Are You Lonesome Tonight?. Wendy Etherington
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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