Unwrapped (13 page)

He cooked for her at his place, kicked her butt on her Wii
or snuggled up for a DVD at hers, and brainstormed article ideas with her for
work. He escorted her to every function she hosted, where she drooled over him
in his gorgeous tux like a star-struck teenager, as did all the society matrons
in attendance. Mia hadn't run the figures yet, but she was certain donations
had taken a serious upswing with the advent of Derrick's regular appearances.

All things they'd done before, but each experience in Mia's
mind was now heightened by a new level of closeness between them and a sexual
frustration keen enough to carve raw steel. His smile alone could leave her
knees as sweetly soft as the ice cream they often shared.

And when either of them had to travel for work, loneliness
she'd never noticed before consumed the hours until they were back together.

Derrick made her feel sexy, gorgeous, alluring in a way she
never had before. Even if nothing else came of these three months, she'd owe
him big time for first restoring, then dramatically increasing, her confidence.
How she'd let a weasel like Barry beat her down in the first place, she'd never
know, but with Derrick, no matter what she looked like, what she was wearing,
she felt like the most desirable woman on earth.

Every once in a while, her mind would toss out a troubling
question—if no one else had ever made her feel this way, had never even
come close, how could any other man hope to live up to the example Derrick was
setting? Her let's-pretend boyfriend had raised the bar so high, she feared she
was doomed to a lifetime of disappointment.

Maybe it was only a best friend who would go to such
extremes to make someone else happy, with no expectations of payback, no hidden
agendas. If that proved to be the case, at least she'd have this one shining
period of time to treasure.

They didn't talk about their arrangement, or the final
event, except for one stilted conversation when Derrick reluctantly brought up
the subject of safe sex and birth control.

"I've obviously, um, you know. . . Well," he'd
stuttered, going red at the ears. "I just. . . just want you to know I've
been careful. And I'm tested. No problems."

"Okay," she'd answered, equally red in the face,
her belly squirming.

"We'll use condoms," he'd continued doggedly, not
looking at her, "but you should probably—"

"I already do," she'd interrupted. "For, um,
other things. And—"

"Good. Okay. So we're set."

And they'd dropped the topic as though they'd been handling
live cobras.

They spent hours snuggled up on her couch, fingers twining
as they talked, sharing college memories and future plans. And every night
together ended with a kiss designed to leave her on the orgasmic edge. He
kissed her as though he craved her like an addict. But he stopped there, no
matter how hard she tried to get him to take things further. Even though she
could see the effort his restraint cost him, he wouldn't budge.

Derrick drove her to the brink of climax so many times, all
without removing one shred of clothing, her frustration level never really came
down anymore. He was driving her crazy! Her battery-operated helper had never
seen so much action, or gone through so many batteries. While it took the edge
off, it wasn't capable of filling the void left by Derrick's absence in her
bed. Mia's body existed on permanent high-alert.

Every day closer to Christmas amped her tension, twisted the
screws. She'd taken to deliberately provoking him. Rubbing herself against him,
moving into his hands, running hers where they'd never been before—or as
close as she dared—but he remained adamant. They'd stick to the schedule
if it killed them both.

Mia worried it just might—it had to be a health hazard
for this constant fever of lust to rampage through her body.

For Halloween, they went to Knott's Scary Farm at the
Knott's Berry Farm theme park and screamed like loons when monsters jumped out
at them on the rides, or kissed like newlyweds in dark corners. Magic Mountain
followed the next weekend. They rode every coaster twice in the park's light
off-season crowd, recorded a truly awful karaoke rendition of the
Ghost
Buster's
theme song, and Derrick's skilled
hands wrought more stomach-swirling excitement under her skin than any sky-high
roller coaster drops.

Never knowing what to expect from him—a teenager's
dream date to a theme park, an afternoon football game with friends, or a
sultry, very grown up dinner for two at a romantic restaurant—kept her on
her toes. They spent almost every day together unless work commitments
interfered, even if it was just a quick meal or a walk on the beach.

