Page 30 of The Friend

As his arms slid around her torso and she yielded to the pressure of his embrace and the reassuring warmth, she wondered for the hundredth time over the last twenty-four hours what on earth she was doing.

His friendship meant the world to her. Was it worth potentially sabotaging for a quick fling?

“Weiss,” he sighed, his warm breath fanning her cheek as he held her tightly. “You’re the best friend a guy could ever wish for. That’s not going to change.”

Her eyes closed as she leaned into him, savouring the physical contact, trying to keep her hands from wandering all over his body.

Damn, they’d hugged countless times before, yet it felt so different now. Having the hots for someone sent them crazy with the barest touch.

“It better not change.” He stroked her hair, the rhythmic movement soothing her like it always did. “You sure we’re not totally crazy?”

“That, I’m not so sure about.” She pulled away and stared into his eyes, the adorable laugh lines adding character to an already striking face. “Promise me that whatever happens, our friendship won’t change.Promise me.”

He nodded, his laughter fading as his fingertips brushed her cheek in a tender gesture that almost brought tears to her eyes. “You got it. And don’t worry, nothing’s going to change our friendship. Consider the rest of our time together a slumber party.”

His suggestive wink had her whacking him playfully on the arm in a familiar reflex gesture. However, her pulse picked up tempo as the full implication of what she was about to do hit her.

They were going to sleep together; though sleep would be the furthest thing from their minds when they finally got naked.

“Don’t you think we’re a bit old for sleepovers?”

He dropped a quick peck on her nose, before grabbing it between his thumb and forefinger and tweaking. “We’re never too old for anything. It’ll be fun, you’ll see.”

“In that case, your place or mine?”

He grinned, the wicked gleam in his eyes eliciting a jittery response deep in her gut. “Now you’re talking.”

She rolled her eyes and stood, brushing sand from her butt. “Flirt.”

“Flirting is good.” He stood and handed her the sarong she’d been lying on. “Here, cover yourself before I get carried away.”

“Why, don’t you like this?”

She twirled and struck a pose, enjoying his tortured expression. He wanted to flirt? No problem. There was nothing surer than this time, their flirting would lead somewhere: her plush king bed covered in Egyptian cotton sheets with a sky-high thread count, with the two of them getting friendlier than they ever had before.

Chapter Twelve

Judd tried not to stare, he really did, but it was like telling a hungry lion not to stalk its prey: his reaction to Abby was instinctive, and watching her parade around in the skimpy purple bikini had the blood draining from his pea-sized brain and heading south.

He’d done his damnedest not to ogle her while they’d been talking, but now with her taunting him to look, he drank his fill, taking in her smooth, lightly tanned skin, her long legs, small waist, and full breasts that threatened to spill out of her bikini top at any second.

She laughed at his reaction and he joined in, trying to make light of the situation, when all he wanted to do was lose himself in her right here, right now.

He shrugged and turned away, doing his best to appear nonchalant. “The bikini’s not bad, though I think blue is more your colour.”

He heard her splutter of outrage, unprepared for the straw bag to the back of the head.

“Ouch!” He swivelled around, ready to do battle, which in the past had involved tickling her until she cried truce.

However, she knew him too well and must’ve anticipated his move, because she darted past him and out the entrance of the cabana, yelling, “You’ll have to catch me first.”

“Tease,” he muttered, giving chase, secure in the knowledge she didn’t stand a chance of getting away.

And though Abby had speed, he caught her at the ocean’s edge, taking her down with a rugby-style tackle that sent them tumbling into the foam washing up on the beach.

“Let go of me, you big brute,” she spluttered, wriggling in his arms like a fish out of water.

“Not until you say truce.”

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