Unwrapped (19 page)

"Mia," he said against her mouth, "I've
missed you. Missed touching you, kissing you."

In the background, the music clicked off as the Christmas CD
ended, but it didn't matter. His voice became her music, the beat of his heart
and every gasping breath her own personal symphony.

He kissed her brow, her cheeks, the tip of her nose. The
rasp of his five o'clock shadow against her skin was a thrill of its own.
Running his hands down the length of her arms, he threaded his fingers through
her own and lifted her arms out to her sides, stepping back to look at her in
the multicolored lights cast by the tree.

"You're so beautiful," he said, his gaze scanning
her from head to toe. "But. . . what the heck are you wearing?"

In answer, she lifted her fingers from his and stepped back
several paces, her hands now clasped between her breasts, her eyes on his. She
shouldn't still be nervous. She'd made her confession of love, had said the
words she'd never thought she would utter to any man. He'd taken her into his
embrace, loved her still. All was forgiven. The hardest part was done. And yet.
. .

Nerves tangled her tongue. If he rejected her now, she would
break.

With one hand, she swept her fingers down her side, drawing
his attention to the wide lengths of ribbons winding about her body, binding
her in the gown.

"I'm your Christmas present," she said with a
feeble laugh. When he would have spoken, she shook her head. "You said, at
the party, that I was too wrapped up in my angst and issues to see what was
before me. To see you. Loving me."

His gaze sharpened as he tilted his head slightly to read
the words printed on the ribbons.

Angst. Issues.

The words, stamped in gold lettering, repeated themselves a
hundred times along the bands of colorful satin.

When his eyes came back to hers, she saw everything she
needed to see in the hot, clear topaz depths. Every emotion. Every promise.

"Mia—"

"I see you," she said, her voice low, throbbing
with the love aching in her throat. "I see you, Derrick. Loving me. I want
you to see me."

She lifted her arms, beseeching, and he moved toward her
with masculine grace, a god claiming his human offering. His eyes were hooded,
their usual light darkened to a burning smolder.

"Unwrap me, Derrick." She stood, helpless before
him, unable to move, her hands now hanging limply at her sides. Waiting for
that first hot bite of passion. "Take me. All of me."

When he touched her, his fingers slid along her arms in a
gentle glide, smoothing their way up to her shoulders, along her collarbones
and up the sides of her neck. A slow burn. With both hands, he cupped her face,
his eyes searching on hers.

"I see you, Mia. Loving me." He kissed her lips,
watching her as his hands drifted slowly down the center of her body to the
first bow. "Are you sure?"

"With you," she said. "Only you."

His sharply indrawn breath spiked her pulse, but still he
hesitated. His uncertainty gave her courage. Grasping his hands, she guided his
fingers to the ends of the first ribbon, then let them fall away as he took the
length of satin and pulled.

The bow came apart in his hands, and he slowly, slowly
unwound its length from her body, sliding his fingers along its path beneath
her breasts and around her ribcage, over her shoulders and down to her hips. He
left a trail of need in his wake, little fires begging to be quenched.

The second ribbon unwound, leaving a pile of angst and
issues on the floor at their feet. With every strip removed, her confidence
grew apace with her nerves. Soon there would be no turning back. The moment
she'd waited twenty-five years to experience hovered on the brink of realization.

With Derrick. The only man she could ever, would ever love.

Every sense heightened. The soles of her feet sank into the
plush carpet, where a few slender pine needles crushed beneath her heels. Even
the air took on weight, cool and soft against the skin of her calves where the
silky gown fell away. Her scalp tingled with awareness as his deft fingers
continued along her body, smoothing away the final ribbon, brushing across the
trembling muscles of her thighs and buttocks.

Finally, she stood before him. Unwrapped.

But still, the gown's fabric interfered, though the
shimmery, translucent negligee hid nothing from his eyes. She wanted skin. His,
hers. Together. Forever.

"You're the only gift I wanted for Christmas,
Mia," he said, his voice reverent as he brushed a strand of her hair from
her cheek. She nuzzled into his palm, wanting more. "But. . ."

