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back. In fact, she wanted to thread her fingers repeatedly through those silky locks, then skim her palm back over the crown of his head, until she could curl her fingers around his warm nape and pull his head down to hers, and take his mouth in a hungry kiss that just went on and on and on. Then push his head lower, down over her breasts and belly, then lower still, between her legs and—
    And what the hell was she thinking? she wondered when she realized where her thoughts—and Turner’s mouth—were going. Obviously, she hadn’t gotten enough sleep lastnight. But that was what happened when you stayed up late watching old movies and then stayed up even later watching your best friend sleep because you’d never realized before how sexy he was when he did that. And now here Turner was, crowding her space, looking all hot and smelling all earthy and sounding all seductive, and gosh, would he think her untoward if she just sucked on his lower lip a little bit, just for a minute, and then maybe moved her own head lower, over his chest and torso, and then lower still, between his legs to suck some more, this time on his—
    And what the hell was she thinking? Turner was her friend, she reminded herself ruthlessly. He was her bestest buddy in the whole wide world. You weren’t supposed to suck the, um, lower lip of your best friend, not even for a minute. Everybody knew that. It was like rule number two of friendship, right after “You should never fool around with your best friend’s boyfriend.” Which actually didn’t even apply with Turner, so the, um, lower-lip-sucking rule would be numero uno for them. She’d told Turner things she’d never tell someone whose, um, lower lip she wanted to suck. So why would she even be thinking about sucking his, um, lower lip? And why would thinking about that make her feel so freaking hot?
    Man, she needed a cigarette. Bad. But how unfair would that be, to smoke in front of Turner, when he had to go the whole day without? Then again, why did she care? He wasn’t exactly being fair, either, looming over her looking all sexy and sounding all sexy and smelling all sexy and being all sexy and making her want to suck his, um, lower lip.
    She expelled a long, unsteady breath she hadn’t even been aware of holding, and took a minute to let her heart stop racing. But when she realized it was going to be awhilebefore her heart stopped doing that, she gave up. Trying not to sound as breathless as she felt, she replied, “Sure, I’d love some coffee.”
    He smiled in a way that made her think he knew what she really wanted—and it wasn’t coffee—and she couldn’t help wondering if he suspected her of that, um, lower-lip-sucking business. Nah, she immediately reassured herself. Turner only thought of her as a friend. As his bestest buddy in the whole wide world. Dammit. He couldn’t possibly suspect her of wanting to suck his, um, lower lip.
    And she didn’t want to suck his, um, lower lip, anyway, she reminded herself. She didn’t . She’d just woken up feeling horny, like ninety percent of women in her demographic—that demographic being single, twentysomething, professional females who had gone date-free for way too long. And since Turner was the only human being in the vicinity with a Y chromosome, it was only natural she’d want his, um, lower lip. Simple chemistry. No, she quickly corrected herself. Simple biology. She and Turner didn’t have any chemistry together. Well, not since their junior year in high school. And the kind of chemistry she was talking about now didn’t involve beakers and Bunsen burners. Well, not in the way they were supposed to be used, anyway.
    Oh, stop it, she told herself. Thinking that way was only going to make this day longer than it already promised to be. Turner was her friend. Period. And she wasn’t about to let anything change that. Friends, good friends, the kind you could trust no matter what happened, were too hard to come by in