Unwrapped (10 page)

His scent enveloped her, completing the cozy circle and
swamping her with a kaleidoscope of memories. Pictures slid through her mind,
from their first meeting as nervous college freshman, to the all-night
laughter-filled study sessions that had cemented their friendship, to the
moment on the beach when everything died.

The grief of missing him would stay with her forever.

"I want to talk about today," he said.

Time to say goodbye to my comfort zone.

She dragged herself out of his arms. "You already made
your feelings clear." And worse, what he really thought of
her
.

"No, Mia," he said, grabbing her hand as she tried
to move past him and stopping her in her tracks. "I didn't. That's the
problem."

"What do you mean?" Why did her skin tingle
everywhere they touched? Why now, when they'd held hands casually a billion
times? She wanted to stamp her foot in frustration.

"I owe you an apology for the things I said. I know you
don't want to—"

Her heart gave a tiny lurch of hope—did this mean
their friendship wasn't over after all?—but she held up a hand to keep
him from repeating the ugly words he'd tossed at her. Did they really have to
revisit the whole mess?

"Well," he said, letting go of her hand to run his
fingers through his hair in a typical gesture that tugged at her heartstrings.
Sandy tufts stood on end all over his head. "I know you don't want that.
You just. . . took me by surprise. I'm sorry."

If she was honest, she'd surprised herself. But. . .

"You hurt me," she said.

He held her gaze, his eyes conveying as much as his words.
"I know," he said. "I never meant to, Mia. Can you forgive
me?"

Could she? She'd walk barefoot over hot coals to keep him in
her life. If they could get past this, forget it ever happened and go back to
normal. . . She'd do just about anything.

Nodding slowly, she wrapped her arms around herself and sat
on the end of the bed, hardly daring to hope they could simply sweep it all
under the rug.

"Good," he said, huffing out a breath of relief as
his smile bloomed.

His whole body relaxed, and it was only then she realized
exactly how wound up he'd been. His shoulders dropped and the tight lines
around his eyes and mouth smoothed out. The golden lights rekindled in the
melting topaz of his tiger's gaze.

She'd just have to stuff all the feelings of attraction back
in their box. She'd done it before. Nothing was more important than saving
their friendship.

The release of tension in the room left her a little lightheaded,
but evidently Derrick wasn't finished. He began pacing, his hands clasped
behind his back, a sure sign of an impending speech. Her nerves ticked back up
a notch. What now?

"So," he said, and she realized she was holding
her breath, "about this virgin thing."

Mia dropped her head into her hands. "Can't we just
forget it?" Why, why, why had she ever opened her stupid mouth?

The bed dipped beneath Derrick's weight as he sat beside her
and took her hands in his own, rubbing his thumbs in slow circles over her
palms. When she refused to look at him, he placed a finger beneath her chin and
gently raised it, forcing her to meet his eyes.

"See, that's the thing, Mia," he said, taking that
finger and running it along the side of her jaw. Back and forth, stroking all
her nerves to life. "I don't want to forget it."

He. . . what?
Mia
shook her head, not sure she'd heard him correctly.

"You. . . propositioned me earlier, and I flubbed it.
Now I have a proposition for you."

"You—"

"Maybe proposition isn't the right word," he
backtracked.

Her confusion mounted along with the tension in her muscles.
Spit it out, Derrick!

He took a deep breath, as though gearing up for what he
wanted to say. "I want to ask you out."

"Me," Mia said, her head positively spinning now.
"You want to ask me out. On a date?"

"Is that so surprising?"

"I—"
God, yes!
"—I mean, you never. . . we never. . . We're friends."

"Yeah," he breathed the word, his hand slipping
along her cheek and into her hair as if to hold her in place, but she couldn't
have looked away now if the room had burst into flames around them. "We
are." He pressed a kiss to her forehead, his lips searing against her skin
as if those flames had indeed sparked into existence. "And that's a great
place to start. But, Mia," he whispered into her ear, his breath stirring
her hair, making her shiver, "I want more."