They took turns giving each other massages that did far more
to increase her muscle tension than dissolve it, roasted hot dogs and s'mores
over a bonfire while wrapped together in a giant woolen blanket, and
slow-danced to old Air Supply songs in her family room.

As the weeks passed, when a day went by without him, the
loneliness intensified. She missed his presence, his smile, his touch. So
intensely, she ached.

Sometimes, it was hard to remember their dating relationship
was all an act, a drawn-out theater production with one goal in mind.

Sometimes, she worried.

Had she made a deal with the devil? She, Mia Patterson, who
didn't believe in love. . . Well, if anyone could persuade her of romantic
love's true and lasting existence, it was Derrick, but to what purpose? They
were just friends, despite the street theater they were playing out. So why did
she get these little chills, these little swells of emotion that tripped her
pulse rate and left her breathless in a completely different way than the
sexual zings he was so well-practiced at delivering?

She couldn't blame her feelings on the rebound phenomenon
anymore. She hadn't thought of Barry in weeks. Derrick consumed her thoughts,
and he was the only one she wanted to spend her time with. The only one she
wanted, period.

Was she at risk of losing far more than her
virginity—of losing the one thing she'd thought was safe
forever—her heart?

Surely not.

The idea terrified her. She didn't
want
to fall in love with anyone, not even Derrick. She'd
seen the end results when women lost their hearts. Just look what it did to her
own mother every time.

No, she wouldn't allow herself down that path. She might be
genetically predisposed to foolishness where love was concerned—thank
you, mother—but she'd guarded herself well against it all this time. She
was strong. She could withstand such a small risk.

She didn't really believe in love, after all.

Having Derrick the Lover all to herself for these three
months—any sane woman's dream relationship—and that one final night
to look forward to. . . A little risk would be worth it. But he couldn't know
the depth of her feelings, the little doubts and worries whirling through her
brain, or he'd call it off out of honor. He wouldn't risk hurting her that way,
wouldn't risk even a slight possibility of breaking her heart when he couldn't
reciprocate, she knew. He wasn't that sort of man.

So it would be up to her to keep it light, to guard her
heart and never let him suspect how close she was to taking the fall.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Do you ever think about having kids?" Derrick
asked her one night in mid-November.

Surprised, Mia didn't answer right away, frowning at their
interlocked fingers. They sprawled on the floor of her family room, their legs
tossed over each other's on the seat cushions of her bright-red couch and
stuffed to the gills from an enormous lasagna dinner at their favorite Italian
restaurant an hour earlier.

"I guess," she said, shrugging against the rough
nap of the carpet beneath her shoulder blades. If she could find a guy as great
as Derrick to raise them with. "Someday. Why?"

"Just wondering. Mr. DiSano's family is huge."

The DiSano family, owners of DiSano's Spaghetti Restaurant,
numbered in the hundreds at Mia's best guess. Mr. DiSano had spent several
minutes at their table that night, showing off photos of his newest
grandchild—his twenty-third, with another three on the way, from amongst
his eight children. Then there were his eleven siblings and their offspring,
and his wife's extended family. At one time or another, every one of them old
enough to do so had spent time working in the family kitchen or bussing tables.

"What about you?" she asked.

"Sure," he said, without even a slight hesitation.
"I want kids. Three or four, maybe." He turned his head to smile into
her eyes. "Not eight." He laughed. "I don't know how the
DiSano's keep track of everyone."

Mia studied Derrick's fingers, several shades darker than
her own, longer and unquestionably masculine. Strong. Powerful. But so gentle,
so caring. He'd make a great father someday.

Her heart gave a little twist. Her future plans had included
finding a man she respected, one who was a good provider, who was kind and well
educated. One she felt confident would raise her children in the proper manner,
with security, stability, and firm but fair discipline.

Thinking of the DiSano's wild, unruly, but oh-so-loving and
close-knit family, her plan seemed a bit. . . cold blooded. Where was the fun?
The love a child needed to thrive? She hadn't considered those things important
in a mate.

