Unwrapped (4 page)

"And you, young man, and you. You keep an eye on my
girls out there, you hear? It's crowded as the Fourth of July today."

Thinking of Mia, he smiled a bit too warmly. "Yes,
ma'am, I will."

"See that you do," she said, a glint in her faded
blue eyes that said she understood him more than he might like. Derrick shifted
beneath her too-knowing stare.

Rapping him lightly on the wrist with the end of Rambo's
leash, Mrs. Hinkley nodded her regal head—for some reason she always put
him in mind of British royals and polo matches—and continued on her walk,
her little ankle-biter trotting at her heels.

Post-Labor Day weekend, the beach was still covered with
well-bronzed native sun worshippers and winter-white tourists alike, all baking
in the afternoon heat. The calendar might claim Autumn, but the change of
seasons meant little in southern California.

Derrick lifted his face to the breeze, breathing deeply of
the ocean-scented air. There was nothing better, in his estimation, than a day
spent on a gorgeous California beach in the company of his two best girls.

It was too bad Jeff hadn't joined them, but Mia had refused
to call him with her breakup crisis since Jeff was in the throes of love
himself. Sundays were his days off, and Jeff generally made plans with Greg as
often as he could. Mia hadn't wanted to interfere. Derrick also suspected she
hadn't wanted Jeff's less-than-sympathetic presence in her face too soon. Jeff
had really hated Barry and would be nothing but celebratory over the end of
Mia's relationship.

Calling out greetings to people he knew, Derrick followed
the girls, Mrs. Hinkley's admonishment in his mind. He took keeping an eye on
the girls seriously, even though they considered themselves modern, independent
women who didn't need a man for anything. That might be true—they were
certainly smart and capable—but a little extra protection never hurt anyone.

Allison strutted along, in the lead of their mini parade as
usual, shaking her hips for all they were worth. If he knew his fellow man, and
he did, her efforts were not going unnoticed. Even amidst a sea of ridiculously
hot female flesh, a guaranteed find on any California beach, Allison's
confident swagger signaled like a homing beacon.

He grinned. Allison liked men, and she liked sex, and she
didn't like to go too long without either. But he felt it his duty to make sure
she didn't pick up the wrong sort of guy, so he cast a warning glare at a few
of her potential victims. The rest appeared harmless enough. She'd have a
selection to wade through later.

A fair share of the ladies tossed inviting glances his way,
as well, all gleaming white smiles, tanned, oiled skin and sun-streaked hair.
But with Mia firmly in his sights, he had no interest in answering their
come-hither stares.

Then there was Mia, oblivious to her own appeal and the
hungry eyes tracking her progress across the sand. He could hardly claim
unbiased motivation when it came to her, but he'd be damned if any of the beach
bums lazing about would get near enough to touch. He'd waited for her long
enough.

Waiting time was done. No other men would get in his way.

He'd like to slap a giant, permanent label with the word
MINE in blazing red ink across her heart-shaped ass, but he settled for turning
the heat of his expression from warning frown to a
don't-even-fucking-think-about-it
stare when he intercepted those hungry male eyes
roving in her direction.

Satisfied his message had been received without a challenge,
he cruised along in the girls' wake, his mood once more on the upswing. With
Barry finally out of the way, he was ready to make his move. And it was about
damn time.

All through college and afterward, he'd abided by the
"friends only" sign Mia had hung around her neck where he was
concerned. He hadn't been ready for her anyway, not back then. Like any college
guy, he'd had serious partying to attend to, oats to sow. But now, he had his
life on track—a successful career, a home of his own. The balance on his
college loans decreased, month after month. He had something meaningful to
offer.

Mia didn't care about having a lot of money, but he'd wanted
to prove himself, and he had. He wasn't one of those trust-fund playboys who'd
slide through life riding on someone else's coattails.

She'd inherited the beach house from her grandparents, along
with enough funds to cover the astronomical Newport taxes every year, as long
as she didn't touch the balance for anything other than paying off her own
school loans. She loved her work. She drew just enough of a salary to afford
her favorite indulgences, like shopping and traveling once in a while, and the
rest of the funds went straight back into the business or into helping her
various causes. Mia knew the value of presentation when dealing with the
privileged elite she depended upon for their time and money. She took pride in
her appearance. But her heart was in the hours she spent volunteering at shelters,
raising money, or running charity marathons.