She stilled, held her breath. But?

He leaned in to trace his lips along her jaw and whispered,
"I made you a promise. I mean to keep it."

Wrapped in her sensual fog, his words took a long moment to
penetrate. She stared at him, bemused, but Derrick smiled into her eyes, his
own warm with teasing amber lights as he shushed her unasked question with a
finger across her lips.

"Listen," he said, breathing the word into her ear
and sending shivery ripples chasing along her spine.

In the hushed silence, his mantel clock chimed the midnight
hour. It was Christmas Day.

"We made the three months," he said, his voice
husky and deep, rumbling beneath her skin. "And you're mine."

Shivery pleasure gilded her heart with light.

His.

To belong to Derrick. No reservations, no hesitation, no
doubts.

Christmas miracles do come true, she thought. And so she
murmured the only word that could encompass the chaotic whirl of emotions
coursing inside her heart.

"Yes."

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

Yes. One simple word. That was all it took to set him free.
Finally, he could love her the way he'd wanted for so many years. Starting now.

With a celebratory whoop, he swept her into his arms and
bounded for the stairs, her giggling shriek ringing in his ears. She wrapped
her arms around his neck and held on, the firm, lush weight of her body
reassuring him this was no dream.

Mia Patterson was his, forevermore.

Turning toward his bedroom, he slowed his pace. Her
innocence was another gift waiting to be unwrapped. One to treasure. Slowly.
Carefully. Her introduction to lovemaking would shape her expectations, her
thoughts and feelings, her memories of this night, for the rest of her life.
She would never have another first time.

It was up to him to make it perfect.

Nerves twanged to life, electric currents running beneath
his skin. The importance of these next moments weighed on him. She'd waited so
long. The responsibility she was giving into his hands left him both awed and
humbled.

Mia had prepared his room for seduction. Flowers spiced the
air with scent, and pure white candles cast a warm glow from his dresser and
the chest next to his bed. Wine waited to be poured. Music throbbed low,
something full of romance, the long, liquid notes lulling away his tension.

Her feminine touches in his plain, masculine space put her
stamp on a room she'd been in hundreds of times, turning it from merely his and
making it theirs, a shared retreat. He could picture her there with him
tomorrow and all the tomorrows yet to come, and the sight settled his mind. But
her warmth in his arms increased the urgency pounding in his body.

Want, need, desire. He'd waited a long time, as well. For
her.

Voice strained, he said, "You've been busy."

"Is it. . . all right?" The words, soft, hesitant,
betrayed her. He was not the only one struggling with nerves.

"It's perfect," he said, and was rewarded by her
brilliant smile.

Sliding her down his length, he set her lightly on her feet
next to his king-sized bed. The feel of her in her next-to-nothing gown made
him want to tear his own clothes off and devour her where she stood, to press
their bodies together until he couldn't tell where he ended and she began. Lust
slammed into his solar plexus, stealing his breath.

Mia watched him with those trusting eyes, and her face,
tipped to his, shone with her faith in him. He schooled himself to patience. He
would not disappoint her. With iron will, he banked the fire of his racing
pulse into a steady, anticipatory glow of need.

She was his, and they had time to savor.

Derrick shrugged out of his coat and tossed it in a corner
without taking his eyes from Mia's. The tie followed, then his shoes. Her eyes,
deep and dark, glowed with an inner flame. Midnight seas in moonlight.

He said, "I love you, Mia." And kissed her, his
lips moving over hers in a slow, easy glide.

In response, she melted against him, her body filling all
the empty spaces between them. The gown was as nothing, a whisper against her skin,
a wish beneath his hands as he trailed them over her back, pressing her ever
more fully against him. Her breasts crushed against his chest. They were belly
to belly and thigh to thigh, a perfect fit.

The kiss deepened, went greedy, and Derrick had to fight to
remind himself to go slowly. Mia came alive in his arms, the heat of her skin
singeing him everywhere they touched, incinerating his willpower. Her sweet
little tongue stroked the sides of his and delved into his mouth, and her taste
was ambrosia. Sexy, panting moans escaped her lips. He clasped his hands in the
silk of her hair and held on while she writhed against him, shooting him to
full arousal in a heartbeat.

