What Are Friends For?. Naomi Horton
with some surprise, that he meant it. “We’ve never kept secrets from each other. I know you and that French banker, André or Albert or whatever his name is, have been seeing a lot of each other lately.”
She leaned back with an exaggerated sigh, crossing her arms. “I presume you mean Alain DeRocher, the French-Canadian investment analyst you introduced me to last year. Yes, we have been seeing each other pretty often, or as often as possible, considering I live on one side of the continent and he lives on the other. And no, he wasn’t with me tonight. Nor was anyone else, for that matter. Happy?”
Conn gave a grunt, only half-mollified. “So you and he aren’t...?” He lifted his eyebrow eloquently.
“Connor!” She gave a burst of laughter. “It’s none of your business if we are!” Still grinning, she looked at him with amusement. “Although, to forestall any more questioning, no, we are not—yet,” she added slyly.
“Yet.” Conn’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Meaning he’s thinking about it.”
“Of course he’s thinking about it—he’s French!”
“And you’d...?” He lifted his eyebrow again.
“Now that’s really none of your business!”
“So you’re thinking about it, too.”
“Connor!” Andie took a deep breath, then let it out again with a quiet laugh. “I bet he would at least bring me flowers and wine before trying to peel me out of my jeans.”
Conn winced. “I said I was sorry about that, damn it.”
“Mmm.” She looked at him for a moment, an odd expression on her face. “What I’m saying, Conn, is that I just don’t know how I feel about him. He’s certainly everything a woman could want....”
Conn gave a grunt, not liking the expression on her face. Not liking the idea of DeRocher trying to peel her out of a damned thing, flowers or no flowers. “He’s too old for you.”
Andie’s left eyebrow arched indolently. “Excuse me?”
“Well, hell, he’s got to be fifty if he’s a day.”
“Forty-one.”
“Like I said, he’s too old for you.”
“I like older men.” There was a dangerous glow in her eyes.
“He’s probably married.”
“He’s never been married.”
“Never?” It was Conn’s turn to lift his eyebrow. “Don’t you think that’s damn strange? That this perfect specimen of a man has never been married? Doesn’t that tell you something?”
“It tells me,” she said sweetly, “that he is considerably wiser that some men I could mention.”
“Sounds to me as though he’s got some sort of problem. In the fun-and-games department, I mean.”
“Trust me,” Andie shot back even more sweetly. “He has no problem in that area at all.”
“I don’t even want to know how you’ve figured that out if you haven’t even—”
“Didn’t you tell me just last week that you don’t have to take a boat out to know whether it’s going to handle well in heavy weather or not? Gut instinct, I think you said.”
“I also mentioned experience,” Conn said silkily. “And I think I’ve had a bit more experience with sailboats than you’ve had with—”
“Do you have any idea at all of how thin that ice is where you’re standing?”
Conn grinned, cutting into the French toast with his fork. “Hey, I was just trying to make a point. If you like the guy, fine...go with what feels good. Just don’t start getting serious about him or anything, though, because—”
“He’s asked me to marry him.”
She said it quietly, without laughter or even a sly smile to soften it, and Conn nearly choked on a mouthful of toast. “He’s what?” His bellow made her blink. “Marry you? He can’t marry you! It’s out of the damned question!”
“And just why is it out of the question?”
“Because...” He didn’t know for certain, Conn realized, but there was no damned way he was going to let Andie, his Andie, marry some no-good French-Canadian financier and— “Your job, for one thing,” he said with satisfaction. “He lives in Montreal. Your job is here. The commute is a killer.”
“Alain lives in Quebec City,” she said calmly. “His ancestral home is there—all forty-seven rooms of it. His head office is in Montreal, but he’s only there a couple of days a week.”
“Even worse,” Conn growled. “Quebec City is even farther away.”
“I’d quit my job, obviously.”
“Over my dead body.”
“Easily enough arranged, Mr. Devlin.”
“You’re my best friend. You can’t move to Canada—what would I do without you?”
Something flickered across her face, gone before he could figure out what it was. “You’ll manage, Conn. You always do.”
“That’s not the point.” He felt unsettled and angry for no real reason, and he frowned at her, reaching out suddenly to run his finger down the silken sweep of her hair. “You’re not really going to marry him, are you, Andie?”
“I don’t know what you’d have to say about it if I did.” She sounded impatient and a little angry herself, and there was a hint of color across her cheekbones. “I have a life of my own, Connor. You seem to forget that sometimes. I have a right to be happy. My entire existence doesn’t revolve around you, you know.”
Conn looked across the table at her, trying to read her expression. “Are you saying you’re not happy?” He mulled the thought over, trying to make some sense of it. “Are you saying—?”
“I’m not saying anything,” she snapped, stabbing a piece of French toast with her fork. “It’s just that sometimes I think you don’t see me as a person at all. I’m just good old Andie, best friend and blood brother. I take care of your office, make your dental appointments, hire and fire your cleaning staff, pick up your dry cleaning. I make sure you get to meetings on time, that your jet’s fueled up and ready to go when you need it, that your library books get back on time.”
She put the fork down with a bang and looked up at him angrily. “My God, I don’t know why you even bother getting married. I do everything a wife does, without any of the hassles of divorce!”
Conn simply stared at her, trying to figure out just what the hell he should be saying. Knowing that whatever it was, it had better be good. He hadn’t seen her like this in a long time, had no idea what had set her off. “Look, Andie,” he said carefully, feeling his way gingerly through a verbal mine field, “I know I can be—”
“Forget it.” She shoved her chair back and stood up, cheeks flushed slightly. “I know what you’re going to say, and you’re right. You can be a selfish, arrogant bastard at times. But this isn’t about you, it’s about me. I—”
She stopped abruptly, then just shrugged and managed a rough smile. “Oh, don’t look so alarmed, Conn—I’m not going to run off to Canada and marry Alain DeRocher or quit my job or throw dishes or anything. I’m just tired and I needed to let off some steam. Finish your breakfast while I take a shower, and I promise that by the time I come out I’ll be back to normal.”
“Hey, Andie?” Conn got to his feet in one easy move, reaching out to grab her arm gently as she turned to leave. “Hey, darlin’, I’m sorry. I had no