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FRANCESCA MOANED in the middle of an erotic dream.
Starring Tony.
Part of her thought this was a really bad idea, but that part was quickly overridden by the warm, confident, male hand gliding up her waist to cup her satin-clad breast.
She arched her back, pressing her body more firmly against his, her fingers stroking his trim, muscled sides, smiling at the weight of his body on hers, at the hard ridge of male flesh pressed against her middle.
As she slid her hands lower, she found bare skin. Oh, God, he was naked. How many nights had she lain awake imagining Tony naked? That one glimpse at eighteen hadn’t been nearly enough. And since then he’d…filled out quite a bit. He was a couple of inches taller, his shoulders were broader. Where else, exactly, had he grown?
A wicked giggle escaped her mouth at the thought.
He trailed his lips over her throat, then sank his teeth lightly into her earlobe. “Ah, bella, I love to hear you laugh.”
She trailed her fingers across his bare butt.
He sucked in a quick breath. “I like that even better.” He flicked his thumb over her burgeoning nipple, then impatiently pushed up her camisole.
Heat flooded her body, the very blood in her veins. She slid her hand up his back, threading her fingers through the wavy hair at the base of his neck, urging him on. A hunger she didn’t think could ever be satisfied had begun to grow deep within. She wanted his touch, craved his attention. She wanted all that charm and energy and expertise focused on her. And her alone.
She recalled her thoughts earlier about his hands; those hands were currently stroking her flesh, sending her nerve endings on a crazy roller-coaster ride….
His mouth captured hers, his tongue slid past her lips, confidence and seduction inherent in every move. He was warm and tasted like…like…
Like cigar smoke?
Not in this fantasy, buster.
The odd smell brought her fully awake. Tony was indeed in her bed. And naked. And currently trailing his fabulous mouth across her chest.
Oh, hell.
HEART POUNDING, Francesca shoved Tony’s shoulder. “Tony!”
He didn’t seem to hear her. His mouth reached her nipple. His tongue flicked across the distended peak.
Francesca gasped. Oh, heavens, he was even better at this than she’d imagined. A steady, insistent throbbing pounded between her legs. Longing filled her belly. She’d wanted him for so long…
No. Not like this. Not when he wouldn’t even remember anything. When he probably didn’t even know who she was.
Knowing she had to wake him up, she shoved his shoulder again. His tongue flicked again.
Moaning, she wrapped her legs around his waist—and, oh wow, his erection pressed harder against her—then flipped him over onto his back. She reached over to the bedside table and turned on the light for good measure.
He blinked in the sudden pool of brightness. “Ches?”
Her heart was racing, and her body throbbed. Still, she managed to raise her hand. “Present.”
He propped himself up on his elbows. “What’s—” He stopped, his gaze sliding from her face to her body. “Holy—” His gaze jerked back to hers. Lust shone from his chocolate-colored eyes.
Vowing she wouldn’t revel in his admiration, Francesca yanked the strap of her camisole back onto her shoulder, covering her naked breast. His erection pulsed beneath her, reminding her that she still straddled him—and that she excited him. She closed her eyes and forced herself to slide off his aroused, luscious body and stand next to the bed.
Mmm. Good move, sister.
Still not fully awake, Tony clearly hadn’t realized she wasn’t the only one not dressed decently. He, in fact, wasn’t dressed at all, and she couldn’t resist a long, leisurely stare down his body. He had wide shoulders, trim arms and a muscled chest and stomach, all of which she’d seen at the country-club pool many times over the last several years, and which were evidence of his devotion to exercise and lifting weights.
But then her curious gaze hit on his…other parts. Parts she hadn’t seen in a long, great while. Parts that wanted her.
Oh, yeah, he’d grown all right. And was continuing to gr—
“Ches?”
She jerked her gaze back to his. He’d banked the lust, and now she saw mostly confusion. What was she doing ogling him?
“I, uh—” She went for indignation. “What are you doing in my room?”
He snatched the comforter over his body. “Your room? This is my—” He stopped as he looked around. “This is your room.”
Thanking heaven she’d managed to compose herself, she crossed her arms over her chest. “And you’re here because…?”
He leapt off the bed, wrapping the bed covers around his waist. “I thought—What are you wearing?”
She raised her eyebrows. “My pajamas.” She flicked her gaze toward the digital clock. “It’s 2:00 a.m. What else should I be wearing?”
“A T-shirt,” he muttered, dragging his hand through his already mussed hair.
“Why—” She stopped and glanced down at herself. Okay, so maybe the hot-pink satin was a bit much. A T-shirt probably suited practical, business-savvy Francesca D’Arcy better, but, hey, a girl couldn’t be practical all the time.
Still, she grabbed her robe from the hook over the bathroom door. It matched the pajamas, so it didn’t cover much, but she felt slightly more practical wearing it.
With the bulky comforter around him, Tony waddled across the room, then through the doorway and into the living area of the suite. “I’ll just, uh, get my pants.”
Francesca watched him go, the gold-colored comforter a stark contrast to his tanned shoulders and back. Whoa, baby.
Knees weak, she sank onto the edge of the bed. The bed where she and Tony had just rounded second base, cruising their way rapidly to third.
