Andie lay staring at the ceiling through the darkness, telling herself for the fiftieth time that she was absolutely not going to drag herself out of bed and go all the way out there. Not this time.
Not ever again, in fact. She was turning over a new leaf. Was giving the old Andrea Spencer the heave-ho and introducing a new improved version, one who was impervious to sweet-talking men with gray-green eyes and fetching smiles.
“Did it ever occur to you that I might not be alone?” She glared at the ceiling. “That I just might have better things to do at four-thirty in the morning than help you toast your ex-wives goodbye? I’m a normal twenty-nine-year-old single woman, Connor. I do have a life other than Devlin Electronics.”
“We promised once we’d always be there for each other. Remember?” he murmured. “Not going to break a promise to a blood brother, are you? Not going to leave your best friend in the lurch when he needs you?”
Not even thinking, she ran her finger along her left thumb, feeling the ridge of scar tissue. Twenty years later and it was still there.
Blood brothers.
Then, realizing what she was doing—what he was doing—she slapped her open palm down onto the bed, eyes narrowing. “Damn you,” she whispered furiously. “Damn you, Connor Devlin. That’s not fair! I’ve always been there for you when you’ve needed me. All you’ve ever had to do was call and—”
Gotcha.
He didn’t have to say anything.
Was smart enough not to.
Andie closed her eyes and blew out a long breath, swearing softly at him. A husky, warm laugh came down the line, enfolding her like a hug, and she swallowed a sigh, wondering who she’d been trying to kid, telling herself she’d be able to resist him. She never had. Not once in twenty-two years.
“An hour,” she muttered ungraciously. “And put the cap on that damned Scotch, because if you’re all drunk and maudlin when I get there, I swear I’ll turn around and come home.”
He laughed. “When was the last time you saw me maudlin, darlin’?”
“Seven years ago, when we went through this the first time,” she reminded him testily. “And put on the coffee.”
“Decaf?”
“High-octane.” She sat up and rubbed her eyes. “You owe me for this, Devlin. Big-time!”
“Name it and it’s yours, darlin’,” he said with a chuckle. “Love you, lady.”
And the worst part of it was—that for those few moments it took him to say the words—he probably meant them.
* * *
It didn’t take her long to get over there. She pulled on her comfortable old jeans and a sweater, shoved her makeup and hairbrush in her handbag, then grabbed something suitable for work before heading for the door, grabbing her slim leather briefcase while fumbling for her car keys.
She had to be out of her mind. Yawning and shivering slightly with the cold, Andie unlocked her little red Mercedes and slipped behind the wheel, shaking her head with disgust as she put the key in the ignition and turned it.
You’d think she’d have this under control by now. After all, she wasn’t a kid anymore. It was one thing to fall in love with the cute guy next door when she was ten, quite another when she was three weeks shy of her thirtieth birthday and he still didn’t have a clue how she felt about him.
Pathetic, that’s what it was, she told herself grumpily. Just damned pathetic!
It took her all of thirty minutes to get there, the usually crowded freeway wondrously empty, the back roads leading to the big house on its five acres of rambling hills overlooking the sea deserted and pitch-black.
It always gave her an odd feeling, driving up the winding laneway with its overhanging trees, the air heavy with the scent of pine and sea salt. She’d come up here the first time nearly eleven years ago, and the memories of that night were still tender.
Conn had been a twenty-one-year-old college senior when she’d left, brilliant and popular and filled with dreams. He and his best friend, Billy Soames, had been talking of quitting college and starting their own computer company, and not long after Andie had left, they’d done it. And by eleven months later, their small two-man company had become the fastest-growing software firm on the West Coast, its two young owners successful beyond their dreams and wealthier than either had ever imagined possible.
Andie smiled humorlessly as she drove up the circular driveway. The house rose dark and solid against the night sky ahead of her, the front entrance lit up like a Christmas tree for her arrival. There had been no lights on to welcome her arrival that night eleven years ago.
It had been late that night when she’d gotten here—nearly midnight. She’d come back to Seattle from New York because she couldn’t stay away any longer. She had decided, finally, that she was simply going to have to take the initiative and make him fall in love with her, starting out with a full-fledged seduction she’d planned down to the last detail.
She hadn’t called or even written to warn him that she was coming, wanting to surprise him, wanting to see the expression on his face when he opened the door and saw her standing there, champagne bottle in one hand, suitcase in the other.
Well, she’d surprised him, all right. He’d pulled the door open and had stared blankly at her for a full second, then had frowned and asked her what the hell she was doing there at midnight. Then, recovering, he’d laughed and had wrapped her in a long, warm hug and had invited her in.
He’d barely tossed her coat over a chair and had told her to sit down when a petulent female voice had called his name from the depths of the house. And before Andie could gather her startled wits together and collect her coat and leave with some measure of dignity still intact, a tall, slender blonde had drifted into the living room, tousled and sleepy-eyed.
She’d been wearing a satin housecoat and nothing else and had gazed at Andie with patent displeasure. And then Conn, grinning like a fool, had come back into the living room, put his arm around the creature, kissed her...and, without even a hint of irony, had introduced her as Liza, his wife.
Wife.
Even now, more than a decade later, Andie felt a wave of heat brush her cheeks. Mortified and furious, she’d mumbled something in reply, collected her coat and suitcase and had bolted, blinded by tears. Conn had come after her, asking her what the hell was wrong, why she wouldn’t stay at least long enough to tell him what she was doing back in Seattle and where she was staying. Then Liza had called him back to her and Andie had fled into the night, stumbling into her parents’ spare bedroom at one in the morning to cry her eyes out, heart broken.
If she’d had the money, she’d have been on the next plane back to New York. But she’d had too little cash and too much pride. In the end she had defiantly stayed in Seattle, finishing college, finding a good job and a nice apartment and even a boyfriend or two. And to hell with Connor Devlin and his wife.
That had been eleven years and two Mrs. Devlins ago and she was still here, Andie thought as she brought the Mercedes to a stop in front of his house. Oh, on the surface everything had worked out. She had a job she loved, a beautiful apartment filled with antiques and fine art, a city full of great friends, even a man who wanted to marry her. Everything but the one thing she wanted most of all.
She still didn’t have Conn Devlin.
He’d left the door unlocked for her, and as Andie stepped into the dark stillness of the big foyer, she paused instinctively for a second or two, listening. But there was no hint of unfamiliar perfume on the air, no tinkle of throaty female laughter.
Grinning at her own silliness, she walked confidently through the darkness to the corridor leading to the living room, instinctively skirting the antique table on her left