Goose bumps flashed across her body. Derrick's lips, velvety
soft, nuzzled the fragile skin beneath her ear, and her head fell back on a
moan. He dropped hot, open-mouthed kisses down the column of her neck, rubbing
heat across her collarbone and sending a deep, primal need spiraling into her
core. She heard the click when her brain shut off and her body took over,
dragging her into the inferno he'd created on a wave of pure sensation.

His tongue flicked the hollow of her throat like a bolt of
lightning sizzling inside her bones, and suddenly everything was gasping,
panting, throbbing. Aching with need.

This, oh, this was what she'd been waiting for. This was
passion, desire, desperation.

Derrick.

Such a surprise, and yet. . . perfectly, wonderfully,
amazingly right.

Every motion slow, seductive, savoring, still her pulse beat
wildly, a frantic tattoo begging for more, and more, and more.

It took her a moment to realize he'd pulled back and a
moment more to lift her head, open her eyes. Gazes locked, watching her, he
brushed her lips with his. Light as the touch of a butterfly's wing, the impact
of his kiss shattered the dam inside her like a wrecking ball. But when she
would have surged, taking them both under in a kiss to end all kisses, he
soothed her with a touch, set the pace, kept it gentle. Once, twice, thrice,
before gathering her into his arms and resting his forehead against hers, his
breath bathing her face, his arms surrounding her with warmth.

Mia slid her arms around his waist, hands splayed, seeking
an anchor in the chaos of sexual yearning pouring through her system, a
demanding tidal wave. She held, hugging him to her. Breathing him in. Her body
absorbed the sensations, at once familiar and new, as though she'd never hugged
him before. They stayed that way a long time, until her heart's rhythm began to
settle.

But as her breathing slowed, her mind reengaged, and when he
tipped her chin to kiss her again, she placed a cautious hand against his
chest, moving back from his seeking mouth.

"Wait," she said.

Hadn't they just survived a serious test to their
relationship? She didn't want to risk another one. One that might destroy them
forever.

He covered her hand with his, brought it to his lips for a
kiss, one for each fingertip.

Mia
mmmmm'd
in her
throat. She couldn't help it. She felt more than saw his answering smile
against her fingers. Her body hadn't stopped quivering since the first brush of
his lips against her skin. He was like a potent new drug, clouding her senses
and better judgment, but before he could take her under again, she needed
clarification.

Forcing her lips to form the words she was half-afraid to
ask, Mia whispered, "What do you mean, 'more'?"

Derrick framed her face with his hands, but she must have
imagined the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, because when he spoke, his
voice was strong and sure. He said, "I want to make you a deal."

CHAPTER FIVE

"A deal," Mia repeated, frowning. Now what was he
up to?

"Exactly," he said, leaning back, his voice now
brisk. Almost senatorial, as though he were delivering an election speech.
"A deal. Date me for three months. If, at the end of that time, you still
want me to be the one to. . . to be your first, I will. If you change your
mind, no harm, no foul. We agree up front that, either way, it won't affect our
friendship."

And he smiled at her, like a schoolboy awaiting a gold star.

His words hit her like a bucket of icy water. She wrapped
her robe more firmly around herself, trying to realign her thoughts.

"Date you. For three months," she said, keeping
tight control of her voice when it wanted to waver. Was he mocking her and her
Rule? "I don't understand. You said you wanted more, but—do you want
to date me or not?"

"I want to give you the experience you've been waiting
for. When you asked me earlier, I didn't really get it. Why you were asking me,
what you wanted out of it. I talked to Jeff—"

"You told Jeff?" Could her humiliation get any
deeper?

Derrick continued as if he hadn't heard her. "And then
I understood."

He looked so pleased with himself. How could he be so
clueless?

"So this is for what, exactly? For show? A
project?" she asked, with an extra bite on the last word. If another guy
tried to make a project out of her ever again, she'd throttle him, best friend
or no.

