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Delaney’s new purchase—two of the perkiest, prettiest breasts he’d seen in a long time. Thrusting up toward the low neckline of her top, they positively begged for a man to reach out and see if they felt as delectable and firm as they looked. Wrenching his eyes away, he continued on his downward spiral into madness as he caught sight of the jeans she was wearing. Painted-on was the term that came to mind. Darkest black, and so tight that if she was a man he’d know what religion she was. But she wasn’t a man. Oh boy, she so wasn’t a man.
    “Shit!” was all he could think to say.
    Delaney flinched and her eyes flashed at him.
    “Thanks a lot. That’s all you can say? What have you done, and shit? Nice,” she said.
    Then she turned her back on him and walked away and, for the first time in his life, Little Sam reared up in his boxers and saluted his best friend. Since when did Delaney have such a delectable butt? Heaven. Pure heaven. Round and high and so grabable that when he looked down he saw his fingers had actually curled in anticipation.
    Suddenly Sam registered what he was doing, and the fact that he now had an embarrassing, incredibly inappropriate, illicit boner making itself at home in his jeans.
    Had the world fallen off its axis? What in the name of all that was good was going on here? Where on earth did he get off cracking a woody over his best friend?
    He never had sexual thoughts about Delaney. She was a complete no-go zone where that kind of stuff was concerned. She meant too much to him for him to stuff it up with some stupid sex thing. A long time ago, he’d made a decision—Delaney was out of bounds. And it had worked. It really had. He’d never even peeked when they changed out of their wetsuits at the beach. She was his friend, damn it. You didn’t check out your best friend.
    So why was there now a hard-on making its presence felt in his underwear?
    Sam shook his head to clear it.
    It was surprise, that was all. Delaney’s new look had taken him unawares, made him look at her in a different way before he could get his defenses up. That was all it was.
    And he’d offended her with his shocked reaction.
    “Shit,” he said again, but under his breath this time. Depositing the beers on Delaney’s recycled Oregon dining table, he followed her into her bedroom.
    She was pulling clothes out of the jumble of shopping bags on her big king-size bed. By the looks of it, she’d cleaned out the whole women’s department at David Jones.
    “You’ve been shopping?” he asked stupidly, reeling from yet another blow to his perception of the world.
    Delaney hated shopping almost as much as she hated makeup and…perfume? He sniffed the air suspiciously, becoming aware that a sweet, light fragrance had wrapped itself around him. It was the odor equivalent of crack cocaine—once he’d had one sniff, he couldn’t seem to get enough.
    “What’s that smell?” he demanded.
    Delaney threw her hands in the air. “It’s Dolce and Gabbana Light Blue. What’s wrong? Does it smell like horse manure? Is that what you’re going to tell me next?”
    Sam blinked at her anger, then admitted to himself that it might be a little justified. The problem was, he was in free fall here, staggering from one shocking revelation to another. But he probably could be a little more diplomatic about what was coming out of his mouth.
    “No, it’s nice,” he said.
    Delaney went back to clearing out her shopping bags, her movements tight with anger.
    “I’m sorry,” he said, painfully aware that he’d hurt her feelings with his insensitive reaction. Although it had been more oversensitive, if he were being pedantic about it.
    In fact, her hair looked great, not freaky at all. Silky and touchable. A perfect frame for her sweet face. Which wasn’t quite so sweet anymore, thanks to Mr. Max Factor and friends. More…sultry. Promising.
    Sam swallowed and shook his head. It was so not his place to be thinking any of