Unwrapped (3 page)

Friend, friend, friend.

If she chanted it to herself enough times, maybe her body
would remember and stop its horrible, delectable throbbing. God, she really wanted
to kiss him. To run her teeth along the edge of his lips. Taste the cord of his
neck.

He was waiting for her answer, but she could only shake her
head mutely, afraid to open her mouth for fear of the words that might tumble
from her tongue.

Afraid she'd beg him to kiss her, and ruin their friendship
forever.

Why was she even thinking about it? Barry must have really
churned her up, worse than she'd thought. She'd never rebounded so hard from a
guy before. This was going to be difficult.

Derrick straightened with an exasperated growl and turned to
her white-washed dresser, where he proceeded to open each drawer, paw through
and then slam them shut when he didn't find what he was looking for.

Finally, in the last one, he uttered a triumphant,
"Ah-ha!" and whipped a black one-piece up by the shoulder straps.

Flinging the suit into her lap with one hand, he pointed a
commanding finger at her with the other and said, "Change," in a
no-nonsense tone that insinuated she could do it willingly, or he'd change her
himself.

An R-rated vision instantly shot her into a sexy side-trip
where Derrick's big, rough, masculine hands glided slowly over her sensitized
skin, skimming her belly as he raised her t-shirt—

Horrified, Mia jerked her gaze from Derrick's hands, but,
oh, the humiliation wasn't over. Her fingers had closed automatically over the
black suit and now, realizing what she held, the red-hot tide of mortification
swam into her cheeks.

"I can't wear this," she croaked.

Her throat still tight with the strange longings pumping
unwelcome demands through her body, Mia stared at him helplessly.

Not Derrick.

Not now, after all these years. She'd stuffed any passionate
ideas about him away the first time they met, and they'd stayed stuffed. Guys
like him didn't date girls like her. He was the rock star, the guy everyone
loved. Talented, smart and sexy, the computer nerd who broke the stereotype
wide open. A jock with a romantic streak a mile wide.

She was the buddy, the safety zone, the practical,
non-romantic, asexual friend. The sidekick. Not the girlfriend.

But Derrick made an excellent friend. No way would she risk
ruining everything because her inner wannabe-sex-kitten suddenly sat up and
meowed in his direction.

She was vulnerable, upset. She shouldn't read too much into
it. She'd probably feel a tug for any guy who was nice to her right now. Even
though Barry had never once stimulated a response this strong in all the time
they'd been together. . .

Shaking her head, Mia reached inside and mentally pinched
herself.
Get a grip, woman!

"Mia—"

She cleared her throat, trying to ignore the warning note in
his voice. "I can't. It's too big."

It had fit the elephant she used to be just fine, though.
And he'd held it in his hands. Oh, God. Had he noticed how huge it was? Okay,
maybe she was never an elephant, but. . . Did he remember how wide her ass had
looked in that thing? Barry had certainly loved to remind her. She wanted to
bury her head beneath her many decorative pillows and not surface until winter.

Derrick merely snatched the suit from her hands and tossed
it into the far corner of her room. "Fine," he said. "Where are
the ones that fit?"

"I-I don't have any."

That brought him up short, his eyes narrowed on her face.
"What?"

"I don't have any suits that fit."

"Yes, you do. I've seen them."

But Mia could almost see his mind casting back over recent
months, over barbecues and bonfires and long, lazy days spent hanging out on
the sand outside her front door. Could almost see the moment when he realized
she'd been out in nothing but shorts and t-shirts—or worse, his old
sweats—since the beginning of summer. He frowned.

"Mia, you live at the beach. How can you not have any
swimsuits?"

Dropping her gaze to stare at her fingers twisting tightly
in her lap, Mia stalled. If she told him the truth, he'd hit the roof, but no
plausible excuses came to mind. A washing machine meltdown? A bathing suit
robbery?

Where were all the itty-bitty-bikini-bandits when she needed
them?

"Mia."

Fine. Wanting to get it over with, head down, she spoke in a
rush. "Barry wanted me to wait to buy any new ones until I lost some more
weight."

