Are You Lonesome Tonight?

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.