AN: Thanks so much for the reviews! Did everyone notice the new cover for the story? My friend, Dragon Claymore, made it for us...What do you think? She did ones for Release, The Birthday Party, The Reunion, The List...Go check 'em out!...A special thanks to Parodys for the idea of red lipstick and a red dress...

Chapter 6

Penelope stood in the bathroom, applying lipstick to her full lips. It matched the red dress with the sparkly bodice she was wearing. She figured she should wear it before she got too sunburned under the Miami sun. P was pretty sure the she would burn, even with her sunscreen. It was the curse of her very fair skin from her Scandinavian ancestors. If she wore the dress in a couple of days, she'd look like lobsterwoman—red skin, red lips, red dress.

Slicking on one last coat of the ruby stick, she rubbed the top and bottom lip together, making a smacking noise that sounded somewhat like a kiss. Ironically, that was probably the only kissing noise the lovely room was going to hear on this trip.

The room was very nice. The walls were a nice, creamy color of ecru and the carpet was a sandy brown. Abstract art hung on the walls in classic patterns and the bathroom was spacious with an interesting shower head that was supposed to feel like rain when it was on.

And there were two beds. She was so, so, sooooo certain there were two of them.

Tossing her lipstick down, she sighed sadly. God, he couldn't have been more obvious about the fact he didn't want to sleep with her. In a painful series of bungling apologies—when on earth did Derek ever bungle?—she heard him backtrack and back away from her in the most rapid fire succession of negatives she'd ever heard. It was almost like he couldn't have possibly imagined sharing a bed with her. That if she were the last woman in Miami—the last woman on earth—he wouldn't have considered it.

She'd been hurt, of course, because the whole damn limo ride she'd been considering it and well…it had pissed her off. She was ready to say to him, "Derek Morgan, please shut the front door. I've been insulted enough, thank you very much!" But, mercifully, he'd stopped.

Stupid! Why had she been thinking of something with Derek anyway? She knew better. He obviously knew better, too, considering his diatribe. Was she a glutton for punishment? A selective masochist who liked pain only from one particular chocolate god?

Ugh. Not only did she feel undesirable, now she felt like an idiot, too.

Penelope glanced at herself in the mirror and realized she was pouting. She didn't want to pout. She wanted to have a good time on her vacation with her very, very, uberly platonic best friend and find herself some Miami hottie to make her feel like she wasn't Quasimodo. That was part of the reason she changed into the dress. She knew she looked sexy in it. Maybe not sexy to someone like Derek Morgan, but freaking sexy and hot as Hades to all other reasonable, less superficial men.

She winced. That was mean. Derek wasn't superficial. Penelope was a good judge of character most of the time. He was so kind to her. He was her staunchest defender, the reason for her smile, and her shoulder to cry on. He'd always been good to her. He was unattainable, and he was her dear friend, but he wasn't superficial. He'd always made her feel sexy and brilliant and gorgeous, too...

Until an hour ago.

Grabbing her matching silk purse, she tossed her lipstick inside. She was going to flirt and laugh and tease and make another man feel very lucky tonight. Some hot guy with a nice smile and lips that dolled out compliments and kisses.

Then maybe she wouldn't feel so much like she was missing something…like her heart.

"Wow, baby," he said as she stepped out of the bathroom. "You look stunning."

Penelope smiled back at him. "Ah, mon cher…how very truthful."

That caused him to grin, a slow, sweet and sexy smile that still made her aching heart flip. He reached for her, holding her hand so that she would piroutte for him.

"Hell, yes, woman," he proclaimed, guiding her deftly into his arms. "I am going to have to beat the other men away with a billy club."

"You will do no such thing," she ordered, placing a hand on the center of his chest like always. "This goddess welcomes all worthy revelers at her temple."

"Silly girl." He paused for a moment, like he had something to say, but then he shook his head and released her. "I better get ready."

Confused, Penelope watched as he walked into the bathroom, carrying his clothing. She could've sworn she'd seen the flare of jealousy in his eyes at the mention of other men. Could that be?

She recalled what he'd said on the plane, too: Unlike you, I'm not so polite to offer you choices. This vacation...you're mine.

Her heart began to race and chills of awareness rolled down her spine. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Did he mean...

When she opened her eyes again, she focused solely on the two beds in the room. Two beds two feet apart. It might as well have been worlds apart.

No, he didn't mean that. He meant what he always did, what he always had for as long as she'd known him. Friendship. He didn't want to share her friendship while she was on this vacation.

Needing to get away from those two beds that she was beginning to hate, she ran over to the balcony door and drew open the opaque lace curtains. She stepped outside, wanting to fill her lungs with sweet, ocean air and find some absolution for her hopelessly romantic heart, but there was no ocean. Instead, it was a view of the city.