She leapt to her feet. Bed bad. Pacing good.
She’d barely begun her fourth pass across the room, trying to figure out what to say to her best friend and how to say it, when his voice startled her from her thoughts.
“I didn’t realize dreams literally came true.”
Her heart thudded. “What?”
“One minute I’m dreaming about us, and the next… I’m not dreaming, but living.”
She turned toward him as he leaned one shoulder against the doorframe. He’d put on his black pants and white shirt, though he’d left the shirt unbuttoned. The trim muscles on his chest peeked tantalizingly through the opening. “Me, too,” she said quietly.
He cocked his head. “Weird, huh?”
She sighed—with relief or disappointment, she wasn’t sure. “Oh, yeah.”
“How do you feel about what just…what just almost happened?”
She groaned. How was a woman supposed to resist a man concerned about how she felt? “I’m not sure,” she said. “How about you?”
“I look at you, and I see my good buddy Ches, but—” his gaze flicked toward the bed “—then I remember….”
“Yeah.” At least he wouldn’t have to sleep in that bed every night.
They stared at each other from across the room. Most people might assume Tony was relaxed, as he was propped against the doorway and smiling. But Francesca knew him better than probably anybody—his moods, his gestures, his dreams, even his lies.
Tony was troubled.
His smile was forced. His posture stiff. His erection unabated.
He straightened suddenly. “Well, this is damned awkward.”
Just what she’d feared. Every time she’d thought about admitting she desired him as more than a friend, this is what she pictured—laughing, teasing, charming Tony replaced by a pensive, awkward stranger.
“Yeah” was all she said.
“Maybe it will be different in the morning.”
“Maybe.” Though she didn’t see how. She knew his touch now. Imagining the sparks they’d create was a great deal different than actually experiencing them. She knew she’d never be able to look at him the same way, and she doubted he would either.
The idea filled her with sadness. They’d weathered many crises in the past. They had to find a way past this, too.
“I think I’ll go back to bed,” he said. “In my own room this time.”
She nodded. “That’s probably best.”
He walked toward the door, and she followed him, wondering what she could say to change things, to go back, to make him comfortable with her again, but she felt as though she was hanging on an emotional precipice, and she was fresh out of rational, practical ideas.
As he pulled open the door, he looked back at her. “You know what this means, don’t you?”
Oh, God. They couldn’t be friends anymore? They couldn’t be business partners?
“We chose the same access number—the day we met.” He paused. “Weird, huh?”
Knowing she couldn’t take much more upheaval, she let go of the breath she’d been holding. “Definitely.”
He yanked her to him, laying a quick, hard kiss on her forehead. And, somehow, she felt passion, regret and strength all in that one gesture. “Night, Ches.”
“Night.” She closed the door, then banged her head lightly against the hard metal surface.
3
TRAY OF COFFEE and fresh croissants in hand, Tony paused in the lobby solarium.
Nope. Still couldn’t see her without picturing her in that pink silky thing she slept in. He’d thought for sure he’d wrestled his attraction into submission early this morning.
He couldn’t sleep, so he’d decided to talk some sense into himself.
Risking nineteen years of friendship just to assuage his lust was a bad idea. Screwing up his business partnership—the one chance he had to prove he could succeed at something besides clubbing—was an even worse idea. He liked women. He didn’t obsess about them. He simply enjoyed them—in and out of bed. He wasn’t an animal, after all.
He was a man.
A man who wanted a woman beyond reason.
A woman he shouldn’t, couldn’t have.
“Is this what we’re reduced to?” she asked suddenly, turning to stare at him over her shoulder. “Avoiding each other? At a loss for words?”
Tony forced a smile and continued the last several feet to the wicker chair where Francesca sat. “I’m not avoiding you,” he said firmly, setting the tray on the table in front of her.
“You were just standing there trying to figure out how to tell me we’re out of Irish breakfast tea?”
He sat, then poured her a cup, using the delicate china he’d brought her from London two years ago. “I was wondering how to approach you. You look like you’re wearing armour this morning.”
She took the cup and saucer, adding milk and sweetener, then she glanced down at herself. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’re wearing a turtleneck, Ches.”
She sipped her tea, not meeting his gaze. “It’s cold.”
“In Alaska.” He leaned back in his chair. “Here, on Long Island, in late May, it’s due to be a balmy seventy-five by noon.”
“So at noon, I’ll change.”
Even in a white turtleneck, jeans and a navy blazer, she was lovely. Fresh and sexy. And—
Off-limits.
The clothes and her stiff posture made it plain what her attitude about last night was—I don’t want to talk about it.
Fine by him. He wanted to forget the whole thing, too.
“How does the menu for von Nose-in-the-Air look?” he asked.
She narrowed her eyes. “It’s von Shalburg, and you’d better start practicing it, since you’re going to be following him around saying, ‘Yes, Mr. von Shalburg.’ ‘Whatever you say, Mr. von Shalburg.’”
“Surely, I don’t have to—”
“Oh, yes. You do.”
Tony sighed. When did he get to compliment and dance with the ladies? When did he get to have cocktail parties in the owners’ suite? When did he get to sip wine on the veranda?”
“Work first; fun later,” she said, as if she’d read his thoughts.
