Unwrapped (7 page)

"How else should I say it?"

"Why are you angry?"

"Angry? I'm not angry."
Fuck me, fuck me, fuck
me.
"I just want to be clear, I want
to know the new Mia rules as pertains to sex. A one-off with me so you can get
to what you've really wanted all along, the ability to go fuck whoever,
whenever, without the inconvenience of your virginity getting in the way. Does
that about sum it up?"

"Don't talk to me like that."

"Oh, pardon me. Screw the language, I'm focused on the
content."

"But you're not angry."

Her green eyes shone, over-bright with unshed tears. Tears
that normally plucked his heart strings, but not this time. He wanted to make
her cry, wanted to make her hurt the way he was hurting, with all of his grand
plans for the two of them shattered at his feet.

Sex. That was all she wanted from him.

"Nope," he said, slashing a hand across his body,
"not angry."

Of course
he was
angry, what the hell did she think? Fuck, fuck, fuck.

The color in her cheeks flushed darker, a raging scarlet,
and her lips pinched tight at the corners. Good. She was angry, too. He wanted
her angry, even as he felt the twinge of guilt, the familiar pull to make it
better.

Not this time. Not this fucking time.

"Right," she said, sarcasm heavy in her tone.
"So then you'll do it."

She was egging him on deliberately. He knew it. Lashing out
to cover her own feelings. The hurt and anger on her familiar face read like
the pages of a book for him, one he knew by heart, but he didn't care. He
wouldn't
care. His world had just blown up. He couldn't
stand to sit next to her anymore.

Rising, he swallowed past the lump in his throat, looked her
in the eyes and said, "No." Then he turned and walked away.

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

Belly cramping with shame, Mia watched Derrick stride from
her, disgust in every line of his body. She bit her lip to keep the gathering
dampness at the corners of her eyes in check. She'd cried enough over a man
today, she'd be damned if she'd cry anymore.

But God, it hurt. She'd thought Barry's desertion painful,
but his loss skimmed like a tiny scratch, a blow only to her pride. Derrick
rejecting her, ripping himself from her life. . .

This was heartbreak, the kind songs were written about, the
kind people never recovered from. How could she have been so stupid?

She'd never considered that he might say no.

All she'd ever wanted was someone to stick. To stay. But no
one had, except Barry, and he'd shocked her senseless with his refusal to sleep
with her, then shocked her more with the reason.

Unbeknownst to her, she'd been nothing but a project to him,
an experiment. Could he make her 'perfect' without his services as a plastic
surgeon?

Evidently not.

After three months, he'd announced she'd failed a contest
she hadn't entered and reaffirmed his necessity as a top-notch surgeon in the
social order. Perfection could clearly only be achieved under his skilled
knife. Lowly women like her hadn't the willpower or the ability to transform on
their own, and he couldn't share the perfection of himself with anyone who
hadn't attained a similarly exalted status.

For his parting shot, he'd offered her a discount if she
decided to have any work done.

The bastard.

After so many years, she'd been dying to throw off the
chains of her virginity. She'd put up with a lot of crap from Mr. Perfect to
get through those three months, just to get it over with, and all for nothing.

That thin little membrane might flash 'Loser' like a neon
sign to the males of the species, but she was suddenly, fiercely glad she
hadn't wasted it on Barry. She'd keep it forever if it meant taking back the
last few minutes, keeping Derrick. She didn't see how she could ever face him
again.

Unless. . .

Maybe if she caught up to him, told him she'd only been
kidding and made a joke out of it, maybe he'd believe her and they could get
past it. It was a long shot, but once the idea took hold, it shone like a
candle flame in the darkness of her mind, growing steadily brighter.

It was worth a shot.

Leaping to her feet, Mia left her gear behind and raced
toward the condo, ignoring her twingeing ankle, hope giving her speed. But when
she burst in the front door, she knew. She was already too late.

He was gone.

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

Derrick wasted about three seconds collecting his stuff from
Mia's house before blowing out the back door and slamming into his car. He tore
through the neighborhood, faster than he should have, rage and yes, damn it,
hurt goading him on.