She stood there, rather surprised, almost in shock. For someone who had planned a perfect beach vacation, this seemed to be... not so perfect.

"Not too impressive, is it?" he asked, coming out behind her.

She startled, but only slightly. "Yeah."

As if he could sense even that slightest discomfort, he put his arms around her and tugged her back against his chest. She leaned back into his embrace; his warm, hard body felt good so good supporting her. He must've refreshed his cologne, the scent surrounded her and made her mouth water. She wanted to turn her head and kiss the side of his neck, take a bite like a vampire.

"I'm sorry about that, momma," he answered, the vibration of his words resonating in his chest like the purr of a big cat. "This was the only view available for the kind of room we got."

Lost in pure sensual overload, the words came to her slowly. What kind of room was he talking...

"With the two beds," she said, fighting the urge to stiffen and move away from him. That woke her up from the sensual reverie she seemed to fall under whenever he held her. He could ease her pain faster than any other person. He had a connection to her on a visceral level.

"Yes," he answered, sounding apologetic. "The double room suites had city views."

For some reason, that sound of apology bothered her far more than it normally would. Maybe it was because she was feeling down already, but he didn't need to apologize for feeling less attracted to her than she was to him. It sucked for her, but it didn't require an apology. That added insult to injury.

She wondered if he had any idea how that felt, to be less than desirable...and then a light bulb went off in her head.

"You know, Derek, that's too bad," she said, turning slowly in his arms. She trailed a fingertip on his chest. "You could've done the one bed."

"No, Baby-"

Before he could talk, she interrupted him, "I wouldn't have made you take the floor, either. We easily could've easily shared a big bed. They fit two."

She saw the confusion in his eyes, as she stepped back into the hotel room, and he followed her. He was following her very closely.

"Sweetheart, I know-"

"We could've been in the bed together. Nothing would've happened," she said, stopping in her tracks so abruptly, he bumped into her. She turned quickly. "Right?"

This time, he looked shocked. "Well, no-"

"I trust you implicitly, angelfish. Implicitly," she repeated, staring him down. "And you trust me?"

"Of course."

"Nothing would've happened," she said, enunciating the words carefully.

He had a blank look on his face. "No."

"That's right," she said, starting to enjoy this. "Nothing. Zilch. Nada." She paused. "That's nothing in Spanish."

"I know that!" he growled.

"I mean, we could lay in that bed,"she drawled, pointing at one of the smaller, double beds, "both of us buck naked and hornier than two prisoners in solitary for ten years, and we still would be safe."

"Penelope," he snapped.

"What?" she asked, turning back to look at him with an innocent expression.

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Woman, lose that look, because you are anything but innocent."

She blinked rapidly. "I don't know what you mean."

"The hell you don't!" he said, interrupting her this time. "Regardless of what we do or don't feel for each other, we are both adults in our prime-"

"Your prime was seventeen, Hot Stuff," she fired back. "I'm just hitting mine."

He opened his mouth, and then closed it, and then opened it again, before snapping it shut and setting his jaw. His expression was grim. "Let's go to dinner."

This time, when he put his hand on the middle of her back, the warmth she usually felt wasn't there. Any victory she might've felt seemed kind of hollow.

As they made their way to the elevator, her stomach clenched, and not from emptiness. She'd baited him, called him out over his manhood, and for what? This ugly, horrible, empty feeling?

She'd done it to strike back at him, to hurt him as he'd hurt her. But she'd done hers on purpose, and that made what she'd done a thousand times worse. Yes, she wanted him to want her, but not like this. Never like this. Not because he he had to prove he was a man. There was never a doubt in her mind of that.

She needed to apologize.

After the elevator doors closed, she said, "Derek, I'm sor-"

Before she could finish the statement, he held her in his arms in a fierce embrace. Her body was molded against his, melded so close, they were almost one flesh. He held her tightly, cradling her, like she was the most precious thing to him, like he could protect her from the world.

They held each other like that, neither saying a word, soaking up each other's warmth. The elevator door opened and closed, but they didn't stop their embrace.

"I'm so, so sorry," she began, tears leaping to her eyes.

"Hush, woman," he murmured against her hair. He pulled away just enough to cup her face in his hands. "You never need to say those words to me."

"Yes, I do."

Derek kissed her forehead. "No, baby-"

"Damn, people," the young man, who must have boarded the elevator when they didn't notice, said to them as he exited to his floor. He had a towering Mohawk and an even more towering look of disapproval. "Get a room!"

Penelope and Derek stared at his retreating back, and then they looked at each other. And then they began to chuckle.

Derek grinned at her. "Hungry yet?"

Penelope looped her arm around his waist. "I'm starving."