Read Online Unwrapped by Chantilly White - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Chantilly White
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man, he'd turned her down.
Had it only been last night? Less than twenty-four hours
ago. It felt like a different lifetime.
"Let's wait a bit longer," he'd said, snuffing the
elegant candles she'd set to light all over the house, trampling the rose
petals strewn across the floor beneath his Italian-leather shoes. "We want
it to be perfect, don't we?"
Confused, yet nodding out of habit, Mia had pulled her dark
purple silk robe over her bare shoulders, covering the outrageously expensive
and, she'd thought, irresistible teddy, shielding her body from his derisive
gaze.
He'd waved a hand at her ensemble, his voice pitying when he
said, "You know, that's really not the most flattering look for someone
with your body type."
Shock had stolen her tongue.
"I want you at your very best," he'd continued,
dumping the two-hundred dollar champagne down the kitchen sink and setting her
best crystal flutes on the counter with a disapproving slap. "You'll feel
so much better, so much more confident, when you get to your goal. Just ten
more pounds. You can do it, Mia, if you buckle down."
Pulling her toward him, he'd dropped a chaste kiss on her
forehead. Her body had moved, unresisting, into his embrace, but the kiss
kindled the tiniest spark deep inside. Of rebellion.
"Ten pounds," she'd echoed, her voice raspy with
humiliation, and, thank God, the beginning of anger.
"Just ten," Barry affirmed, giving her ass a
hearty pat, then pinching it testingly between his fingers and shaking his head
sadly. "Maybe twelve."
And that tiny, flickering spark had flared. And raged.
The argument had spiraled across her small condo for hours,
recriminations and accusations hurled with hurricane force, ricocheting through
the halls. Then he'd hit her with the experiment angle, and how it was clear he
couldn't 'work' with her any more. He'd been willing to go forward a bit
longer, but if this was her attitude. . .
Barry's shock had been genuine, she knew. She'd buried her
spirit so well, for so long, he'd had no idea of the slumbering tigress he'd
unleashed. Her self-respect had finally reared its sharp-toothed head. It
refused to go quietly back inside its cage.
Finally, he'd fled after battering her with the last of his
insults, adding crazy and unstable to the long, long list of his rebukes, where
fat, lazy, undisciplined and over-emotional were the kindest of his complaints.
The adrenaline surge had flash-flooded out of her body with
the slamming of the front door on his retreat, leaving her aching and lost and
full, once again, of self-doubts. The tiger had curled back in its cage,
leaving her to deal with the fallout on her own.
And now. . .
Derrick's image filled her mind. Physical pain wracked her
body.
"Okay," she said, her throat tight,
"okay." Doubled over, she dropped to the floor next to her bed and curled
into a ball, rocking herself, her arms clasped tightly around her bare legs.
"One hour. You get one hour for your pity party, and then you have to
figure out a plan to fix this."
Mia waited for the tears to gush, their pressure building to
excruciating intensity inside her skull, but shame kept her eyes dry as desert
sand.
Head aching, body shuddering, she relived the scene on the
beach in unbearable detail. Even her mother had never managed to kill two
relationships in one twenty-four hour period.
Go me, she thought. A new record.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Derrick banged his fist on Mia's door a third time,
impatience lending extra oomph to each strike. Where the hell was she? He
checked his watch. She hadn't answered her house phone, her cell, the door, but
her car was in the garage, and the light in her upstairs bedroom glowed through
her filmy curtains.
Fine. She could pretend not to hear him, try to avoid him,
but he wasn't going anywhere. They were going to have this out right freaking
now.
Pulling his key ring from his pocket, he flipped through the
various bits of metal until he found Mia's house key, thrust it
Had it only been last night? Less than twenty-four hours
ago. It felt like a different lifetime.
"Let's wait a bit longer," he'd said, snuffing the
elegant candles she'd set to light all over the house, trampling the rose
petals strewn across the floor beneath his Italian-leather shoes. "We want
it to be perfect, don't we?"
Confused, yet nodding out of habit, Mia had pulled her dark
purple silk robe over her bare shoulders, covering the outrageously expensive
and, she'd thought, irresistible teddy, shielding her body from his derisive
gaze.
He'd waved a hand at her ensemble, his voice pitying when he
said, "You know, that's really not the most flattering look for someone
with your body type."
Shock had stolen her tongue.
"I want you at your very best," he'd continued,
dumping the two-hundred dollar champagne down the kitchen sink and setting her
best crystal flutes on the counter with a disapproving slap. "You'll feel
so much better, so much more confident, when you get to your goal. Just ten
more pounds. You can do it, Mia, if you buckle down."
Pulling her toward him, he'd dropped a chaste kiss on her
forehead. Her body had moved, unresisting, into his embrace, but the kiss
kindled the tiniest spark deep inside. Of rebellion.
"Ten pounds," she'd echoed, her voice raspy with
humiliation, and, thank God, the beginning of anger.
"Just ten," Barry affirmed, giving her ass a
hearty pat, then pinching it testingly between his fingers and shaking his head
sadly. "Maybe twelve."
And that tiny, flickering spark had flared. And raged.
The argument had spiraled across her small condo for hours,
recriminations and accusations hurled with hurricane force, ricocheting through
the halls. Then he'd hit her with the experiment angle, and how it was clear he
couldn't 'work' with her any more. He'd been willing to go forward a bit
longer, but if this was her attitude. . .
Barry's shock had been genuine, she knew. She'd buried her
spirit so well, for so long, he'd had no idea of the slumbering tigress he'd
unleashed. Her self-respect had finally reared its sharp-toothed head. It
refused to go quietly back inside its cage.
Finally, he'd fled after battering her with the last of his
insults, adding crazy and unstable to the long, long list of his rebukes, where
fat, lazy, undisciplined and over-emotional were the kindest of his complaints.
The adrenaline surge had flash-flooded out of her body with
the slamming of the front door on his retreat, leaving her aching and lost and
full, once again, of self-doubts. The tiger had curled back in its cage,
leaving her to deal with the fallout on her own.
And now. . .
Derrick's image filled her mind. Physical pain wracked her
body.
"Okay," she said, her throat tight,
"okay." Doubled over, she dropped to the floor next to her bed and curled
into a ball, rocking herself, her arms clasped tightly around her bare legs.
"One hour. You get one hour for your pity party, and then you have to
figure out a plan to fix this."
Mia waited for the tears to gush, their pressure building to
excruciating intensity inside her skull, but shame kept her eyes dry as desert
sand.
Head aching, body shuddering, she relived the scene on the
beach in unbearable detail. Even her mother had never managed to kill two
relationships in one twenty-four hour period.
Go me, she thought. A new record.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Derrick banged his fist on Mia's door a third time,
impatience lending extra oomph to each strike. Where the hell was she? He
checked his watch. She hadn't answered her house phone, her cell, the door, but
her car was in the garage, and the light in her upstairs bedroom glowed through
her filmy curtains.
Fine. She could pretend not to hear him, try to avoid him,
but he wasn't going anywhere. They were going to have this out right freaking
now.
Pulling his key ring from his pocket, he flipped through the
various bits of metal until he found Mia's house key, thrust it
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