He admired her almost as much as he loved her, even at her
bossy, opinionated, temperamental worst.

So he'd bided his time, comforting her through every
inevitable breakup—inevitable because she consistently chose a different
flavor of the same wrong guy over and over. Guys who never appreciated her for
who she was, who didn't bother to court her, who expected her to be at their
beck and call. Guys who wanted her to fall into bed with them after just one date
and saw her Three Month Rule as a challenge.

Scumbags, one and all.

She figured it out every few months, recovered—with
his help, damn it—then repeated the process, all while keeping him stuck
firmly in his friendship box.

Aside from Barry-the-Bastard, though, there'd been only one
other close call. Early in their sophomore year, an exchange student from
France had knocked her off her feet. Not with love, which Mia claimed to be
immune to, but with flair. Fancy meals, trips to the theater, wine tastings—time
spent on planning outings for her, on discovering the things she liked. She'd
mistaken the flair for personal interest rather than showboating, for caring
rather than manipulation.

Derrick had worried then, afraid he'd lost his chance, but
the guy had done the clichéd thing when Mia refused to put out in the first two
months of their relationship. He got caught cheating on her in her own bed.
Derrick had sent him packing back to Europe with a sigh of relief for himself
and a black eye for the Frenchman as payment for Mia's tears.

Asshole.

Since then, Derrick had dreaded the right-enough-guy coming
along and divesting Mia of her virginity. The thought of her with anyone else
made his insides writhe like a viper pit, but the responsibility of being the one
to introduce her to lovemaking had made him break out in a cold sweat.

He'd thought Barry might be the one—Mia had certainly
wanted him to be—and then he really would have had to kill the guy. But
between Mia's hardcore rule and Barry's being an utter jerk, nothing had come
of it. Thank God.

Which meant it would be up to him after all. The idea no
longer scared him. Knowing he'd be Mia's only lover, that they'd have that
extra-heightened bond between them. . . He'd make sure her first time, and
every time, was as special and romantic as she deserved.

Now he just had to make her see how right they were for each
other.

Frustration sizzled in his veins while gulls wheeled
overhead, shrieking their demands for fish, leftover French fries and pieces of
hamburger buns tossed in the air. He followed their flight across the sky and
down toward the pounding waves.

Mia glanced over her shoulder and quirked a brow.

"Coming?" she hollered, and Derrick realized his
pace had slowed to a crawl as visions of Mia in his bed had danced through his
brain.

Jerking his chin in acknowledgement, Derrick picked up his
speed, his eyes once more glued to Mia's swaying backside. The breeze frisked
through her hair, blowing the long, chocolate strands out in a gleaming fan.
His hands tensed on the umbrella's pole, imagining the silk of her hair sliding
through his fingers, spreading out across his pillow.

He swallowed hard.

How could she not realize how freaking sexy she was? She'd
never been super skinny, but who cared? He didn't like skeletal women. She'd
gone from a brunette Marilyn-Monroe-styled bombshell to
holy-Victoria's-Secret-model,
Batman
! All in the space of a few short
months, under Barry's scathing and continual fault-finding.

Truth be told, Derrick missed her more lushly rounded
curves, but bombshell or supermodel, she made his heart stutter in his chest
and his hands itch to stroke.

Sex would be the easy part, though, virginal introductions
aside. If her body was all that mattered, and if he'd been an even bigger prick
than Barry, he could have taken advantage of her at any number of parties over
the years. But Derrick had a bigger problem.

He wanted
her
.

All of her—body, mind, heart—the whole package.
He was caught, a fish on a hook, and all she had to do was reel him in. She
just didn't know she was holding the damn rod.

He loved her shy smiles and lusty laugh, her appalling
singing voice and wide-open heart. Her neuroses, her courage and her endless
optimism. Even that damned temper. He'd fallen for the way she shredded napkins
into tiny pieces of confetti when she was nervous and the way she bawled during
sad movies. The way every room instantly brightened when she walked in, like
the shift in her favorite film from black-and-white to Technicolor when Dorothy
landed in Oz.

