look at you.” Kira’s friend joined them. “I was wondering what was taking so long. Please tell me you know this man.”
“We’ve just recently become acquainted,” Kira said, pulling away guiltily, almost stumbling. Derrick reached out to steady her, and somehow she wound up right back where she’d started, pressed to his chest.
“Quick reflexes. Good thing. I’m Connie, Kira’s assistant.” She held out her hand.
Derrick shook it.
“She’s also my best friend,” Kira added, in a sappy drunk kind of way. “Although she’s failed miserably in keeping me from getting drunk tonight.”
“As your best friend,” Connie said, “I consider it my responsibility to remind you that you’re not the type to pick up strange men in bars.” She looked up at Derrick. “You’ll have to excuse her. She doesn’t get out much.”
“One night,” Kira said sleepily, cuddling up against him. “My sister is home. I have a whole night to myself to have fun and do whatever I want and I want to spend it with Derrick.”
Why did her sister need to be home for her to have a night all to herself?
“That’s the alcohol talking,” Connie said.
“I like what it’s saying,” Kira said back, looking up at Derrick. “Don’t you like what it’s saying, Derrick?”
He was going to hell, because for damn sure he most certainly did like what it was saying, what she was saying.
Connie looked conflicted. “You don’t know anything about him,” Connie said. Glancing up to meet his eyes she added, “No offense. I’m sure you’re a great guy.”
No. Tonight he wasn’t. She felt so good, desire tried to overtake good moral character, screaming, “Take her to the nearest motel and give her what she wants, hard and fast. Exhaust her then leave while she’s sleeping. She’ll never know who you really are. First thing Monday morning, call her again like nothing happened.” Common sense fought back, screaming, “You’re not that guy. You don’t take advantage of drunk women, no matter how sexy they are or how much you dislike them.”
“You’re the one who told me some hot sex would make me feel better,” Kira said to Connie. “I’ve had a rotten day. I need to feel better.” She wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed. “Make me feel better, Derrick.”
“She’s not a big drinker,” Connie explained apologetically.
All evidence to the contrary.
“Come on, Kira.” Connie tugged on her arm. “Let the nice man be on his way.”
Kira looked up at him, again, her expression soft and sweet. “Do you want to be on your way, Derrick?”
He should want to be on his way. He needed to be on his way, had a long drive ahead of him. And yet, “Not, really,” snuck out of his mouth, followed by, “How about we go get a cup of coffee or something to eat?”
KIRA CAME AWAKE to the smell of coffee. Oh, God. How did Mom get to the kitchen? She jumped out of bed and...
“Whoa,” a man said. “Slow down.”
She froze at the sound of a male voice in her bedroom. During that pause she noticed carpet below her bare feet. She didn’t have carpet in her bedroom.
A quick perusal of her surroundings made her think she was in a child’s room. One she didn’t recognize. A single bed draped in a baseball-themed comforter, baseball trophies covering the desk and dresser, and posters of baseball players she didn’t recognize hanging on the walls. Thumbtacks held a large periodic table on the back of the closed door. Funny, she’d done the same thing in her bedroom as a teenager, to hide her inner science geek.
But what the heck? She turned back to the handsome man before her, standing tall and solid, holding two mugs of coffee. He wore a tight white T-shirt that showcased a muscled chest and arms, and navy blue slacks. His feet were bare. Dark, mussed hair fell haphazardly over his forehead, and stuck up in spots. A day’s worth of scruff covered his jaw. Kira liked scruff. But who was he? And why did his blue eyes stare back at her with a wary edge?
She studied the face, recognizing it. Derrick. Memories of last night whooshed into her mind, seeing him at the bar, watching him as he watched her, stumbling into him, pushing him against the wall, and oh, God, propositioning him. Connie taking a picture of him and his driver’s license then patting him down for weapons before walking them out to his car to check that for weapons too. She shook her head in disbelief then dropped her forehead into her palm. “I’m sorry...bad week. Too much to drink.” Sexual deprivation. A night of freedom.
“So you said. Last night.”
Kira could have done without the humor in his tone.
So what? She’d propositioned him. He was a good-looking guy. For sure she hadn’t been the first. Embarrassment warmed her cheeks, because there was a definite chance, a small one, but a chance nonetheless, that she could have been the first woman to refuse to get out of his car until he took her somewhere they could have sex. And she’d been pretty explicit about what she’d wanted.
Yet here she stood, fully dressed in the skirt and blouse she’d worn to work yesterday. “My clothes.” She looked up at him. “We didn’t...?”
He shook his head.
Well that sucked. The awkward morning after without the night of hot sex that should have preceded it.
“Why not? Didn’t you want to?”
Damn he had a nice smile. “Yeah, I wanted to. But it wouldn’t have been right.”
Wouldn’t have been right? Why the hell not? Two consenting adults. Check. Mutual attraction. Hmmm. Had their attraction been mutual? The feel of his arousal, big and hard beneath her while she’d straddled him in the front seat of his car came to mind. Oh, yeah. Their attraction had been mutual. So why—?
Someone knocked on the closed bedroom door.
Kira jumped.
“You want breakfast?” an older sounding male voice asked.
“We’ll be down in a few minutes,” Derrick said.
“Who was that?” Kira whispered, like whoever it was could hear her. Then she scanned the room for her shoes, messenger bag, and briefcase. Time to go.
“My dad.”
She swung around to face him. “Are you kidding me? You live with your parents and you brought me home to their house?” At the age of thirty, Kira was way too old to be worried about getting caught in a boy’s bedroom by his parents. Yet she found herself glancing toward the window as a means of escape.
“Second floor,” Derrick said, as if he could read her mind.
But