How could she do this to him? After holding onto her
precious virginity for twenty-five fricking years, putting innumerable guys through
their paces, testing them to see if they'd stick with her. After holding that
badge of honor close to her chest for as long as he'd known her, she'd suddenly
decided, nope, not worth it. Time to throw it out with the rest of the garbage,
and oh, by the way, Derrick, can you pop it for me, be a pal? Thanks so much.

Fucking-A.

He'd finally gotten up the nerve to tell her how he felt, to
try to make something worthwhile and meaningful between them, and she'd treated
him like a stable stud, a service provider. He never would have believed Mia
capable of such utter idiocy.

Whipping the car through side streets and onto the freeway,
he pushed the ancient BMW to its limits. It was early enough that the traffic
was still light, by southern California standards. No one got in his way.

The rhythm of the car's wheels spinning over rough pavement
gradually soothed the worst of the anger, but the hollow ache in his heart
continued to grow. Never in a million lifetimes could he have imagined that
conversation.

What should he do now? He frowned at the car in front of
him. Hurt-fueled anger had filled every pore in his body in the heat of the
moment, but he needed to set all that aside now and think.

Think, damn it.

He loved her. He loved her so fucking much, she had him tied
in knots. That much he knew. Angry or not, she was his best friend. He couldn't
imagine his life without her. How could he reconcile those truths with what
just happened?

And what the hell had come over her to even suggest such a
thing? Had the breakup with Barry warped her mind? He'd never really understood
her compulsion to adhere to that rule of hers, even knowing her mother's
history, but he had come to respect it and her dedication to her ideals.

But now. . . She wanted sex. Just sex, thank you very much.

He wanted sex and more.

How could he convince her of the 'more' part? If he agreed
to her proposition, would she agree to date him instead, to give it an honest
try for something real?

Shooting the car across three lanes of traffic to the next exit,
he threw it into park along the side of the road. He dropped his head to the
steering wheel, his hands clenched tightly on the worn leather circle. What was
he doing?

He wanted to pour his heart out to his best friend, but he'd
left her behind on the beach. Barring another round with Mia herself, he had
half a mind to go rant to Allison, but she would not likely appreciate the
interruption if she was still engaged with her beach bum. Or their fourth
Musketeer, Jeff, but it was Sunday, his day off. He probably had plans with
Greg.

The hell with it. Jeff would just have to deal—he
needed to talk to his friend, another guy, and if Greg was there, too, all the
better. Derrick didn't particularly relish the long drive to Jeff's place in
Hollywood, but this wasn't something he wanted to discuss on the phone.

Tromping the accelerator, Derrick shot down the last length
of the off-ramp and through the intersection, back onto the freeway. Pawing for
his Bluetooth, he gave the command for Jeff's cell and waited impatiently,
weaving through traffic, mumbling under his breath for Jeff to, "Pick up,
pick up, pick up, damn it."

Finally, a voice Jeff had spent years perfecting, as smooth
as melted chocolate, flowed from the phone. "Hola, mi amigo. Cómo
estás?"

"Where are you?" Derrick said, disregarding any
pleasantries.

"Hello to you, too, sunshine."

Derrick growled low in his throat, no words coming to mind.

"Testy, are we?" Jeff asked. "Fine. I'm at
Greg's, why?"

Good, that was closer. "I'll be there in twenty,"
Derrick said, and hung up before Jeff could protest.

He made it in fifteen, swerving into the driveway of Greg
Mitchell's sprawling two-story hacienda-style home in Diamond Bar. He slammed
out of the car and jogged up the front steps to pound on the arched black-wood
door, then stood, jiggling the change in his pocket impatiently and waiting for
Jeff to answer.

The door swung inward to reveal Derrick's closest friend,
aside from Mia. Jeffery Denton. Male-model extraordinaire and drag queen of the
universe, or so he billed himself. Mia and Allison loved to moon over his dark
hair and pale green eyes whenever Jeff allowed them to play at making him up, a
lazy-day activity the three of them enjoyed out of all proportion, in Derrick's
opinion.

They weren't getting near
him
with any of that gunk.

"You rang?" Jeff drawled, studying his perfectly
manicured, blood-red fingernails.

