CHAPTER FOUR
Jenny dropped her keys on the table in the tiny hall, and told herself to stop breathing like she’d run a hundred meter sprint. It’s just Derek.
Her heart picked up speed as he crowded in behind her.
Jenny leaped away the moment their bodies made contact. “Come on through to the kitchen,” she said over her shoulder, managing to keep her escape down to a fast walk.
The hardwood floor creaked and complained under Derek’s solid weight as he followed. “Wow.” He stopped in the doorway and gazed around. “It’s looking great in here.”
“Thanks. It’s taken a while, but I think it’s pretty much done.”
It had taken months, money, and unflagging determination, all fueled by the ever-present drive to give Kate the kind of childhood Jenny had never had.
Her home didn’t look great.
It looked amazing.
Jenny and Elle had grown up in this house. Elle had moved out—and away from Emerson—when she’d gotten a job as a nurse in a Seattle ER years ago. Jenny had moved out when she’d married Dean and they set up home in a stylish new-build in the expensive part of Emerson.
Apparently the mortgage had always been a struggle, even before Dean had discovered the exciting ups and downs of a gambling addiction. When the Hansen finances had imploded, they’d done it with the force and implacability of a dying star, collapsing into a black hole that damn near sucked Jenny and Kate into it.
And would have, but for this house.
Ironic that it was the very same house that she and Elle had vowed never to return to, once they’d broken free.
Jenny’s father had been an alcoholic from the time her mom left them when Jenny was six, all the way up until the year before he died of liver failure. In that final year, he’d gotten sober and tried to mend fences with his daughters. He’d left them their childhood home, owned free and clear, no mortgage.
Better than that, he’d left the house tied up in such a way that Dean hadn’t been able to touch it when he was trying to pay off his debts.
Jenny wondered sometimes if her father had sensed a fellow addict in Dean. He’d never been a fan. But then, her father hadn’t been a fan of anything much other than alcohol.
You want some tea?” Jenny asked. “I can make us some tea. Chamomile tea.”
“How about a tour instead? I almost don’t recognize the place.”
The last time Derek had been here, he’d been helping Jenny and Elle evict the squatter son of their ex-tenant. He’d then helped them clear out all the tenant’s hoarded junk. He’d even helped paint some of the rooms, before Jenny put her foot down and refused to let him help any more.
Now, she whisked him through the house to show it off, finishing up the tour in the living room. Derek hadn’t said another word, but then he couldn’t have gotten a word in, even if he’d wanted to. She’d babbled the entire time.
Like a moron.
Which made the silence that fell when she stopped talking all the more awkward.
Derek stood in front of the couch, taking up space in her tiny room, and tilted his head to one side as he studied her.
Jenny studied him right back. When he opened his mouth to finally say something, she slapped a hand to the center of his chest and pushed him backward. He collapsed onto the couch with a startled laugh, looking up at her. She grabbed the television remote and held it out to him.
Derek wrapped warm fingers around her wrist. He gently took the remote, but kept a light hold of her, opening his mouth again.
“Where’s the pizza?” Jenny said before he spoke. “They’re not usually this slow. Oh, right. Friday. Busy night.” She nodded at the television. “Watch whatever you like. I’m going to make that tea.”
She moved away, but since Derek didn’t let go, she didn’t get far. He reeled her back until she stood between his spread knees, staring down into his dark blue eyes.
Derek rubbed the sensitive skin on the inside of her wrist with his thumb before letting go and relaxing against the couch in that loose-limbed way he had. “If you don’t want me here, I can leave.”
No. Stay. Jenny swayed toward him, caught herself and stood rigid. “Hell, no. I’ve got a large pizza coming, you’re not going to leave me to eat it all by myself. Because I will, Derek, and my ass will not thank you.”
“Sure? You seem…uncomfortable.”
“I’m not uncomfortable.”
He raised a brow.
“I’m not uncomfortable,” she said again, and cocked a hip. She stuck her hand on it. “See?”
“Yeah. You look real at ease.” Derek arched his back and slid down an inch further.
He was so at ease he was making her look bad, that was all.
“I don’t want you to go,” she said, surprised by how fierce she sounded.
Surprised even more by how much she meant it. She wasn’t sure that it was smart to make him stay…but she was dead sure she didn’t want him to go.
Ugh, she was a mess of conflicting emotions. She should have seized on the opportunity to shut the evening down. He handed it right to her, and she couldn’t bring herself to do it.
Jenny wanted Derek here, sitting on her couch, watching her with steady focus. She wanted to keep talking to him, keep sparring with him. She wanted to keep looking at him, have him keep looking at her.
She wanted him.
Shit.
Derek took in a deep, slow breath that stretched his T-shirt over his broad chest. She was still standing between his legs. He’d closed them, not enough that he was trapping her, but enough that his heat surrounded her. He stroked the backs of his fingers up the outside of her thighs.
