stay in New York with her. So her subconscious was coming up with alternative methods of persuasion—seduction.

It wasn’t lust. It was selfishness. Her id wanted Shane to stay in New York. Her psyche wanted its best friend.

What a relief. And thank goodness she’d taken that psych course, or she might never have realized the source of that absurd daydream. She and Shane, doing it like that. Doing it at all. The idea was ridiculous. Unthinkable.

And so damned appealing.

No! She sat up straighter, determined to keep her thoughts in check. “I’m just bummed that he’s leaving,” she said firmly. “That’s all.”

The teasing expression on Ronnie’s face was replaced by one of genuine understanding. “I know, kid. He said he was heading out on Monday. You must be terribly sorry to see him go.”

“Yeah,” she said. “Yeah, I’ll really miss him.”

A beat, and Ella held her breath, wondering if Ronnie was going to shift the conversation back to erotica. Wondering even more if Ronnie was going to push for a more full description of Ella’s recent fantasies.

But Ronnie simply nodded toward the exit. “Let’s get a coffee. I have some news about your internship application.”

And right then all thoughts of Shane evaporated. Ronnie had come here to talk about Ella’s career, not her libido. And work was the one thing that never failed to snare Ella’s full and complete attention.

ELLA STARED AT RONNIE over her coffee, not quite sure she comprehended what her friend was saying.

“I really got it? The internship at the Metropolitan Museum?”

Ronnie laughed and twirled the spoon in her coffee. “You really got it. I bumped into Dean Rostow earlier and he mentioned that he was going to tell you on Monday. I begged a little, and since I wrote one of your recommendation letters, he said I could go ahead and tell you if I saw you.” Her smile widened. “So I’ve been searching the library for hours trying desperately to locate you.”

“Thank you!” Ella flung her arms out across the table to hug her friend. The internship at the Metropolitan Museum—working directly with the curator—was both coveted and incredibly hard to obtain. Ella had been cultivating relationships, hoping for recommendations, since she’d been a freshman undergrad. She almost couldn’t believe that her persistence had paid off.

“Why not?” Ronnie asked when Ella voiced the thought. “You worked much harder than all the other applicants. Why shouldn’t it be you?”

“I don’t know.” She took a sip of her coffee. “I guess I still have a hard time believing how great everything has gone for me these past couple of years.”

Ronnie’s smile was kind. “Why shouldn’t it go well? You work your tail off, don’t you?”

“Hell, yes,” Ella said. She nodded, the motion somehow boosting her confidence. “I deserve this, don’t I?” Maybe life had been more difficult back in Texas, but that was why she’d left, right? So she could get away from the sorry life she’d had there and find a satisfying existence. She’d done it and she should be proud. And she was.

Ronnie put a hand over hers and squeezed, teacher and friend. “You totally deserve it.”

“Wow.” Ella shook her head, still not quite able to process the information. “Do you have any idea how good a stint like this is going to look on my résumé?”

Internships were highly competitive and depended significantly on who you knew. Ella’s grades were stellar, but this was her first year in the program, which meant she was low on the totem pole. But that hadn’t daunted her. She’d had her heart set on two internships since she’d entered the program—one for each summer of her master’s studies. The field was extremely competitive. With two internships, her odds of finding a job that was both financially and emotionally rewarding increased significantly.

The ironic part, of course, was that her mother had given her that bit of advice. As far as love, care and support went, Cecilia Davenport fell flat as a mother. But for career planning? Well, that was where Ella’s mom truly shined.

She took a deep breath and laughed again, still overwhelmed by her good fortune. “Sorry. I’m just so excited. This is huge. I mean, an internship like this could lead to a job. Can you imagine? Working at the Metropolitan Museum fresh out of school?”

“If anyone can do it, you can. You’re the most motivated student I’ve seen in a long time.”

“You’re just saying that because I make great margaritas.”

“You’re from Texas—you’re supposed to be able to make all variety of drinks from tequila. And I’m not saying it because you ply me with alcohol. I’m saying that because it’s true.” She cocked her head and studied Ella. “Speaking of alcohol…we haven’t had a wild night on the town in months. Probably since you and Tony started dating. But I guess you two have been having your own wild times.”

“Yeah. Absolutely.” She frowned and took a long swallow of her now-tepid coffee, ignoring the guilt and telling herself it was a fib, not a lie, and she didn’t have to reveal all her personal details just because Ronnie was a good friend.

The truth was, she and Tony hadn’t had sex in two weeks. During the workweek, their schedules never seemed to mesh, and the past weekend they’d gone out to his parents’. Ella had stayed up so late playing Trivial Pursuit with Tony’s father and sisters that Tony had already been asleep in bed by the time she’d gotten back to their room. She’d thought about waking him but decided he needed the rest.