Jeff leaned against the doorframe in expensive black
trousers, his shirt hanging unbuttoned to expose his chest. The shirt looked
green to Derrick, but he was sure his friend had some fancy, highly specific
name for the shade. Turquoise Delight, or some such thing. At six-four, Jeff
might have Derrick by two inches in height and twenty pounds in solid muscle,
but he'd still be the one running from a spider or any sort of manual
labor—darling, my manicure—screaming like a girl.

Derrick wasn't sure where to begin until the words fell out
of his mouth. "I'm in love with Mia."

There. He'd said it out loud to another human being. His
heart pounded thickly in his throat, making it hard to breathe as he waited for
his announcement to evoke the expected shock and mayhem.

Jeff buffed his nails against the silk of his shirt,
studying Derrick with a bored expression. "And?" he asked, dragging
the word out so the single syllable became three.

Derrick stared at him. "What do you mean, 'and'? Did
you hear me? I'm in love with Mia!"

In answer, Jeff quirked an elegant eyebrow.

"You knew," Derrick said slowly.
"But—" He leaned against the coral stucco wall beside the door,
his head tilted back. "Shit."

"Sorry," Jeff said, amusement tingeing his words,
"was it supposed to be a secret?"

Greg's voice called from the depths of the house.
"Darling, who is it? Oh, hello, Derrick."

Derrick raised his head to smile weakly at Greg, still lost
in his own shock.

A slender blond with the face of an angel—according to
Mia and Allison—Greg Mitchell raised on tiptoe to wrap his arms around
Jeff from behind, stroking a finger lightly down the other man's neck before
dropping a kiss at the base of his throat. Dressed in a similar fashion as
Jeff, it was clear to Derrick he'd caught them on their way out to some
function or other.

"Look, I'm sorry to interrupt your day," he began,
"but—"

"Oh, don't be a drama queen," Jeff said. He flicked
a speck off the sleeve of Greg's shirt.

"What's going on?" Greg wanted to know.

"Well, I—"

"He's just announced he's in love with Mia," Jeff
interrupted, waving a dismissive hand at Derrick, "and he's all agog at
himself."

Greg's mouth pulled into a confused pursing of his lips.
Scratching his cheek, he said, "And?"

"For God's sake, does everyone know?"

"Everyone but you, apparently," Jeff said, a
chuckle rumbling deep in his chest. "And Mia."

Greg gave Jeff a shushing look, then reached forward to snag
Derrick's sleeve and pull him into the house. "Don't let's stand on the
stoop discussing the intricacies of your love life, come in, come in."

Feeling stupid beyond words, wishing he'd gone home instead,
Derrick resisted. "You're on your way out, this can wait."

"Don't be silly," Greg said, "we're just
meeting Mark and Brian, we can be a few minutes late."

Taking a deep breath, Derrick allowed himself to be towed
inside. The three of them moved together through the house, the warm, dark
woods and jewel tones barely registering to Derrick, but soothing all the same.
He dropped onto the sapphire blue couch in the family room, throwing his arms
wide along its back and crossing one leg over the other. He wished his brain
would stop spinning.

"Now," Jeff said, settling into a
peacock-patterned chair across from Derrick, with Greg perched on its arm,
"what brought all this on today?"

Trying to rally his thoughts, Derrick shifted forward,
elbows on knees, his head cradled in his hands. Where to begin?

"Barry-the-asshole dumped her," he said, and
waited through Greg's sympathetic noises and Jeff's vehement, "Good!"

And then. . . And then everything had gone to hell, he
thought.

"Something shifted," Derrick continued, watching
the day unfold in his mind's eye. Where had it gone off track? "I decided
it was time to finally tell her—to tell her how I feel, but. . ." He
broke off.

Greg leaned across the coffee table to pat him soothingly on
the shoulder. "It's all right, honey, take your time."

"She just wants to use me for sex." He blurted the
words out, the raw pain unmistakable in his voice despite his attempt to cover
it with a shaky laugh.

Staggered silence dropped over the room like a lead blanket.
Greg and Jeff exchanged a glance that seemed to cover an entire conversation in
the space of one eye blink.