She sighed in frustration. “Why did you call, Carter?”

He rolled the empty bottle between his palms. “Because you’re my friend.”

“A dubious distinction, I’m sure.” She said it lightly to hide how much that reference hurt. It was true enough, but the trouble was she didn’t want to be his friend. Over the past year she’d come to know him and realize that she wanted so much more from him. More than he seemed to want to give her. Then she corrected herself: couldn’t give her.

“But I’ve been your friend for more than a year now, and you’ve never called me at home before. Obviously something happened. Why did you call today?”

He turned a bleary gaze her way. He blinked and his eyes seemed to clear. “What do you mean? Sure I have.”

“Called me at home?” She let out a strained chuckle. “Uh…no. Only at work. You call me all the time in my office. We do lunch in the cafeteria. We talk at the water cooler. Sometimes we go for walks around the grounds.”

We discuss politics and religion, books and movies. We talk about our lives and our dreams. I know you better than I know anyone, and yet I can’t get close to you. I’m not allowed to touch you.

She averted her eyes because she felt as if his gaze might cut through her heart. Softly she added, “We never talk outside of work.”

“We don’t?”

“No,” she ground out. “We don’t.”

He turned his gaze back to the bottle. “Oh.”

“So?” she asked, frustrated. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing really. It’s really not that big a deal.” He reached for another beer, pulled it out of the cardboard pack and had just managed to pop the top before she laid a hand on his forearm and stopped him.

“Carter,” she said softly. “I think you’ve had enough.”

He looked from the bottle to her and back to the bottle again. “Shit.”

She squeezed his arm, trying to ignore the warmth of his skin beneath her hand. The firm plane of muscle, the ripple of sinew. She tried to see him as a friend rather than a man. And, as usual, failed miserably.

“Please, Carter. Talk to me.”

He set the bottle back on the coffee table with a sharp crack that made her cringe. “She dumped me.” Abruptly he stood, and strode on surprisingly steady legs to the small galley kitchen.

Lee felt as if she’d been socked in the gut. She couldn’t possibly have heard right. “She what?”

He wrenched open the fridge and glared into it. “She dumped me. What about that didn’t you understand?”

Her mouth hung open for a moment. “But I thought you two-” I thought you two were going to get married.

She’d resigned herself to it. Oh she’d made her share of wishes. She’d prayed and pleaded with a God that she was sure would never hear her. Carter wasn’t hers and never would be. He belonged to another, and no matter how hard Lee wished or prayed or begged she couldn’t change that. She’d learned to accept it, live with it.

And now everything had changed. It felt as if the world had shifted beneath her.

“Yeah. So did I.” He pulled a can of cola out of the fridge and popped the tab. Scowled at it, but then lifted it to his mouth and drank anyway.

Lee stood and moved a little uncertainly into the kitchen. She braced herself against the counter in an effort to steady her own wobbly knees.

He set the can on the counter, and when he spoke his voice was soft, thoughtful. “I was looking at rings and everything, you know? Figured maybe another year and…” He shook his head in frustration. “What a waste of time. She said we were going nowhere. She said…”

He looked up and ran his tongue over his upper lip, wiping away a few beads of sweat that had gathered there. Despite her own shower, the heat had already plastered Lee’s blouse to her back. She had noticed that only one window was open, but had no intention of turning her focus away from him now.

“I wasn’t exciting enough.” He let out a harsh bark of laughter. “Not spontaneous enough. Can you believe it? Fucking bitch. I can’t count how many times I--”

He stopped and looked up in surprise when her hands cupped his cheeks, her fingers rubbing over a light growth of stubble. She’d never had the nerve to touch him like this before, but outrage and perhaps a trace of protectiveness had infused her with a rare courage.

“She’s a fool, Carter.” Her tongue felt thick and her pulse pounded in the base of her throat. “A bitch and a fool. You’re the most attractive, intelligent, exciting man I’ve ever met, and if she can’t see that then--”

His mouth sealed to hers, his lips crushing and demanding, and infinitely exciting. He stole the words from her throat and all lucid thought from her mind. He filled her world. Crowded her senses.

All she could feel was the hard, agonizing pressure of his chest grinding against her breasts and the heat of his skin against hers. He smelled of sweat, tasted of beer and urgency. His arms wrapped around her back and desire pooled in her belly, sweet and heavy as it settled ever lower. Ever deeper.

He plundered her mouth, his tongue hot and aggressive. She could taste his anger, his frustration-and her own desire. She wanted him now-had wanted him, it seemed like forever, but somewhere deep in the recesses of her soul, buried under layers of insecurity and uncertainty, she found one tiny shred of pride. She dragged it to the surface and forced herself to acknowledge it.

She grasped his wrists and tugged at his hands that had embedded themselves in her neatly cropped hair. Their lips parted. Barely.

Her breathing rapid and ragged, she said only, “Carter.”

“Hmm?” He drew away just enough to look down at her, his eyes suddenly clear and a deep emerald green--so green it hurt to look at them. “What is it?” He whisked a kiss across one cheek and then the other. “Oh God,” he whispered. “You taste wonderful.”

One hand cupped a breast.

She stifled a groan of mingled frustration and pleasure. “You don’t really want me,” she said, each word slicing across her lips like a finely honed razor. “You’re just looking for a substitute.” She swallowed. “For her.”

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