No more. Tired or not, he was going to have to come over the second he got off the plane from Los Angeles. And she’d even put on something sexy, like that itchy lacy thing he’d bought her for her birthday. She hated the thing, but she knew it would turn him on, and—

“Ella?”

She shook her head, pulling herself back into the conversation with a bright smile. “I guess both you and I have been having our wild times at home. That’s the way it’s supposed to be for you, right? After all, you’re married now.”

At that Ronnie laughed. “Jack doesn’t mind if I go out drinking with the girls.”

“He doesn’t think you’re being frivolous? Or worse, that you’re checking out other guys?” The second the words were out of her mouth, Ella regretted them. Tony wasn’t jealous and he didn’t mind that much that she liked to go out with her friends. Not really. He just wanted her to stay with him, for them to enjoy their time together.

“I haven’t been remotely interested in other guys since the first moment I laid eyes on him, and he knows it. But if I want to check out a few guys for my friends, he doesn’t mind. He spends time with his buddies, too. Just because I got married doesn’t mean I gave up my personality, you know?”

“Of course not,” Ella said. “I didn’t mean that. I just meant…” She trailed off. “I don’t have any idea what I meant.”

Ronnie leaned back in her chair, those penetrating eyes studying her. “What’s bothering you, El?”

Ella ran her fingers through her hair. “Nothing, really.”

“Yes, something. I didn’t get to be a kick-ass professor for nothing. Now tell me.”

Ella couldn’t help but laugh. “I think it’s just jitters, you know, about being engaged. I mean, I’m not even entirely certain he’s going to pop the question—”

“Yes, you are. If anyone in this world is predictable, it’s Tony. I don’t mean that in a bad way, that’s just who he is. You can see this proposal coming a mile away.”

“Yeah, okay, you’re right. I am sure. But marriage is something I really don’t think I know how to do. It’s not like I had a role model. It was just me growing up. Not even my mom. I want the family—I want all the trappings that go with a marriage—but I’m not sure how to be married. I’ve never really been a unit with anyone before. I guess I’m just a little nervous about how it works.”

Ronnie’s smile was soft and understanding. “Definitely jitters,” she said. “As for how it works, it’s a little bit different for everyone, but basically, marriage is about being yourself, only more. That’s how it is with me and Jack. We’re still totally ourselves, but we’re a couple, too. It’s nice.” She reached out and touched Ella’s arm. “And you do know how to be part of a unit. You do it automatically with your friends. Like me. And Shane.”

The thought of being a “unit” with Shane almost undid Ella, particularly in light of her mind’s earlier ramblings. “It’s not the same,” she said quickly. “I’m just myself around you guys.”

“Yeah. That’s the point.” Ronnie studied her some more, and this time Ella ducked her head, uncomfortable with the inspection. “Isn’t it? I mean, you’re yourself with Tony, too, right?”

“Of course,” Ella said. And she was. Everyone has different angles in their personality. Hers with Tony was more mature. Just the way it should be if she was going to be Tony’s partner for life.

“Right,” Ronnie said. She took a long sip of coffee, then played with the spoon for a while, clacking it irritatingly against the side of the cup.

“What?” Ella demanded.

Ronnie stopped, her hand frozen with the spoon. “Sorry. Nothing.”

“Oh.” Ella picked up her own spoon and tapped it silently against her palm.

“What?” Ronnie said.

Ella stopped the spoon. “Nothing. Really. I, um, just thought you had something more to say.”

“No. Why? Is there something on your mind?”

“Okay, fine. You’re going to keep bugging me until I spill it, so I might as well.”

Ronnie kept her face perfectly placid, but her eyes danced with amusement.

Ella cursed silently, then spoke. “So, you and Jack, you’re happy, right?” She knew they were. Blissful. Jack and Ronnie had snagged the happily ever after that Ella so wanted for herself. They didn’t have kids yet, but she knew from conversations with Ronnie that little ones were on the agenda. It was perfect, and Ella was both thrilled for her friend and a tiny bit jealous.

“Very,” Ronnie said, her forehead creasing in thought. She reached out and took Ella’s hand. “What’s on your mind, El?”

Ella took a deep breath, reminded herself that she’d opened the door and then jumped through it before she could change her mind. “Your, um, sex life is good, right? I mean, I know how y’all met and everything. It’s not my business, but I’m assuming it’s still really good.”

During one of their margarita binges, Ronnie had told Ella the story of how she and Jack had met: there’d been a series of murders, and Jack, a detective, had come to Ronnie for expert advice about pieces of erotica the killer had been leaving at the scene. The attraction had been intense, one thing had led to another, and Ronnie and Jack had indulged in a few erotic fantasies of their own.

