Unwrapped (14 page)

On the way to the car, Derrick vowed two things to himself.
One, Jeff and Greg were never—ever—getting ready for a costume
party at his place again. He had enough false eyelashes, press-on nails and
torn stockings littering his bathroom to outfit an entire chorus line.

And two, after this party, Mia was never allowed to choose
another costume.

He tugged at the curly white wig and beard with irritation,
already hot and sweaty. Plus, the damn thing itched like hell. His giant black
boots clomped on the stairs, and he had so much padding on he couldn't fit
behind the wheel of his car. In the end, Jeff had to drive.

Why the hell had he agreed to go as Santa to a costume
party? It wasn't a
Christmas
costume
party, for crying out loud.

Allison held her annual masquerade the first week of
December every year because, as an event coordinator, she often worked
Halloween, and plenty of their friends already had kids demanding their
trick-or-treating time. But this was the first year Derrick had ever been
talked into attending in a seasonally-themed getup, and he didn't much care for
it. Not that he wanted to go sexed-out like Greg and Jeff, but he wouldn't have
minded a cooler costume to get Mia's juices flowing. It wasn't like there'd be
any kids there to play the Big Guy for—that was the whole point. It was
an adult party.

He sighed heavily, feeling vastly put upon, and hugely fat.
Not the look he'd had in mind.

The only benefit was if the night turned truly cold, he had
enough layers to cover all the half-naked people likely to be at the party.
Given Allison's usual crowd, Jeff's and Greg's barely-there garb would be
conservative. He, on the other hand, looked a proper Santa Claus, covered from
wooly head, to wrists, to toes, and everywhere in between. If Mia hugged him
hello, he wouldn't even be able to feel her through his suit.

Derrick sat in the back of his own car—the Honda CRV
this time, since the three of them wouldn't have fit in the
convertible—and grumbled to himself while Jeff navigated the streets and
flirted with Greg. He noted Greg wore the ring Jeff had purchased for him on
his left hand and wondered if they'd be making an announcement tonight.

Mia's ring was safely ensconced in his wall-safe at home,
but he wished like hell it was already on her finger. He wanted what Jeff and
Greg had, that commitment, the love they shared acknowledged for all to see.

Plus, she was driving him crazy with her antics, trying to
get him to forget about the Three Month Rule and get down to business. Keeping
his hands—and mouth, and tongue, and other protruding body
parts—off her was a daily struggle that left him so wound up with
frustration by the time he got home, he usually entered his house cross-eyed
and knocked into walls on his way to the shower where he could get
some—very temporary—five-fingered relief.

On one hand, her eagerness boosted his confidence by leaps
and bounds. He was almost certain she was falling for more than his body. On
the other hand, he worried constantly that she was
only
interested in his body and just wanted their one
night together as soon as possible.

Which he could understand if she was even half as hot for
him as he was for her, but it made for uneasy thoughts. The more time he spent
with her, the more he wanted her. All of her. Forever. Could she possibly feel
the same for him? He just didn't know. Not for sure. Not enough to risk getting
down on his knee just yet.

Women, he'd decided, were very difficult to read.

When they arrived at Allison's, the party was already in
full swing. Music blared out the open doors and windows, and the garage was
jammed with bodies writhing to the beat beneath a strobe light that flashed
everything black and white and black.

She'd bought the house, in the older section of Placentia,
as a repo for a song, then sexed her way through the remodel at next to no
cost, an arrangement she claimed left both sides satisfied. Derrick didn't
doubt it, though he sometimes worried about her love-'em-n-leave-'em routine.

Jeff and Greg dumped their community offering of beer into
his arms and made a beeline for the heavily-spiked punch bowl in the garage,
leaving Derrick to hunt down Mia on his own. They'd arranged to meet at the
party rather than driving together because Mia wanted to keep her costume a
surprise. If she walked out as Mrs. Claus, he didn't know if he'd be pleased at
the inference or disappointed to find her as covered up as he was himself.