Jenny’s knees went weak and everything from the neck down felt as if she’d been zapped with electricity. The sensation was nerve-tingling and sharp, riding the edge of being unpleasant.
“Stay,” she said. “Eat. It’s been ages since I got to hang out with a buddy. Buddy.” She ruffled his hair and stepped out of reach.
Derek’s eyes narrowed at the hair ruffle. “Hmm,” he said.
The doorbell rang. About time. “Ooh. Food.”
Derek stood. “You get plates. I’ll get the door.”
Jenny heard the rumble of Derek’s voice as he paid the pizza guy. Making a mental note to pay Derek for her half, she scurried into the kitchen. She grabbed plates and napkins, shot into the living room and set them on the vintage steamer trunk she used as a coffee table, then bolted up the stairs.
When she got back, he’d already opened the box and put a slice on her plate. He lounged on the couch, a game played on the television, and he chewed thoughtfully as she strolled in.
Jenny settled herself cross-legged on the floor on the opposite side of the coffee table, and popped the tab on the can of Diet Coke he’d set by her plate.
Derek finished chewing and leaned to one side to get a good look at her. “What are you wearing?”
“Don’t pretend you don’t know about pizza pants.” Jenny bit into her slice.
He shook his head in question.
“Pizza pants,” she said, “are the pants you wear when you pig out.” She hooked a thumb in the waistband and pulled it out a few inches. “Elasticated.” Also pink plaid, faded, and contender for the least sexy loungewear in the known universe. “Normally I wouldn’t wear these in company, but this ain’t a date, and I don’t need to impress you. Burn in hell, skinny jeans. I’m letting it all hang out.”
Derek gave a snort of amusement, was distracted by the excited sports commentator on the TV, then asked, “Is that why you also took your makeup off? You’re letting it all hang out?”
“Yep. I don’t think Dean saw me without makeup until we’d been engaged for months.” She replayed the comment and clarified, “But you and me, we’ve known each other forever. There are no illusions between us. Let’s not forget, I’ve seen your snot bubble.”
“I was a kid, Jen. I had allergies.”
She grinned at his aggrieved tone.
They worked their way slowly through the food. Maybe it was the pizza pants, or the sight of her makeup-free face, or maybe she’d read too much into his earlier touch, but the electricity that had made her so jumpy faded into the background and the mood lightened.
It was probably the latter.
Derek Tate was an easygoing guy, friendly. He was physical, his touches didn’t mean anything.
They were buddies.
Somehow, Jenny ended up on the couch with her legs stretched out and her feet in his lap, not giving a damn about the food baby that made her stomach strain against the elasticated waistband of her pizza pants. The game finished and Derek surfed through the channels until he found an action movie.
Despite the heroic screaming and various explosions, Jenny’s eyes drifted closed.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this relaxed.
Had Derek infected her with his chill-out cooties? Was he contagious?
They’d talked, and laughed, and hung out, and now her limbs felt boneless. She was warm. She was safe. She could quite happily fall asleep…right…here.
“Jen.” Derek’s voice was soft. “Baby.”
“Shh.” She didn’t open her eyes. Even her face was relaxed.
The couch shifted as he moved. “It’s late. I’m gonna go.”
Jenny frowned. Reaching out an arm, she dragged the blanket from the back of the couch and pulled it over her head.
Cozy.
There was a pause, then Derek removed the blanket. “You can’t sleep on the couch. Lock up behind me, then go to bed.”
Jenny grunted in disagreement, groped for the blanket again, and found his hand instead. She blinked her eyes open a crack to see him standing over her, his face in shadow. Her fingers tightened on his, then fell away.
“Come on.” Bending, Derek slid one arm behind her knees, one behind her shoulders, and lifted her up against his chest. He paused at the doorway and shifted her. The light switch clicked and the room behind them went dark.
Jenny kept her eyes shut. That way, she could pretend she was dreaming.
She’d had dreams like this before, dreams of Derek Tate carrying her to bed. Lots and lots of them.
Lots.
Okay, daydreams.
In her daydreams, of course, things were more urgent.
Grasping. Panting. Pushing, seeking.
But this was soft and gentle. Safe. She didn’t have to force herself to put a stop to it. It was all right if she stayed here in his arms and let him take her to bed, not having to worry about everything for once.
“You are shameless,” he told her in his low, husky voice as he walked them into her bedroom. “I know you’re awake. You’re too lazy to get your own ass up the stairs.”
Jenny smiled. “Yeah. I learned this move from Kate. Always wanted to try it out. Works like a charm.” Her words were slurred with exhaustion.
Derek lowered her, sliding her up the bed until her head hit the pillows. The mattress beside her dipped as he leaned in, pressing a featherlight kiss to her forehead.
Her eyes fluttered open and she looked directly into his.
He stared at her for a long, silent moment, before pulling away.
Derek stood there for another few seconds, then he moved.
Her hand caught his again. He took in a sharp breath. “You have to let me go, Jen.”
Her fingers tightened.
She didn’t let go.