"Wait," he said, gasping the words into her mouth,
"Mia, wait. Slow down." She nipped his chin, and he shivered.
"You're killing me here."

"I want—" she began, her voice breathless.

"Shhh," he said, "I know." He tipped her
chin to kiss her, just gently, on the corner of her mouth. And again. "I
know."

Her eyelids fluttered closed, so he kissed them as well,
holding tightly to the reins of his desire, taking control of the pace.
Soothing her with his touch until her gasping breaths slowed. He wanted her
melted with passion before setting her arousal aflame, a slow kindling to that
final, scorching peak.

Taking both her hands in his, he pressed a kiss into the
center of each palm. "Come with me," he said. "I want to show
you something."

CHAPTER NINE

How much longer could her legs support her? Derrick's kisses
left her weak, vibrating, dazed with bliss. Yet she craved so much more, and
still he hadn't touched her, not really. The heat of his body, his hands
through her lingerie—so close, and yet she might cry out in desperation
if he didn't put his hands on her bare skin. Soon.
Now
. The anticipation was maddening, excruciating.

She couldn't wait much longer.

But instead of taking her into his bed, Derrick led her in
front of his dresser. The dark wood was covered in the candles she'd lit and a
vase full of pink and white lilies. A large mirror graced the wall behind it.

"Here," Derrick said, stopping her and turning her
to face the glass. He stepped behind her with his hands on her waist and placed
a kiss at the base of her neck. "I want you to watch me touching you, Mia.
I want you to see what pleasure does to your body. I want you to see how
beautiful you are, and my hands on your skin."

Mia shivered, her body quickening at his words. She met his
eyes in the mirror, utterly helpless, mesmerized. She wanted to turn and burrow
into his body, to drive herself onto his shaft and end this torturous,
desperate need. But she stood enthralled, a captive to his wishes.

They looked so right together. Derrick's broad shoulders,
still covered in the navy dress-shirt he'd worn on the plane, straight and
powerful, framed her perfectly. Even fully clothed, his strength was obvious.
His wide, muscular chest tapered to a trim, hard waist she was dying to stroke.
Strong arms she always felt safe in, and hard, athletic thighs. . . his body
was a feast, and she was famished.

Hands at her sides, breaths catching in her throat, she
waited on tenterhooks. Moving slowly, Derrick raised his fingers and brushed
them through her hair, smoothing the dark strands down her back, then lifting
the heavy length aside. He brushed it over her right shoulder and kissed the
nape of her neck, spreading tingling warmth along every nerve ending.

Watching them both in the mirror, he skimmed his fingers
along the tops of her shoulders and down her bare arms, raising goose bumps in
his wake. Then back up and along her collarbones so that his hands joined in
the middle of her chest, tracing the hollow at the base of her throat. He
stepped even closer behind her. The strength of his arousal pressed against her
buttocks. The muscles of her sex clenched in demand.

His fingers continued their journey, sliding together and
down, over the mounds of her breasts, the thin fabric of her gown no barrier at
all, and for the first time in her life, a man's hands cupped their weight. The
sight of his big, strong hands holding her breasts, his skin dark against her
fairness, his fingers so close to her aching nipples, was the most erotic thing
she had ever seen. Her body bucked, drenched with passion, crying out for
release. She arched into his hands, her head falling back against his shoulder
with a moan she couldn't contain.

"Your nipples are gorgeous," he murmured. "I
can't wait to take them in my mouth."

God, yes, please, do it.

He thumbed the already taut peaks, and she almost came right
then. Her body undulated against him, helpless to stop her movements. She
dropped her head forward, breaths panting, eyes closed, yearning for that final
push over the edge, but Derrick allowed her no relief.

"Watch," he said. "Open your eyes, Mia."

Dragging her eyelids up, her eyes glazed with passion, she
whimpered. "I can't. Please, I can't, Derrick, I need—"