Chapter 7

AN: Sorry so late, guys! I was out shopping with the daughter and we bought wigs for halloween. OMG, funny! Had lots of fun...Thanks for the reviews! Now on with the show...

Penelope woke to the smell of coffee in the room. She tried to raise her head, but it was no use. When she overindulged, which she rarely did, she knew it was best to keep her head flat on the pillow for as long as possible. She opened her eyes and groaned at the intrusion of bright daylight.

"Good morning, pretty baby."

She turned her head towards the direction of the voice to see a very chipper Derek sitting on the edge of his bed. He was dressed in shorts and a t-shirt that had some popular brand on it, trendy thing that he was. She couldn't tell what brand; her vision was too foggy without her glasses. He was holding two cups of coffee.

At least, that's what it smelled like.

"Morning," she croaked out. God, this was awful. Her mouth tasted like a barnyard, her head ached, and she knew she looked worse than she ever had in her entire life.

Her hand fumbled on the nightstand as she reached for her glasses. She put them on, then pulled back the blankets and sat up.

"Oh my God," she said, looking down at what she was wearing, or rather, at the lack of what she was wearing.

"Don't worry; this is nothing new for me," he said casually when she pulled the sheet up to her neck.

Of course it wasn't, she thought peevishly. He'd had two or three women waking up like this at times in his life. That didn't make it any better for her account.

"Well, it is to me," she retorted, putting her hands on her face. "God, I must look awful."

"No," he cajoled with a teasing smirk. "Actually, I'd say you look….magnificent."

She sat up a little straighter and held the blanket tighter. He'd emphasized that last word, like it was important. It sounded familiar, but she only had a vague memory of it.

From the look on his face, she decided she didn't want to know what that was all about.

"Come on, get dressed." When she hesitated, he rolled his eyes. "Garcia, people wear less on the beach. Stop worrying." He walked over to the window and opened the drapes wider, letting the sun in full blast.

She took a deep breath. He was right. In the past, she'd actually dreamed of being in her sexy panties in front of him, but never quite in this fashion! She gave up thinking about it and sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, giving her head a chance to stop spinning.

"What a day!" he exclaimed, sounding like an early morning weather announcer. "In fact, I'd say it's… what's the word? Oh, yes!" He paused dramatically. "Magnificent!"

Now she really didn't want to know what that word was all about.

She closed her eyes, groaned, and then opened them. She stood, sighed, and walked to the table to get her coffee. "Thanks for the coffee."

"I got it your way," he said, turning away from the window. "Two creams…"

His voice trailed off. He stared at her, at every inch of bare skin she had hanging out. She knew at that moment, he was wrong. This was indeed a big deal to him. He couldn't meet her eyes; he kept focused directly at her double D's. She could tell he was trying to compose himself, but he was obviously failing miserably.

It felt kinda good, actually.

"I know people wear less at the beach," she murmured, trying to direct his attention back to her face. "I just have more to cover."

He looked up and said something completely unintelligible. It sounded like, "Mergh."

There was no doubt he was shocked; that was plain to be seen on his face. But right along with that surprise, there was no doubt he liked what he was seeing. What should've been damned embarrassing for her, turned out to be very flattering. A thrill ran through her, before she squashed it.

It was Morgan, after all. He wasn't exactly discriminating when it came to women.

Suddenly, she remembered what that magnificent was all about. At first, she felt mortified. God, what was she thinking when she'd said that? However, his reaction now….

She grinned to herself and knew exactly what she was going to do to even the score. She reached for her outfit, took a sip of her coffee, and gave him a sexy smile.

"Hey, Derek."

He pulled himself out of it enough to finally look up at her face.

"Guess there's more than one magnificent person in the room, hmmm?"

And she sashayed into the bathroom, still smiling.


Derek sat on the edge of his bed, trying to tamp down the rampant arousal he felt.

Holy shit.

That was all he could think the minute he'd turned around. He'd tried, he'd really, really tried, to look up at her face when she'd started to talk, but he physically had been unable do it. His chin had locked downward, his dick had locked upward, and he'd been done. The moment he'd been faced with those breasts…only holy shit had come to mind.

He'd always been a boob and butt man. It was ingrained to his way of thinking. He liked lush women who looked like women. A lot of women dieted unnecessarily in his book, to the point where they had no ass at all. He liked girly girls, with their girly accessories.

Garcia dressed in a low cut shirt nearly every day. It was something he'd loved every day of the week, too. He'd always had a fixation on what those breasts looked like out of the shirt. He'd had a lot of thoughts about that, pictured them, actually. The reality...the reality put his thoughts to shame. Pale, perfect, round, high, edged by red lace that had been begging to be peeled back, definitely more than a mouthful… he was never going to forget that. Not one day in his life.

He'd thought he'd do himself a favor and look down a little, to get his crap together. His eyes had trailed over her softly round tummy down to a pair of nearly see through red lace panties. They'd covered quite a bit—they weren't bikini style or anything like that—but they were lace, for fuck's sake! He'd even given it his best shot, trying to see completely though, before he'd stopped himself. He was a man, not some teenager sneaking a peek!

He'd heard her talking, but seriously couldn't understand a word she was saying through the rushing of blood in his head. Everything in him that was primal and male had been telling him to take the woman, throw her on the bed, and make wild love to her.

It was still saying it to him.

She'd said his name to break him out of her bewitching spell. He'd looked up at her face, and that hadn't helped, either. She had messy hair, smudgy makeup, and a come hither smile, like they'd spent the night together, doing exactly what his brain so wanted him to do.

However, the moment she'd opened her mouth to talk again, her smart and sassy mouth, he'd been reminded of exactly who she was and what she was. This was not a woman to toy with; this was Garcia, his best friend. He wanted to sleep with her; it was nearly a necessity now, but he couldn't approach her on that.

She was mouthy, opinionated, strong-willed Garcia. Someone he was meant to be a buddy with. Not one of his lovers, not generally girlfriend material. In honesty, he thought higher of her than he did of most of the women he dated. Penelope was the kind of woman who would marry some lucky bastard, raise a passel of cute kids, and have some perfect, neat little house.

He just knew he wasn't that guy.

That thinking was finally working on dampening the erection still in his pants. He could do this. He could remain her friend and her colleague, even knowing the delights she had under those colorful clothes of hers. Hell, she'd thought he was magnificent, too.

A wicked thought crossed his mind, and he smirked to himself. She thought he was magnificent now, and she hadn't even seen him with his boxers off yet!

He shook his head. Damn. He had to stop thinking that way. He heard the toilet flush and stood, knowing he had to face her again. He had decisions to make. Either he jumped the woman, or he just kept up the teasing foreplay they'd been doing for years and stayed her best friend.

"Ready?" she asked, a wicked little grin on her face.

He knew what he'd decided, and he started again right now.

"Baby," he teased, "you know I'm always ready."