Watching Mia date asshole after asshole had been hell, but
up to now he'd only given the friendship wall testing strikes with the
sledgehammer.

Today was a new day. No more chipping at the wall. It was
time to level it and convince her he was the one.

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

Mia trudged after Allison, hyper-aware of Derrick strolling
behind her and hoping desperately that his t-shirt thoroughly covered her
next-to-naked ass in Allison's itty-bitty bikini. She kept her gaze on
Allison's bare back to avoid seeing the tongues lolling out of every male mouth
her friend passed.

Just once, she'd like a special guy to look at her like
that. Just once, she'd like to feel feminine and sexy and desired. Not
casually, by the hordes of horny guys on the beach—she was used to that,
even if she didn't measure up to the standards of one Barry Anderson, plastic
surgeon to the beach-bunny elite—but by that one key person who'd make it
matter. Who'd make her feel that way because of who she was as a person, not
just what she looked like.

"Over here?" Allison called over her shoulder,
pointing ahead of herself with one slim finger.

Nodding, Mia followed. She sank onto the beach blanket
Allison spread out, and moments later, Derrick plunked the umbrella deeply into
the sand and opened it up, sweeping shade over all but the bottom third of her
legs. He dropped himself behind her so she sat caged in the V of his muscular
thighs, uncomfortably, unaccountably aware of his masculine heat.

How many times had they sat exactly this way? Casually, just
hanging out. Yet today, her heart pounded and her mouth went dry. She couldn't
swallow. Nerves shot across her skin, and his nearness seemed sexier, more
intimate. His thigh brushed hers and the contact made her shiver.

Holy crap.

What had changed? Derrick was a tall, handsome guy, a total
sweetheart. Funny, smart, talented. And a total player. His list of leading
ladies could wrap around the globe. But that was nothing new.

Other than the first few days of their freshman year, when
she'd had to fight to keep her tongue rolled up in her mouth any time he walked
by, she'd managed to deeply submerge any whispers of lust where he was
concerned. Out of self-preservation, mainly. Guys as amazingly hot as Derrick
were never interested in girls like her—ones who didn't put out right
away—or if they were, it was only for the challenge, for a night or two,
a potential conquest before they moved on to the next notch on their belts.
She'd learned that lesson at her mother's knee.

But despite his looks, and his busy and varied love life,
Derrick was actually a nice guy. She'd figured out early on that she got the
best deal in the end—his genuine friendship. Other girls might come and
go, and many had, but she was the one who stuck around, the one who really knew
him. The one he talked with and hung out with and shared himself with. The one
he could relax and be himself with. She'd never wanted to risk losing that
special place in his life by going for something more with him.

But all of a sudden, today, those old, wishful feelings
seemed to have busted loose from their chains. She needed to get them locked up
tight again, before he realized something weird was going on. This rebound
business was a monster.

Reaching around her, Derrick waggled a bottle of sunscreen
in front of her face. "You want?"

"No, thanks," she said, pushing the words through
a throat that felt half-strangled.

"You should get the back of your neck and your legs, at
least," he admonished, and she shrugged in acknowledgement.

The lid popped and she jumped at the sound, and again when
his hands brushed her hair aside. Covered in coconut-scented cream, his fingers
caressed her shoulders, warm and gentle, rubbing the sunscreen below the
neckline of his borrowed t-shirt. This, too, was a familiar ritual, one friend
to another. Nothing new. Yet every nerve ending in her body tingled, stood on
end. Begged for more. Her lips went numb.

Next to them, Allison had propped open her beach chair and
was busy slowly, sensually stroking lotion onto her own long, tanned legs while
pretending not to notice the attention her movements garnered from the male
half of the beach's audience. Jackie-O shades perched on her nose, disguising
half her face, and a huge straw hat protected her head from any stray sunbeams
not caught by the umbrella. The tiny bikini set off her toned, bare skin like a
dream. She looked like a movie star.