Derrick would be a fun dad. A
roll-around-on-the-floor-and-laugh-until-your-sides-ached kind of dad. He'd
never disappoint his children by missing a recital or a ball game. He'd help
with homework, read bedtime stories and sing songs, take them on camping trips
and encourage their creativity. And he would shower them with love. He didn't
know how to be any other way. She'd seen him with his nieces and nephews a
million times. Uncle Derrick was a crowd favorite for a reason. His own
children would be truly blessed with him as their dad.

He'd never desert them.

And his wife? That faceless, nameless woman out there
somewhere right this minute who would one day ensnare his heart and give him
those children? There couldn't be a luckier woman in existence.

A tiny seed of envy sprouted in Mia's heart. She might not
have to worry about heartbreak with her future plan, since romantic love didn't
figure in her qualifications for a husband, but for the first time she
considered what she might miss out on in such an emotionless arrangement, not
to mention her children.

Then again, those children wouldn't have to fear desertion
by a father foolishly chosen based on unreliable emotions rather than intellect
and deliberation. They wouldn't suffer when the man's well of affection needed
refilling from a younger, fresher source. When he moved on, forgetting them in
the process.

"Hey," Derrick said, drawing her gaze back to his
and kissing her knuckles. "Where'd you go?"

Mia shook herself, forcing an answering smile to her lips.
"Sorry," she said. "Pasta coma."

"God, I know." Derrick groaned, rubbing his belly
with his free hand. "I've never been so full in my life." Then his
smile went wicked, and future plans, unborn children and faceless spouses flew
out of her head. "I've got an idea how to burn some of it off."

Turning onto his side toward her, he framed her face with
his big, warm hands and drew her in for a kiss that started slowly, light and
teasing, then gained speed like a runaway train shooting down an oil-slicked
track. His tongue delved inside her open mouth, devouring her every thought,
her every emotion, until nothing remained but a quivering mass of sexual
desperation.

As Thanksgiving came and went, more than two months into
their three-month deal, she didn't know if she could take much more without
imploding. It was time to show him just how much she wanted him, once and for
all. They'd gotten close enough. The hell with their deal.

Allison's annual costume party was in less than four days,
and Mia had a plan.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Hurry up, will you? We're late!" Derrick yelled
to Jeff, who was still busy primping in Derrick's bathroom. "God, you're
worse than a woman."

"Don't be a bitch, darling," Jeff sang as he
exited the bath on patent-leather thigh-high platform boots with six-inch
heels. In murderous red, of course.

Derrick reflected that he knew way too much about a drag
queen's wardrobe choices for a straight man, courtesy of four years of shared
dorm living. He'd been the only guy in their building whose room was overrun
with nylons, leather minis, feather boas, sparkles, spangles, makeup and
high-heeled shoes. And not because a girl had spent the night.

Appropriately glittered and glossed—finally—Jeff
adjusted his sexy-circus-master costume as he entered the kitchen, flicking the
skimpy tuxedo top's tails up and shaking his barely-covered ass at Derrick.

In turn, Derrick gave himself major brownie points for not
kicking said ass with his heavy black-leather boots.

Greg, decked out in an equally skimpy sexy-tiger costume—"My
precious little pussy," Jeff had laughed—complete with ears, tail,
and leopard-print high-heeled slippers, handed a long black whip to Jeff.

"Don't forget this, now, Master," he said with a
purr.

Jeff snatched the whip from him, rubbed the crop slowly down
the center of Greg's nearly-bare chest, then grabbed the smaller man and dipped
him backward for a sizzling kiss.

Rubbing his thumb and forefinger into the corners of his
eyes, Derrick waited them out. When Greg came up for air with a star-struck
"Whoooo!" Derrick clapped his white-gloved hands together and
hollered, "Okay, sleigh's moving out. All aboard!"

"All right, all right, keep your jingle bells on,"
Jeff groused.