“It’s wonderful,” Ronnie said. She looked as if she might add something else but obviously decided against it, instead letting Ella go at her own pace.

“So, um, have you ever, you know, fantasized about another guy?”

“Ah,” Ronnie said with an almost imperceptible nod, as if she’d just solved a huge mystery. She leaned back in her chair, then shook her head. “No, actually, I haven’t.”

“Oh,” Ella said. Well, damn. So much for her theory that fantasies of Shane were just a normal little relationship bump.

“‘Oh’ is right,” Ronnie said. “You’re thinking about Shane.” She made the statement firmly, without any hesitation. And for the first time Ella cursed having a friend who knew her so well. “When I came up to you earlier, you weren’t thinking about Shane leaving at all, were you? You were thinking about all the interesting things you and he could do if he’d just stay here.”

Ella briefly considered retreating into full denial, but the truth was, she couldn’t. She needed to be open and honest. Shane might be her best friend, but Ronnie had filled the role of female friend in her life, and it felt nice. It also came in handy, because this was one thing she really couldn’t talk to Shane about….

“Okay,” she said. Then she drew in a breath and tried again. “Okay, yeah. Maybe.” She slouched forward and let her forehead bang the table. “Oh, hell, Ronnie. What am I supposed to do now? I’m in love with Tony.”

With major effort she gathered her emotions in, making sure nothing teary and weak would sneak out. Then she lifted her head just enough to peer at Ronnie. The sympathetic understanding on her friend’s face almost unraveled all her hard work, and she had to double her effort to hold back tears.

“I’m a mess,” she said. “I love Tony. He’s great. The perfect eligible man. Good-looking with a great job and a real sense of humor. And his family loves me.”

“You’re right. He’s a fabulous guy. His sisters are wonderful. It’s a good thing, getting along with your in-laws.”

“And I do. Really well.” Already Ella had become great friends with Tony’s two sisters, Leah and Matty, and his parents had welcomed her as if she were one of their own. With Tony she’d found the family she’d always wanted. With Tony she could have a perfect life. “This thing about Shane was an aberration. It had to be. Just my subconscious being bummed out about him moving so far away.”

“Maybe. Or maybe there’s something more. Maybe you should try and find out.”

Ella stared at Ronnie, trying to comprehend what her friend was saying. “Are you nuts? No way. Just because I had a little fantasy about my best friend, that doesn’t mean the sky is falling in. And it sure doesn’t mean I’m not totally, one hundred percent in love with Tony. I have fantasies about Hugh Jack-man, too, but I don’t think we’ll ever be like that.”

“Why not?”

“Well, he lives in Los Angeles, for one thing. Or maybe London. I’m not quite sure.”

Ronnie lifted an eyebrow. “Shane, Ella. I meant Shane.”

“Aren’t you listening to me? I already told you. I’m not interested in him. He’s my best friend, not my personal sex toy. But these fantasies are really awkward. I mean, Shane and I have always talked about everything, but I’m sure not going to talk to him about this!”

“Maybe you should.”

“Ronnie! I’m going to marry Tony. I love him.”

“I know you do. But maybe it’s not the right kind of love. Maybe he’s not the one.”

“Of course he is.” She frowned. Of course Tony was the one. He had to be. She already had a life with him, a whole family who loved her.

“Well, you’d know,” Ronnie said. “I just don’t want you to let something special get away.”

“That would be Tony, and you don’t have to worry.” She held up her hand, preventing Ronnie from saying anything else. “Look, I’m not denying that I had some pretty hot thoughts about Shane. But it makes total sense. I’m depressed he’s moving back to Texas, and this is just my weird way of reacting to that. I don’t really want to sleep with him.”

“Well, maybe you’re right,” Ronnie said, but she’d edged back into her professorial voice, and Ella knew her friend was only humoring her. So much for girl talk. She should have just kept her mouth shut.

“Look,” Ronnie finally said, “for the sake of argument, let’s pretend you do want to sleep with him. Who’s to say that very situation doesn’t apply to him? Maybe he’s desperate to sleep with you, but he’s just as determined not to do anything about it.”

“Oh, please.” The idea was absurd. Never once had Ella picked up any clue from Shane, and they’d even shared a bed in the past. They were friends. True boy-girl friends. A relatively rare combination but not impossible.

“‘Oh, please,’ nothing,” Ronnie countered. “You’ll never know unless you try. So why not rush home, get him naked and have your wicked way with him?”

Ella fought the urge to bang her head against the table. Damn, but Ronnie was persistent. “One word—Tony.”

