What’s New Pussycat(24)

Derrick had described her? The word curvy made her warm and smiley. Also not something she was familiar or comfortable with. Since when did a man’s approval mean squat to her?

Yet, here she was, warm from head to toe.

Nat stuck out one of her long, gorgeously slender legs. “I’m too damn tall. Everything I have would be too long on you. But JC’s got some great stuff and this is just to tide you over until we can drag you into town and pick you up some things of your own. As I’m learning, J loves any excuse to shop.” Then Nat brightened. “Unless you’d like us to take you into the city to get your own things? Derrick said you were from Manhattan—love Manhattan, and I’m all for a girls’ day trip.”

“I’m in, too,” JC said. “We could grab some lunch, maybe hit Macy’s.”

Sure. They could do that. If she had things of her own. An apartment of her own. Money of her own. Anything of her own. But she couldn’t tell them that.

More lies on their way. “This is perfect for now, really. I sort of need a break from the city anyway, if…if that’s okay by you?”

Martine caught the women passing each other looks of concern, but she chose to ignore them in honor of having something better to wear than just Derrick’s shirt.

Though, if she were honest with herself, Derrick’s shirt smelled good—like Derrick, clean and musky with a hint of the outdoors.

As JC and Nat watched her, she knew what she had to do. She’d done it all her life.

Divert them. That was how she got through all the rough patches in her small world. Diversion, diversion, diversion. Take the focus off her. It was how she avoided getting too personal, avoided girl talk—avoided.

“But maybe you could help me get these things together? Show me what you brought? I think Derrick has a bottle of wine in the fridge, and I’d love the company.”

That wasn’t a lie. She liked these women, liked their vibe. Things could be far worse than having two women offer to take you shopping. She could still be holed up at Escobar’s with Jersey Shore on an endless loop and nothing but dry cat food and water. Or they could be the pack members charged with tying her to a pillar for the death-sex.

It could always be worse.

The suggestion appeared to appease them. “I call first dibs on Hector’s brownies!” Nat yelped, loping into the kitchen to grab the foil-covered tray.

“Brownies?” Martine asking with a tilt of her head and a smile. It had been so long since she’d eaten real food, if she wasn’t careful, she was going to OD on it.

Nat nodded, fishing out a chunk of moist, cakey chocolate. “He makes the most amazing brownies.”

Brownies and some clothes to wear. Yeah. Right now, everything really was all right.

* * *

Upon Nat and JC’s departure, Martine polished off the last of Hector’s brownies. Whoever Hector was.

And whoever he was, he did make an amazing brownie. She felt euphoric, electric, alive. So alive.

Licking her fingers, she ignored the notion that euphoria and she weren’t exactly BFFs and decided to go with it. She had some cute clothes thanks to JC, her head wasn’t full of questions after polishing off a bottle of wine between the three of them, she wasn’t locked in a cage, and she was erect for the first time in months.

She was free—so free, she wanted to dance and sing in celebration.

Also something she didn’t do, but somehow, her fingers found Derrick’s TV remote and she flipped it on, surfing the music channels until she found some satellite dance station.

Martine grinned as she spun around, letting her hips gyrate to the hard beat, sipping the remnants of her wine and smiling to herself as the sun slipped away and night fell.

“Martine?”

Oh, that voice. Why did it sound extra gravelly and silky tonight?

Turning around, she greeted the man at the center of this crazy and grinned. Heavens, he was so sexy with his tight jeans clinging to the muscles of his thighs and his thin blue sweater hugging his pecs.

“You’re home,” she cooed, not fazed at all by how happy her tone rang. She sashayed out into the kitchen to grab another bottle of wine from the fridge.

Her hips still moving to the beat, Martine popped the cork and poured him a glass, offering it to him when he walked into the kitchen, fighting to catch her breath at how glad she was to see him.

As he pulled off his jacket and dropped it on a breakfast barstool, Derrick’s gaze met hers—and it held suspicion. “I’m definitely home. So, you look pretty happy there. Am I allowed to ask why? Or is that too personal?”

Nothing was too personal right now. Right now everything was hunky-dory. She giggled as she made her way back into the living room, twirling once more, enjoying the feel of the fabric of her ruffled skirt fluttering around her thighs. “I met your sister, Nat, and JC brought me some clothes. I figured it was cause for celebration.”