Juggling the beer against his appropriately jiggling belly,
Derrick pushed his way through the throng inside the house. He jerked his chin
at Allison by way of greeting when he spied her across her front room, gyrating
to AC/DC's
Shook Me All Night Long
with
three guys at once.

As he'd suspected, she'd outdone Greg's and Jeff's getups,
though he supposed technically she at least had a layer of fabric covering her
from neck to toe. The only issue was the completely sheer, skin-hugging
cloth—minus a few strategically placed spangles—left her body on
three-hundred-sixty-degree display. But if she wasn't worried about it, why
should he? She had a tiara on her head, needle-thin heels on her feet and looked
like she was having the time of her life in her why-bother costume.

He also suspected Jeff would ask to borrow that costume as
soon as he saw her, even knowing it wouldn't stretch to cover the difference in
their heights. Or their genitalia.

Derrick finally reached the kitchen and dumped the beer, but
Mia was nowhere to be seen. He'd spotted her car outside, so he knew she was
here. Deciding to brave the mosh pit in the garage, he headed that way,
exchanging lifted hands and pats on the back with people he knew.

Stepping into the wildly pulsing light and ear-numbing boom
of sound, Derrick made his way slowly around the dance floor, keeping his eyes
peeled. Jeff and Greg had hooked up with Mark and Brian already, and the four
of them were holding center stage, dancing for all they were worth. They didn't
notice him in the crowd.

The horde shifted, sinuous as a snake, and there she was. It
was a damn good thing he'd already delivered the beer, or he would have dropped
every bottle at his feet.

"Well, ho, ho, ho," he said with a low whistle.

Mia posed, her eyes locked on his as though she'd been
watching him all along. Hip shot, with one hand braced on her upper thigh, the
other tracing the bare skin between her breasts, she gave him a come-hither
smile from ruby-red lips. Derrick was walking toward her before he consciously
gave his feet the order to move.

In a costume that could have been termed demure only when
compared to the rest of the gathering, she exuded pure sex in a way other
girls, for all their posturing, could never match. One part angelic innocence,
one part all-knowing goddess, Mia was a force of nature, irresistible, a potent
combination that made his heart bound and his cock stand up and crow.

For the first time all evening, he was grateful for her
costume choice, as the layers disguised the raging erection now straining the
front of his red-velvet trousers.

A deep green elf's hat trimmed in white fur perched on her
dark, glossy hair. She'd curled the silky strands into impossible corkscrews
that rioted about her face and made him want to pull on them to watch them
spring and wind around his fingers.

But the costume. . . It bore something of a resemblance to
Santa's helpers, he supposed. If Santa's helpers worked in the pleasure dens of
some mysterious underground civilization steeped in passion.

A strapless bikini-style top in the same fabric as the hat
performed magical feats on her breasts, simultaneously maintaining a tenuous
grip on her skin and pressing those pale-honey globes into an offering fit for
a god. Heavy golden scrollwork added luster to the fabric and picked up the
warmth in her coloring.

His eyes traveled the long, long expanse of naked skin
between the top, her tiny waist, and the even tinier matching skirt hanging
onto the curve of her hips for dear life. He doubted its length would span the
width of his hand. The fitted velvet made only a teasing attempt to cover her.
. . assets.

She stole his breath.

A few months ago, she wouldn't be caught dead in a bikini on
the beach. But now look at her. Pride in her freshly-restored confidence made
him want to beat on his chest and swing with her through the trees.

In the lull between songs, jingle bells sewn onto the bottom
of her skirt tinkled merrily as she swished her hips to take the last few steps
to him. He'd stopped walking without realizing it to stare at her in
open-mouthed hunger.

Reaching him, Mia smiled coyly, batting her sparkly-tipped
lashes, and flicked the gold buttons on the front of his suit.

"Santa," she said, the lights dazzling in her
green eyes like emeralds over flame.

"Mnhhnehn," he gurgled. Clearing his throat, he
tried again, but the words stuck there, impossible to articulate.

Laughing, she pulled his fluffy beard down to plant a
friendly kiss on his half-open mouth. "It's nice to see you, too."