She realized her mistake the second she said it, and Ronnie realized it, too. A slow smile spread across her face. “So you’re not saying you wouldn’t want to go for it—it’s just that Tony’s standing in your way.”

She shook her head vehemently. “No. No way. All right, maybe I’m a teensy bit curious about what it would be like to sleep with Shane—I mean, that makes sense, right? Me, girl. Him, boy. But I’m not about to go through with it.”

“So we’re right back at my question. Why not?”

“Because I couldn’t stand my life if Shane wasn’t part of it. And because I’m afraid of driving some sort of wedge between us. I mean, I saw When Harry Met Sally.”

“So, instead of turning all Billy Crystal, you talk it out. Work through the whole thing. You guys are too close for something like sex to come between you. Even if it doesn’t ultimately work out, all it will do is add an extra spin on your relationship. After all, you’re both grown-ups, right?”

Were they? Sometimes Ella wasn’t so sure. They’d pulled some pretty crazy, adolescent stunts in the past. Anyway, it was a moot point. Ronnie might believe in different spins, but Ella was afraid she’d be spun right out of Shane’s life, centrifugal force shooting him fifteen hundred miles away, where it would be all too easy to forget to call and—frequent-flier miles notwithstanding—he’d be able to find all sorts of excuses not to travel between the states.

No, sex with Shane was a fantasy. Something that had popped in her head on a beautiful Saturday afternoon. And that’s exactly where it should stay. In her head.

Out of sight. Out of mind. And absolutely, positively, out of her bed.

AS SATURDAYS WENT, THIS one was supremely unproductive. And to make it even worse, Ella couldn’t rush straight home, take a hot bath and hide from her troubles under five or six episodes of Sex and the City on DVD.

No, going home meant seeing Shane, and in her current frame of mind, she was afraid she might jump him or drool on him or do something equally stupid like tell him about the fantasy in the library. She desperately wanted to spend more time with him before he headed back to Houston, but right now wasn’t the moment.

And so she did what every reasonable, intelligent, modern woman with a little time on her hands would do: she went shopping.

That was her favorite part about living in New York, actually. She could spend an entire day shopping and not spend any more than it cost to get a street pretzel and a Diet Coke.

She started by taking the subway to Fifty-ninth near the Plaza, then walking the length of Fifth Avenue, peering through the windows at all the fabulous bags and shoes. Things she wouldn’t buy even if she had the money (twelve hundred dollars for a purse?) but were still fun to look at.

At about three o’clock, her cell phone rang. She checked caller ID, and when she saw Shane Mobile, a whole flock of butterflies seemed to take residence in her stomach. Great. Now not only was she in lust with her best friend, she was completely befuddled in his presence. Even his cellular presence.

She snapped open the phone. “Hey!” It sounded perky, cheery and not the least bit horny. One point for her team.

“Hey, yourself.” The smile in his voice came over the phone lines loud and clear. “I’ve got your cabinets sanded and stained. They’re drying on the fire escape, and they should probably stay there overnight.”

“You’re a saint, you know that, right?”

“That’s me. Saint Walker.” A pause, then he said, “So what time are you getting home? We could paint the bathroom together. I’ve got it masked off.”

“Oh.” She pictured the clothes she’d worn when they’d painted three of the walls two nights ago—a pair of cutoffs so short, she never wore them in public and a flimsy men’s undershirt with the sleeves cut off. In the close quarters of her unventilated bathroom, the shirt would be sticking to her in no time, the shorts rubbing her in all sorts of provocative ways. And Shane would be right there, shirtless with a sheen of sweat, wearing those paint-splattered denim shorts that hugged his ass and—

“No.”

“What?” He sounded confused. Well, no wonder.

“Sorry. I’m just a little stressed. This paper isn’t going well. I was kind of thinking I’d stay at the library until late. Could I…I mean, could we take a rain check?”

“Sure thing, El.” The silence on the phone dragged on, and then he cleared his throat. “Um, El?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re not avoiding me, are you?”

Good Lord, was she that transparent? “Of course not. Why on earth would you say that? That’s just ridiculous!” She closed her eyes, certain he could tell she was lying.

“Sorry. I just thought…well, I know you’re mad at me for moving back and—”

“Oh, is that all?” She exhaled with relief, thrilled he was just worried about her temper and not her newfound lust. “Yes, I was mad, but I’m more sad. And I wouldn’t sulk and let you leave without seeing you. That would be punishing both of us. But I have to finish this project. I’m down to the wire. Really.”

“Right,” he said. “Of course. So, I guess I’ll just head home now and get caught up on packing. How about we meet for breakfast tomorrow and then finish the job?”