Fool that she'd been, she'd agreed. How had she let herself
get taken over so completely? Was she really that desperate to finally have a
relationship last longer than three months? To find someone worth giving her
virginity to?

Maybe, but at least she'd learned her lesson. She'd never
let herself get beaten down that way by a man again.

Never.

Silence rang. When she couldn't stand it any longer, Mia
peeped at Derrick from beneath her lashes, her breath held. He stood, ramrod
straight, arms crossed over his chest as he glared at her, his dark-winged
brows lowered like umbrellas braced before a coming storm.

He opened his mouth, to berate her no doubt, but Allison bopped
into the room at that moment, a cheery smile on her lips.

"Ready?" she asked. Then, surveying the two of
them, she paused, uncertain. "What's the hold up?"

Derrick shifted to face Allison, his expression taking on a
thunderous scowl. Jabbing a finger in Mia's direction, he said,
"She—"

Mia cut him off before he could get a full head of steam.
"I don't have any suits that fit," she said, leaving him sputtering,
his finger still jabbing.

Allison frowned at Derrick, a message flowing between the
two of them that Mia couldn't decipher. Before she could comment, Allison
turned to her, sunny smile renewed.

"No problem," she said, "I have an extra one
in the car. Be right back!" And she bopped back out of the room before
either of them could speak.

Silence reigned once more, now accompanied by Derrick's
muffled footsteps as he paced the carpeted floor of her room, agitation in
every line of his body. He was working up an oration on the topic, she knew it.
The habit had given rise to his most hated nickname—The Professor. She'd
watched him practice for debate club just this way, too many times to count.

The key was not to give him an opening by establishing eye
contact.

Mia traced the lines on her blue, yellow and white-striped
bedspread, trying not to contemplate squeezing herself into one of Allison's
tiny suits, and kept her eyes firmly away from Derrick.

When the door from the garage opened and closed again
downstairs, announcing Allison's imminent return, he stopped in his tracks and
drew a deep breath. Against her will, Mia's eyes lifted to meet his gaze, still
burning gold with suppressed anger.

But when he spoke, he kept his voice low to prevent Allison
from hearing him as she jogged up the steps to the second floor.

"We're going to discuss this later," he said,
"and
you
are going shopping. Today.
If I have to drag you to the mall myself."

Mia didn't answer, merely shifted her gaze gratefully to
Allison when her friend stepped back into the room, beach bag in hand.

"Out," Allison ordered Derrick. "No boys allowed.
Go get your own suit on."

Derrick nodded at Allison, singed Mia with a final glare,
and left, his tread heavy on the stairs. Mia took her first full breath since
he'd picked her up off the couch. Her bright, feminine bedroom pulsed around
her, supercharged with masculine energy. Derrick had been in her room before,
hundreds of times, but this time, his essence lingered. It coiled around her,
inside her, throwing everything off kilter. She shivered.

Oblivious, Allison rummaged in her bag, emerging with two
swimsuits in her hands.

"Here you go," she said, handing Mia a hot-pink
floral bikini. "The cups on this one are a little bigger. This one's
cuter," she indicated the second bikini, a miniscule navy-and-white
striped number with gold-toned metal rings holding the triangles of cloth
together at the hips and between the breasts, "but the top's pretty
tiny—better for my little boobs."

Sighing, Mia accepted the floral print. No matter how much
weight she lost, she'd never be as flawlessly gorgeous as her friend, who
maintained her size-two frame by sucking down chocolate shakes and double
cheeseburgers by the dozens.

If she didn't love Allison so much, she'd hate her.

Allison claimed to envy Mia's curves, but Mia knew she was
only being nice. It didn't matter what her best friend wore, whether her few
carefully-saved-for designer pieces or her favorite cheap-o sweats, everything
draped perfectly over Allison's modelesque body.

In fact, Mia and Allison had both modeled in college,
helping to pay tuition. But at a size twelve with double-d cups, Mia had never
told her friend how much she'd hated strolling the catwalk in the plus-sized
model category.