New music blasted, and still he stared. Dimly, he recognized
one of his favorite Poison songs, but it was all clanging, scrambled notes in
his head. He shook himself, trying to get a grip. He'd seen her in less, for
Christ's sake. He'd seen her naked that first night, inside her furry pink
robe. But something about this costume had his tongue wrapped in a knot. And
he'd rather wrap it around her.

He wanted to drag her off by the hair to his man-cave and
ravish her into the new year.

Derrick knew he'd stared too long when the lively humor in
her face started to slide into worry. She thought he didn't like it. Third
time's a charm, he thought, and pitched his voice to be heard over the music.

"Y-you look amazing," he shouted, waving his hand
to indicate the entire package, and relief flashed across her face.

"Thanks," she shouted back, her smile restored.
"You, too."

Below the excuse for a skirt, her thighs were encased in
black fishnet stockings and shiny black thigh-high boots she probably got at
the same place Jeff bought his equally high-heeled red ones. Knowing Jeff,
they'd gone shopping together. In fact. . .

Derrick lifted his head above the crowd, and sure enough,
there was Jeff, watching them and grinning like an idiot. He shot Derrick a
double thumbs-up before returning to the sex-on-the-floor moves he liked to
call dancing with Greg.

Allison wiggled up to them at that moment and squealed loud
enough to be heard three counties over. "Oh, my God, you guys look so
cute! Come inside, I have to get a picture." And she grabbed them both by
the hand and dragged them behind her through the torrent of people cramming
themselves inside her little house.

Shoving innocent bystanders out of the way willy-nilly,
Allison cleared a space for them on a dark-gold wingback chair in her living
room.

"Sit on Santa's lap, darling girl, and tell him what
you want for Christmas," she told Mia with a wicked grin.

Cooperating, Derrick spread his false-bulk in the chair,
then patted his knee, giving her his best lecherous leer. Mia smiled cheekily
at him, lifting the impossibly short skirt in a minute curtsy before arranging
herself on his thigh like a good little elf, one long leg crossed delicately
over the other. He imagined he could feel the heat of her body burning through
the velvet trousers, singeing his leg hair to a crisp.

He spanned her waist with his gloved hands, holding her in
place and cursing the thickness of the fabric separating his fingers from her
bare skin. She circled her arms about his neck. Over the crowd, the food, the
stale, sweat-soaked air, he drew in the sensual scent that was all Mia.

Nostrils flaring like a wildcat scenting his mate, he licked
his lips and tried, once again, to get a grip.

Licking
her
—along
the satiny curve of her waist to the top of her ribcage and down between her
glorious breasts—would probably be a bad idea in public, but that didn't
stop him imagining his tongue making the trip.

"Derrick."

"Hmm?"

Distracted, Derrick shifted to rearrange the straining bulge
in his trousers. How many unsatisfied hard-ons did that make in one ten-minute
period? Up, down, up, down, with no relief in sight. It couldn't be healthy.

Mia tapped his cheek to gain his attention. They smiled on
cue for Allison, who fired off several shots, until Derrick's eyes saw spots
from the repeated flash.

"Okay, okay," he yelled over the pumping base of
Def Leppard's
Rock of Ages
, "that's
good."

"Let me see," Mia demanded, bouncing up from
Derrick's leg.

She and Allison huddled over the camera, flipping through
the shots while he wished Mia would come sit back in his lap.

"Oh, that's a good one," Mia said, "look,
Derrick." She placed one hand on his shoulder and held the camera beneath
his nose to display the photo.

Shock stilled the hand he'd been about to wrap around her
waist. What the. . . Shit.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The photo loomed in front of his face, one unguarded moment
in time captured forever. It was a great shot of Mia, but in Derrick's opinion
it revealed too much, far more than the skin bared by her tiny costume. Would
everyone recognize what he saw?

Mia glowed like a flame, beaming her brilliant smile at the
camera, her eyes sparkling. Her body in the skimpy velvet and fur rivaled any
he'd ever seen. But it was the expression on his face that gave the game away,
even beneath the concealing mass of the wig and beard. His smile was barely
visible, aimed at Mia rather than the camera, and in his eyes shone absolute
adoration.