Tomorrow. Surely she could get her libido under control by tomorrow. “Sure,” she said. “That would be great.”

“Good luck with the paper,” he said, sounding like the good friend he was.

“Thanks. I’m sure I’ll whip it into shape,” she said, like the lustful, lying creature she was.

As soon as the line went dead, she snapped the phone closed, then looked around. She was standing in front of Crate and Barrel. Well, that would do.

Sometimes, though, window-shopping just didn’t do the trick. And so she went inside to engage in a little bit of credit-card therapy.

SHANE STARED AT THE now-dead phone, more disappointed than he wanted to admit. It certainly wasn’t Ella’s fault that her paper was due right around the time that he was packing up to leave, but that didn’t change the fact that he jealously guarded every minute they had together. He’d been secretly thrilled when she’d told him that Tony was in L.A. for business this week, since that meant even more minutes for Shane. But when time he thought was theirs was ripped away…well, he got a little pissed.

He wanted to get his plan underway. He was pumped up and ready. And he didn’t want to wait until the morning.

So do something about it.

He frowned at the thought. What was he supposed to do? She had to work and he had to pack.

After that, though…

He moved to the refrigerator and pulled out a soda, turning the thought over in his head. She hadn’t suggested doing anything afterward, probably because she planned to work pretty late and expected to be tired when she finished.

But that was okay. He could work with tired and he could work with late. They could have dessert. Maybe even a whole dinner. A bottle of bubbly. And watch a movie on DVD.

A perfectly relaxing evening, brought to her courtesy of her best friend. A best friend who, if he played his cards right, would end the evening with Ella naked in his arms.

At least, that’s what he was hoping for.

3

SLEEP WITH SHANE. THE idea kept skipping through Ella’s head like a stone bouncing across the surface of a lake.

No, no, no, no. No!

She did not have to jump on every single impulse. That’s what separated the humans from the animals, right?

During her four-hour shopping spree, she’d managed to spend only one dollar and sixty-three cents, the sum total for the chocolate bar and bottled water she’d picked up at a little bodega around the corner from Crate and Barrel. Her purchases—two hand-painted champagne flutes to add to her collection—didn’t count since she’d bought them on credit.

Now, heading home with her book bag slung over her shoulder and her shopping bag in her hand, she had to fight the almost physical urge to go back out and shop some more. The cowardly woman’s guide to relationship avoidance…

With a frustrated shake of her head she readjusted her bags and headed down into the subway, pausing only briefly to consider crossing the street and taking the train to Shane’s Upper East Side apartment. But no. She turned defiantly and headed for the train that would whisk her to the little studio she called home.

As much as she wanted to see Shane, it was probably better if she avoided him at least until tomorrow morning. By then, surely she would have wrangled her imagination back under control. Surely she’d be over this ridiculous desire to jump Shane’s bones.

The train was mostly empty, and she grabbed a seat by a window, looking out toward the black nothingness as the train whizzed through the tunnels, the conductor’s unintelligible voice announcing the various stops.

She let her mind wander and realized that, although she’d miss Shane when he moved back to Texas, maybe his leaving was for the best. She could manage one morning of keeping up a false front, but day after day? She was a grad student, not an actress.

That’s right, she told herself. No need to be sad Shane was leaving. It was all for the best. The only way it could be better was if one of them was married. She thought of Tony and smiled. Maybe soon she would be. And her libido would be aimed at only one man. Tony.

As soon as she had a ring on her finger, there would be no question about the parameters of her relationship with Shane. They’d be friends.

And absolutely nothing more.

THE FRIENDS-ONLY PLAN WAS firmly in her mind twenty minutes later as she stood in front of her door, busily attacking the three dead bolts that kept the world out of the inside of her apartment. When they were finally unlatched, she turned the knob, leaned her hip against the apartment door and shoved, urging the sticky door open.

When she first opened the door and saw him, she didn’t believe her eyes. Shane wasn’t supposed to be there. It had to be an illusion brought on by a Shane-filled brain.

But it was him, all right. Shane Walker, standing there in a crisp white shirt knotted at the neck with a tie she’d given him two birthdays ago. He wore a pair of snug jeans that showed off his perfect rear, and when he saw her, he held up a deep red rose. And for just a moment the heat in his eyes matched the fiery red of the petals.

No. She had to be imagining that. And when she blinked and looked again, it was just Shane, his expression decidedly pleased and self-satisfied, but this time there was nothing heated in his eyes.

Was that disappointment she felt? No, it couldn’t possibly be. Curiosity, maybe. Yeah. That’s all. She took a tentative step into the apartment. “What are you doing here?”

“Come on in and see.”