Mia washed her ruined makeup from her face, and they changed
into the suits side-by-side. Allison's perfect, perky breasts, slender hips and
tiny waist were definitely runway-ready. Mia sighed. Even after losing nearly
thirty pounds, she couldn't seem to break through the size-six barrier. Several
pairs of size-four Paige Verdugo skinny jeans hung, ever hopeful, in her
walk-in closet—motivational pieces, courtesy of Barry. She might as well
sell them on eBay.

Dressed, Mia stepped before her full-length mirror for final
adjustments, but her hands stilled and her mouth dropped open when she caught
sight of herself.

"Holy Mother of God, Allison! I can't go out in public
like this!"

Horrified, Mia tugged on the scraps of fabric barely
containing her full breasts. She looked like a Playboy Bunny, her curves
busting out all over the place. The bottoms weren't much better. The front
scrap gripped way too low across her hips—thank God she'd recently dealt
with her bikini line—and the back exposed fully half of each globe of her
buttocks.

Allison came to stand beside her, head cocked to one side as
she surveyed Mia in the mirror. With one hand, she reached out to adjust the
left cup, then tightened the strings tied in bows on the tops of Mia's tensed
shoulders.

"It's perfect," she declared, "what's your
problem? This color is great on you."

"The color isn't the issue!" Mia said hotly, which
was a good thing, since a matching shade of fuchsia was steadily waving up her
body from her pink-painted toes to the top of her head. "It's at least two
sizes too small."

"It's sexy," Allison maintained, "and you
could use a little sexy."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means I'm sick of seeing you so buttoned up lately.
Barry's had you covered like a nun. Let loose."

Had she forgotten how to wear sexy clothes? Forgotten what
it felt like? Reconsidering, Mia stared at herself in the mirror. In actuality,
her body looked pretty freaking fantastic, if she did say so herself. Her
muscles were toned and sleek, her breasts high, her waist small. And she'd
worked hard to make it so. But still. No one could feel sexy in a suit meant
for a baby sister. Or an insanely skinny best friend.

"I don't—"

The bedroom door swung open and Mia broke off with a shriek,
diving to the floor behind the bed as Derrick strode in, his blue
Hawaiian-print swim trunks slung low on his hips and a t-shirt tossed casually
over one bare shoulder.

"Ready, ladies?"

"Yes," Allison said.

"No!" Mia hollered at the same time, peeking over
the side of the bed. "Derrick, throw me your shirt."

Allison rolled her eyes. "Oh, for heaven's sake."

Waving a hand in disgust, Allison grabbed her beach bag and
sashayed out of the room, her perfect little body encased in the striped suit
like an offering to the sun gods. Mia barely resisted growling at her back.

Derrick raised a brow at her, and Mia set her mouth in a
mulish line. She held out her hand. "Shirt. Please."

Rolling his eyes in perfect imitation of Allison, he tossed
the t-shirt to her.

God, it smelled like him. She stopped herself from burying
her face in the fabric for a deeper whiff just in time and whipped it over her
head. Deliberately blocking the vision of all the tanned, naked male skin on
the other side of her bed from her mind, she stood to meet Derrick's amused
gaze with a glare.

"After you, mademoiselle," he said with a gallant
sweep of his arm.

Nose in the air, Mia stalked past him, not even giving him
the benefit of an indignant screech when he reached around and swatted her on
the ass as she walked out the door.

CHAPTER TWO

Derrick chuckled to himself as he followed Mia and Allison
out of the house and across the sun-warmed sand. If she thought that t-shirt
was fooling anyone, she had another think coming. It hung on her, true enough,
past mid-thigh, but the light breeze blew it against her curves and highlighted
the deep indentation of her waist. And once it got wet. . .

Licking his lips, he hoisted the beach umbrella Allison had
thrust into his hands as they walked out the door and tried to get himself
under control. It wouldn't be cool to stroll along with a titanic woody tenting
the front of his trunks.

One of Mia's neighbors, an elderly woman in a gigantic straw
hat, caught his attention with a wave of her hand.

"Hello, Derrick. Lovely day, isn't it?"

"Mrs. Hinkley," he said, warily stepping around
the crazed fiend on a leash she liked to call a dog—appropriately named
Rambo for the dachshund's penchant for drawing first blood—to place a
kiss on her papery cheek. "It's nice to see you."