More Than Friends by Susan Mallery

of the lower hand teased at the waistband of her jeans. The steady beat of his heart under her ear was as familiar as her own. She thought he sighed softly. Did he feel it, too?
    Whispered phrases drifted to her. None of the words made sense, and she answered, using the same meaningless sounds, murmuring her need, the pain, how much she’d missed him.
    Her arms slipped under the jacket he wore and pressed hard against his sides and back. The flannel shirt was soft and warm, retaining the heat and scent of his body.
    Gradually she became aware that her breasts, free of the usual confines of a bra, were crushed against him. That the pressure had shifted from comforting to sensual. That they had stood holding each other for several minutes. That the rumblings weren’t words of love but the complaints of an unfed stomach.
    Reluctantly, she stepped back. “You’re hungry. You should have said something.”
    Chase shrugged. “It’s after midnight. I didn’t expect you to even be up.”
    “I wasn’t,” she admitted. “I’d gone to bed around ten, but then I woke up about a half hour ago and I had this feeling…” She glanced at the floor. “I can’t explain it.”
    He placed a hand under her chin and forced her to look at him. “You don’t have to, Jenny. Not to me.” His dark eyes gave nothing away and she wondered what had happened to the boy who had worn his heart on his sleeve.
    “Come on,” she said. “I’ll fix you something light.”
    “I don’t want to be any trouble.”
    “Will you stop it?” Jenny grabbed his arm and pulled him through her small living area into an equally tiny kitchen. “You’ve been at the hospital for hours. I bet you didn’t bother to eat while you were there.”
    “Would you eat hospital food if you didn’t have to?”
    “No. Sit.” She pushed him into an oak chair and placed her hands on her hips. “Have you eaten
anything
today?”
    “Some sort of meat substance on the plane. And the honey-roasted nuts. They’re my favorite.”
    Arched brows rose and fell suggestively until she felt herself grin. “You haven’t changed at all.”
    “The old Jackson charm. Gets ’em every time.” He leaned forward and shrugged off his bomber-style jacket. The brown leather had seen better days, but the faded patched garment suited the Chase she remembered.
    She’d wondered how he’d dress, now that he’d made his own way in the world. For the past two days, she’d tried to prepare herself for pinstripe suits and wingtips. Instead, he looked like any steelworker, clad in blue jeans and a flannel shirt. Only this shirt had been washed so many times, the colors of blue and white blurred together in uneven lines. Her gaze drifted back to his, then skittered away when their eyes met.
    “How about an omelet?” she asked.
    “Sounds great. Got any coffee?”
    “At midnight? How about cocoa?”
    He grimaced, then stretched. With his long, lean body and powerful shoulders, he overpowered her small kitchen. From end to end, the room barely measured eight feet. The table, white tiles framed in pale oak, seated two, but even then knees bumped underneath.
    Jenny pulled open the refrigerator door and removed three eggs and some raw vegetables. “Tell me about your dad. Did you talk to the doctor?”
    “Yeah. Dr. Martin stopped by while I was there. She told me a little about his condition.”
    He hesitated and she looked up from her chopping. “What?”
    “I don’t know. I guess I’m frustrated that no one will give me a straight answer.”
    “Maybe there is no straight answer.” She crossed the small room in three steps and rested her hand on his shoulder. “Your dad will be fine. He’s a strong old bird. You’ll see.”
    “I don’t think so.” He looked at the curtained window. “I think he’s going to die.”
    “Chase.”
    “I’m okay,” he said, still avoiding her gaze. “When I got the telegram, I started to prepare myself for the worst. I don’t know if