She squinted at him, then moved farther inside, her steps taking her beyond the trifold screen she’d bought off eBay six months ago. Shane had been standing just beside it, so she’d been able to see him, but her tiny table had been blocked by the screen, which formed a makeshift dining room-cum-office in the small apartment.

Now she could see her table. This morning it had been piled high with books. Stacks of erotic literature. Various cataloging manuals and piles of art history texts. And the latest J.D. Robb, which she kept as a reward for when she got enough schoolwork done.

Now the books were gone. The usually scratched tabletop was covered with a white linen tablecloth. Two place settings in a china Ella didn’t recognize took up most of the tabletop. Shane placed the rose in a slim vase in the center. A bottle of champagne was chilling in a bucket next to the table. Champagne was Ella’s secret vice, and her eyes widened with surprise.

“What is all this?”

“I thought you could use a relaxing evening. And I wanted to buy you dinner before I went away.”

“Buy?”

He nodded toward the tiny kitchen, and she saw the stacks of white boxes and round foil containers. “Craft,” he said, referring to Ella’s favorite restaurant and one of the hottest dining establishments in the city.

“You got Craft to go?”

He laughed. “My boss knows one of the chefs. I called in a favor and he said to call it my ‘kick butt in Texas’ present.”

She couldn’t help her smile. “They know what a prize they got when you picked Uncle Sam over some big law firm. I bet everyone is sorry to see you go—and jealous they’re not on the task force, too.”

“There’s a little envy,” he admitted. “And there are definite downsides to leaving, even if it is the biggest opportunity of my life. But you know I couldn’t not take it.”

“I know.” And she did. They were too much alike for her not to understand. In a way, ambition defined them. And, in a way, ambition had raised them. Certainly their parents hadn’t bothered to do the job. Instead they’d both reached for something else, something to give them an identity other than an accident of birth. They were each determined to make themselves.

It didn’t take a pop-psychology class to get to the heart of it. Ella knew that both her academic drive and her need for a cohesive family stemmed from her pathetic childhood. She knew it, she understood it and she wouldn’t change it.

Just as she wouldn’t change Shane’s ambition. It was part of who he was. And although she was sad about him leaving, she knew too well what he’d be giving up if he stayed. Almost as much as she’d be giving up if she took Ronnie’s suggestion and walked away from the life she could have with Tony.

She glanced again around her apartment. The shock of seeing Shane had worn off, replaced by the realization that she’d eaten next to nothing today. “Dinner, huh?”

“I may be leaving on Monday, but in the meantime, I thought we could stuff ourselves silly and then kick back on the couch and watch…” He trailed off, turning slightly to rummage behind him as Ella looked on, amused.

Finally he turned back, this time with a DVD case from Blockbuster. He handed it to her. Their fingers brushed as she took the case, and any illusions that Ella might have had that she’d be able to keep this sudden lust thing under control dissolved under the force of the sparks shooting through her fingers. Damn it all and damn Ronnie. Those books were making Ella a basket case.

She looked down, sure her cheeks were flaming, and concentrated on opening the box. When she did, though, her discomfiture faded, replaced by a burst of genuine laughter when she saw what was inside: Monty Python and the Holy Grail. One of her favorite movies, and one that she and Shane had seen over and over and over.

“How ever did you know?”

“I’m just a perceptive kind of guy,” he said.

“I guess so,” she murmured. But she wasn’t really thinking about her words. She’d moved closer to him to take the DVD, but now the movie was the last thing on her mind. His scent filled her head. Kouros. A cologne he’d worn every day for at least a decade. She was as familiar with the musky scent as she was with Shane himself. So why did both seem so new right now? New and heady and unbelievably sensual?

And the way he looked…

When she’d left the apartment this morning, he’d been decked out in denim shorts and a thin gray muscle shirt. The outfit had accentuated his rugged good looks, decidedly unlawyerly. If she’d snapped a Polaroid of him before she’d walked out the door, she had no doubt he could make the cover of any calendar of sexy men.

It had been that image of masculine virility that had spawned her fantasies in the library, and any suggestion that Shane might look even more sexy fully clothed would have seemed preposterous.

Now, though, Ella knew it wasn’t preposterous at all.

He was freshly shaved, his thick hair combed back with just a bit of gel, but that one unruly strand still fell across his forehead, brushing the top of his dark eyebrows. His jawline formed a rugged angle that almost screamed for her to reach out and stroke it.

Even his tie was sexy, all the more so since she knew the broad chest it lay against, as well as the rugged, muscled abdomen she’d reveal if her fingers loosened that tie and went to work on those buttons.

And his butt! Good Lord, it really should be a crime the way his ass filled out the tight denim.

“Ella? Ella!”

