“Touché.”
“So about the sex…”
“What about it?”
“I’m in. All systems go.”
“What systems?”
“Death-sex.”
His pretty face went deliciously blank. “What?”
“I, Martine Brooks, will have save-your-life sex with you, Derrick Adams.”
Derrick dropped the knife then, letting it clatter to the floor.
Chapter Five
Martine scooped up the knife, dropping it in the sink while Derrick’s jaw hung open. She quickly grabbed another from the chopping block and said, “Just hear me out. “Here’s what I propose. A deal of sorts.”
His eyes narrowed. “A deal…”
Martine’s return gaze was direct. “Uh-huh. I’ll have sex with you by the light of the full moon—”
“On the night of the full moon.”
She waved a hand at him, using the knife to pick up where he’d left off with the celery. “Whatever, Dr. Seuss. Around, in, on top of the moon, if that’s what you need. Anyway, I’ll have sex with you to save you from dying.”
Now his eyes went cautious. “And in return?”
“In return, you let me stay here, no questions asked. I can come and go as I please, of course, being respectful of your space and hospitality until this is over.”
His brow furrowed. “And then?”
“And then I get out of your hair forever. Look, you don’t want this any more than I do, right? We’ve been thrown together by some force—”
“Destiny.”
“Baloney,” she spat. She didn’t believe in fate and destiny.
“Wow. Not a fan of happily-ever-after, huh?”
She held up a finger. “I didn’t say that. I’m a huge fan of happily-ever-everything. I just don’t necessarily believe it has to be with one person. I know that sounds callous and no, before you get all psycho-babble-y with me, it’s not because I’ve been burned or scarred in an emotionally traumatic way because of a romantic relationship. I just like variety. There’s never been a single man I’ve wanted to commit to for longer than a couple of nights. No one’s that amusing.”
And that was true. She’d dated plenty at almost thirty-three. She’d dated pleasantly, wisely, and she’d always left without looking back the moment she lost interest. She loved men—for a time, and then at the first sign of ownership on their part, she was out. No one owned her. No one had the right to tell her what to do. She made the rules.
Derrick’s lips fell into a devastatingly handsome grin, leaving deep grooves on either side of his mouth. “You know, I like you more and more. But here’s something to think about. You can’t leave if you’re my life mate.”
Dropping the knife, Martine put her hands on her hips. “Said who? You know, I gave this whole curse thing some thought today. Now, here’s what I’ve been thinking. The curse just says you have to mate with me on the full moon. It doesn’t say you have to set up housekeeping with me, does it? There’s no saying I have to cook and clean while you mow the grass and take out the garbage or even live with you day in and day out, is there?”
Derrick’s beautiful face went blank, but his listening ears were definitely on.
Now they were getting somewhere. She smiled as she continued. “Will you still die after we have sex if I go back to Manhattan and you stay here in Cedar Glen? Max didn’t. And if that were the case, how do you people get anything done if you’re always glued to each other’s backsides? Does the curse say wives of werewolves can’t ever take a girls’ trip? Shop for shoes? Have some personal time?”
His eyes widened, and Martine was sure she saw a tiny bit of hope in them. “You have a point.”
“Exactly. So I don’t mind, for all intents and purposes, wearing the title Derrick’s Mate, if you don’t mind being Mr. Martine. It’s like everyone always says, marriage is just a piece of paper, right? That’s what our mate will be. A piece of paper—an agreement. I suspect you feel the same?”
His chin lifted, dark with stubble and almost defiant. “Definitely right.”
“So deal?”
Derrick picked the knife back up and pointed to the drawer. “Let me process. Mind peeling the carrots while we hash this out? Peeler’s in the drawer on your side.”
Martine reached in and dug around until she found it. “What are we making?”
“Not chicken noodle soup,” he joked.
Martine laughed as she peeled. “I bet there’s a special kind of hate reserved in your family for all things soup.”