"For the experience. The way it should be. We could
just hop in the sack and be done with it, but then all these years you've held
out for something special would be wasted."

Either way, now or in three months, she'd have one night
with her best friend, lose the virgin label, and have to move on with her life.
What difference would waiting make at this point? Why the dating sham?

She wrapped her arms around herself, cold to the bone.

Where there had been fiery passion only moments ago, now the
chilly formality of a business transaction sat between them. Or more like a
charitable donation, since she couldn't see any benefit to him in his little
deal beyond a fifty-fifty shot at sex, something he could drum up on his own
with a snap of his fingers.

The only thing she could think to say was, "That's very
generous of you." Evidently he missed the trace of sarcasm in her voice,
since he continued to smile at her. "Why are you doing this?"

Would he want to shake hands on it? Draw up papers to sign?

Now he stood and paced, a trace of agitation creeping back
into his broad shoulders.

"Because I care about you, Mia. I don't want to see you
make a mistake, do something you'll regret. Especially with me." He pulled
in a breath, ran his hands into his hair. Had she thought that gesture was
sexy? Now she wanted to yank his hair out by the roots. "You just broke up
with Barry, and he may have been the King of Pricks, but hopping in the sack
with the first available guy isn't the way to get over him, or get back at
him."

"I'm not trying to—" she started, but
Derrick held up a hand, and she clamped her lips shut, her hands vised
painfully in her lap to keep from wringing his fool neck.

"You've lived by your rule for years. I think it's
important for you to stick to that ideal. So we'll do it—date for three
months, make it look real, and give you a cooling off period after Barry. We
won't have to worry about you making an impulsive decision with another wrong
guy, because you'll be dating me. Then you can decide if you still really want
to do this." He paused, cleared his throat. "With me."

"So this is for my protection," Mia said, and oh,
it was a struggle to keep the temper out of her voice. "So the little
woman doesn't go off half-cocked—"

"Now, Mia—"

"—banging every guy in sight just to prove a
point—"

"I didn't say that—"

"You said exactly that, on the beach this afternoon.
And stop interrupting me." Mia sucked air into her lungs and resisted
kicking him as he strode past on his circuit about her room. She had no idea
when she'd stood up, but she moved into his path, jabbing his chest with her
forefinger. "You're taking it upon yourself to make sure I stick to my
'ideals'—" she air-quoted the word with a sneer, "because
clearly, after twenty-five years, I'm incapable of doing so myself."

"Damn it, Mia, I never said—that's not what I
meant." This time he fisted his hands in his hair, tugging on the strands
as she'd thought of doing. She hoped it hurt.

"Look," he continued, moving her still-jabbing
finger aside and stepping around her, "I care about you, and you care
about me." He waved away her irritated
tcha
with a flick of his wrist. "I want to do this right, not make
your first time a cheap one-night stand. I don't want that between us, and I
don't think you do, either."

Mia sat abruptly back on the bed and kept her eyes on her
hands, now clasped so tightly her fingers had gone numb, but that flicker of
shame came roaring back to life. More than anything, she regretted opening her
mouth and bringing up this topic in the first place.

No, she didn't want a one-night stand with Derrick, but
neither did she want some cold-hearted contract, each particular spelled out in
advance. Just penetration, or foreplay, too? How many minutes? Kissing? No
kissing? Cuddling afterward or dine-and-dash? How many dates during the three
months to make it seem real?

And most important of all. . . What about afterward?

"Your first time should be everything you've built it
up to be, Mia. With someone you trust, who cares about you. That's what you
deserve. If you're still determined
 
to do this with me, then at least I can give you the experience the way
it should be, or as close as I can make it, starting with the three months. So
it's something you look back on as a good thing, a happy memory. Not a
regret."

Why did his words still have the power to raise her pulse
rate? She should be kicking him and his master plan out the front door, but
even though he'd gone into oration-mode, something held her back, kept her
listening. Kept flicking her pulse.