Her name seemed to cut through some fog in her brain and she blinked. “What? I’m here. What?”

The look he shot her was filled with amusement. “I went into the kitchen to check on the stuff warming in the oven and you went comatose on me. What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing!” Then she added, “Nothing. Really. Just school stuff. I guess I’m still winding down.”

“Well, hurry up with that. We don’t have that much more time before I’m out of here. I don’t want to share you with Ronnie or any of your other professors tonight.”

“Right. Sure.”

“And thank God Tony’s out of town this week, or I swear I’d have to arm wrestle him for the chance to hang out with you before I left.”

She smiled and shrugged. Tony and Shane got along okay on the surface, but neither one of them would have been thrilled by the idea of all three of them hanging out together. Under the surface, there was some definite tension.

“Do you want to change? Dinner’s just about ready.”

She nodded, mute, then turned to the armoire that doubled as a television stand and closet. She grabbed a pair of yoga pants and a cotton tank top. As she headed into the tiny bathroom, she wasn’t really thinking about changing clothes, though. And even though she knew she should be, she wasn’t thinking about Tony either. Instead her thoughts had drifted back to her conversation with Ronnie.

Sleep with Shane?

The thought, which she’d earlier examined fairly objectively from a psychological perspective, now held real, solid appeal. A terrifying amount of appeal, actually, and she wondered if maybe she should just—

Stop it, Ella. Just stop it.

And besides, there wasn’t any risk that her little blip of desire was reciprocated. Ella had been sincere in what she’d told Ronnie—Shane had never once made a pass or even looked as if he might make a pass. The closest, in fact, was tonight. That heat she’d seen in his eyes…

As she changed clothes, she told herself that she must have been imagining things.

No lust, no attraction, she told herself. Just dinner with your best friend. Same as you’ve done a hundred zillion times.

Ella had taken a single drama class back in high school, and the teacher had been a big fan of improvisation. For the most part, Ella had sleepwalked through the course. She had no interest in being an actress and even less in pretending to be a monkey at the zoo or a woman trapped in a subway or a little kid not picked for the kick-ball team (who thinks up those stupid scenarios anyway?). Now, though, she was wishing she’d paid a bit more attention to technique. At the very least, she was wishing she had a bit more raw dramatic ability.

The voice in her head shifted from her own to Miss McNally’s nasal lilt. Remember, Ella, you must hide everything. Close off all emotion except what you want your audience to see. Okay, go!

Ella jumped at the command in her imagined instructor’s voice, her hand turning the knob and pushing open the bathroom door before she had any more time to think. In the apartment, Shane looked up, a match in his hand.

“So what do you think?”

Candlelight? He expected them to dine by candlelight? Candlelight fueled lust. He wasn’t playing fair. He wasn’t—

She frowned. He wasn’t playing at all. Shane had no idea about the thoughts running through her head. If he wanted to set a fancy table, then great. Wonderful. What a thrill.

“Looks spectacular,” she said, taking some pride in the fact that her voice didn’t shake.

“Like I said, I wanted to go all out. Especially with your birthday in a few weeks. This will be the first time I’ve missed it in, well, forever.”

“Oh. Right.” Well, damn. She realized with a start that a tiny bit of her had actually hoped he was making some sort of romantic gesture. The mention of her birthday dinner, however, squashed that hope like a bug.

Ever since they moved to New York together, they’d taken turns treating each other to amazing birthday dinners. If one of them had an actual date on their birthday, the dinner was moved to a nearby evening, but they never failed to get together. It was fun, it was tradition and it was a chance to splurge on fabulous food guilt-free. After all, you couldn’t feel guilty about buying your best friend a birthday dinner, even if you were near your limit on your Visa card and had yet to buy textbooks. Friends came first, right?

“So, if this is my birthday dinner,” she joked, “does that mean I’ve got a present, too?”

He chuckled, then pulled out her chair for her. “Sorry, kid. I’m not that organized.” He moved to the other side of the table and took his seat, the corner of his mouth quirking in a familiar grin. “But you can tell me if there’s something in particular you want.”

Was it her imagination, or was his voice deliberately pitched low? She swallowed as the butterflies in her stomach took flight and her mind ran over all the possible “presents” he could offer. Oh my.

Her breath hitched, and it was all she could do to fight the urge to scream, “Yes, yes, I want you. I want a wild, stupid fling.” Except, of course, she didn’t want that. Couldn’t want that.

Damn. She really was a mess. And tonight—when her unexpected fantasy was so fresh on her mind—was the worst possible night to be spending with him.

