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Why not? Because for months now—ever since that damn morning when everything changed—he’d been fighting the need to sink his cock into her, and he knew the fallout from that would be devastating. Nichole was notoriously fickle. She didn’t know how to have a long-term relationship, and she evaded commitment with the determination of a lifelong bachelorette. With the exception of his brother, Jack, who she’d been seeing since high school, she never maintained a relationship with any guy once the romance was over. Not even when he’d been a friend first.
His gut knotted thinking about the last friend she’d dated. It had taken that sad sap years to get over Nichole, and friends was about as far from what they were now as two people could get. But then, a restraining order and Matt’s fists had a tendency to come between people.
Nothing would come between him and Nichole. He wouldn’t let it.
She meant more to him than anyone. This crush, or lust, or infatuation—whatever the hell it was he felt for her—would pass like it always did. Like it had for twelve long years. He would be strong, just like always. Controlled. Restrained. He wouldn’t give.
He adjusted the too-small red shorts in the hopes of finding more coverage. Fuck.
Nichole scuffed her foot and then spoke softly, with no silliness, “I can’t tell you how much this means to me. Thank you.”
“Don’t worry about it, Nickie. I’m always glad to help. It’s no big deal—so don’t look so serious. Give me one of your smiles.”
A gorgeous grin split her face, and she leaned back against the arm of the couch. How the hell could she look so enticing in a pair of baggy gray sweat pants and a ratty old pizza parlor T-shirt with holes around the collar? The no-bra element of her ensemble might have played a part, but damn, she looked good in everything.
She raised her arms over head in a languid stretch, and her breasts rose against the threadbare garment. Matt’s body burned. His mouth went dry. His brain shut down and relinquished power to the substation below his belt.
Carefully modulating his voice, he said, “You’ve got to get rid of that T-shirt, babe.”
Quirking one eyebrow—another hard-on trigger—she dropped her hands to pull at the cotton stretched across her breasts. “But you gave it to me, and it’s so comfy.”
Comfy and thin. He could see every ridge and bump of her nipples. God help him, she needed to get out of that provocative thing before he forgot how much her mind and heart meant to him, and he ravaged her body.
“Don’t you have to get dressed?”
“Yeah. The limo will be here in about ten minutes. Just give me a sec.”
—
Nichole headed into her bedroom and closed the door. With an inch gap left, she paused, rested her forehead against the frame, and took one last glance at Matt, savoring the view.
He scowled that perpetually sexy scowl of his, cursing at the thick leather strapped across his well defined chest.
She swallowed hard, thinking about his bare skin and all those layered muscles under her fingertips. She’d been reckless. Unable to keep her hands to herself, she’d used every lame excuse she could think of to touch him. The costume itself probably consisted of less than six inches of actual fabric, and she’d found a way to fiddle with and straighten every millimeter of it.
Cheap feels, that’s what she’d taken. She’d be ashamed if they hadn’t been so worth it. Besides, Matt hadn’t even noticed. He was too pissed off about the skimpy getup she’d packed him in to realize she’d all but mauled him.
She should feel guilty, objectifying someone she cared about so much. But Matt was heart-stopping hot; built tall and lean, with chiseled muscles that attested to his love of the outdoors. She was beyond restraint. Forces outside her control fueled the insanity of her lust. It was Valentine’s Day. Everywhere she turned, posters and commercials advertised products with the backdrop of passion that threatened to burn out of control. Diamonds, perfume, stuffed animals and greeting cards—she couldn’t turn around without a reminder that she, too, longed for a lingering stare and tentative touch filled with the promise of seduction.
Matt had inadvertently been feeding her fantasy file ever since they’d decided to share the apartment. When he walked around in a towel, with drops of water clinging to the forbidden stretch of curls beneath his navel, or stretched after a game of hoops at the gym with the guys—her mouth all but watered. How was she supposed to think when the bulk of his muscular shoulders and biceps rotated, bunched, and extended in front of her?
Of course, Matt had no idea how he affected her. He had no idea she had to change her panties after catching him with one arm braced against the freezer door as he drank orange juice straight from the carton. Or that she had nearly orgasmed when she found him shirtless under the sink in the kitchen, his jeans loose around his hips, his abdominal muscles flexing as he worked the wrench. Or that she’d abused one battery operated friend after another, desperate to find enough relief to help her actually fall asleep.
He had no idea, because they were just friends—and she’d learned long ago that Matt didn’t want anything more. Back in college, she’d gotten up her nerve to broach the subject, and she’d gotten so far as to rest her palm against his chest and ask if he’d ever thought about the two of them together. Matt had shut her down with a single word response. No. Then he’d given her a hug and walked out of her room.
She’d accepted it and moved on. Mostly.
They were friends…best friends…lifelong, touchy-feely friends, she rationalized, knowing full well that every time she knocked him in the arm or rested her hand against his shoulder to lean in and tell him a secret, or pressed her cheek against his forehead to test his skin for a fever, which was her worst offense to date—the guy hadn’t even been sick—it was only an excuse to touch h
im. To feel the sizzle across her skin, the simmer in her belly, that accompanied the slightest contact. But all the games were about to end.
He’d almost kissed her tonight. As she stood within the circle of his arms, she’d known with complete certainty that he was only a hair’s breadth away from giving in. He hadn’t acted on the impulse, but at least physically, to some degree, he had wanted her.
He wanted her, she wanted him—and knowing that, she came to a decision. Come hell or high water, she would get Matt into her bed. Getting this sexual need for him out of her system before she went crazy was the only way their friendship could survive.
Chapter Two
Nichole’s bedroom door swung open, and she strode out dressed for the gig. She was the only woman in the world who could primp in less time than it took Matt to get ready. Someone upstairs had it in for him.