Calling on intense self-control, she managed a simple shrug as she picked up her salad fork. “I’ve got one or two things in mind,” she said. And although she tried desperately to keep her tone flat and in control, she was appalled to hear the hint of heat that crept into her voice. Which probably went a long way to explaining why she’d gotten that C in drama and blown her straight-A average.

“Are you going to tell me?”

She shook her head, probably a little too vigorously. “I don’t think so.”

He perked up at that. “No? Hmm. So I have to guess. That’s okay. I’m a good guesser.” He grinned. “Besides, right now I know exactly what you want.”

She felt her eyes widen, and despite her best effort, her voice came out squeaky. “You do?”

“Absolutely,” he said. “And you can have it.”

“I—I can?” A bead of sweat trickled down between her breasts, and Ella swallowed, trying to will her body back to a place of calmness and serenity.

Not hardly.

He picked up the open bottle of champagne. “Birthday bash, remember? I figure we can go a little wild.”

Ella clenched her fists at her side, stifling an overwhelming sigh of relief. “Right. Champagne. Great.”

His eyebrows drew together, and he looked at her the way he might look at a hostile witness. “What did you think I was going to say?”

“Nothing. I’m sorry.” She waved a hand, even more seriously regretting that C. “I’m just stressed about that paper. And, you know, sad that you’re moving.”

“Just sad?”

She nodded. “I’m over being pissed off. I mean, it’s your career. That’s the one thing I truly understand.” And it was true, too. She did understand why he was going. But it still hurt all the same.

She shook her head to clear it. “So, you’ve really done it up, huh?” She took in the table, really seeing it for the first time, and not just the trappings. He’d returned the champagne to the table without pouring it, and now she saw the label. “This salad is amazing. And is that Cristal? Wow. You splurged.”

“For you? Anything.”

“Especially since you get to split the bottle.”

“There are three bottles, actually. I bought you a couple of extras.” He flashed a lopsided grin. “We can finish them off tonight, or you can keep them around to remember me by.”

“Just the thought depresses me.”

“In that case,” he said, “I really need to pour you this drink.”

“Can’t argue with that.” She started to lift her glass, then remembered her purchases. “Wait a second.” She ran to her bag and unwrapped the flutes, then held them up with a flourish. “Ta-da!”

As expected, Shane laughed. “You can never be too rich—”

“Or too thin or have too many champagne flutes,” she continued, finishing the line she’d said so many times to him—every time she’d splurged on another flute for her collection.

“So I’ve been told,” he said. “Serendipity, huh? I mean, you buy yet another pair of flutes, and I bought champagne. We’re like champagne and caviar. We go together.”

She managed a watery smile as she held up her glass. “Fill it to the brim,” she insisted. “I can use it.”

He leaned over to do just that, and as he reached toward her, she noticed him wince. Pain flashed in his eyes as he held the bottle steady, and she could see that he was fighting a grimace. When he pulled back and set the bottle on the table, his face cleared, and she could almost hear his sigh of relief.

“You want to tell me what that was about?” she demanded.

“Nothing,” he said. He rolled his right shoulder, wincing again as he did so.

“It’s not nothing,” she said, frowning. Back when she and Shane were in junior high, Shane had caught a ride home one stormy afternoon with his older brother, Marc. Marc had been driving too fast, lost control on a curve and flipped the car. Marc had been killed instantly. Shane had been banged up pretty good, the only enduring injury being a shoulder that tended to get pulled out of whack way too often.

There’d been emotional injuries, of course, and she and Shane had leaned on each other even more. Since neither had a solid family to rely on, they’d become each other’s family.

A wash of memory swept over Ella, bringing in vivid color to her mind the first time she’d really let Shane in on the horror of her life. They’d lived in an affluent enough section of town, and though her parents were divorced, both were Important People, doing the social and political thing. But they hadn’t done the parenting thing. Her father had just flat-out ignored her—she’d seen him a grand total of twice since the divorce. And her mother had used the excuse of having to work, then dumped Ella with the maid. All that even though Cecilia Davenport had enough money in oil royalties never to work a day in her life.

Considering her mom’s attitude, Ella hadn’t much minded spending the day playing with the maid’s daughter. Not an ideal life, but she could have dealt with it had the worst not happened.

She’d gone to a fund-raiser for some society thing her mom had been working on. It had been held in the summer at the estate of one of the society members. Tommy McQueen, Central High School’s star quarterback, had been there. The few kids present had hung out by the pool. Tommy had flirted with her, although she’d been too shy to flirt back, especially since she’d been a lowly freshman. But when she’d tried to escape to the safety of the inside, he’d pulled her aside, then dragged her into the pool house. As she’d fought, he’d fondled and almost raped her, coming so close, she’d had to endure the humiliation of a rape kit.

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