Derek would sell the house.
Big deal. It's not like he had anything to look forward to here, other than restoring some of the original woodwork in the drunken mistake he was beginning to think he never should have bought.
With a regret he couldn't convince himself not to feel, Derek turned the ignition. He clicked on his wipers, clearing the blur of water to reveal Ms. M. fighting her way through the downpour to the lone car on the same side of the parking lot as his, just a few rows away.
Her face was pale, and she held her jacket stretched over her head in an attempt to shield herself from the rain. It did little good with the way the wind shifted every few seconds, blowing the rain this way and that so she ended up drenched despite her makeshift umbrella. The wind gusted again, plastering her wet shirt against her slender frame and whipping her long hair across her cheek.
Derek frowned. The woman was sick. If she didn't have pneumonia before, she would now.
She climbed in the car and started it up but didn't pull out of the parking lot like she should have. After a minute or two, the door opened and she climbed back out. Something was wrong.
Derek got out of his own car and jogged toward her, not caring if he got as soaked as she already was. He wasn't sick.
"What's the matter?" he yelled when he was close enough for her to hear over the rain.
She cast a tired look in his direction, then struggled to lift the hood of her car. "My car won't go."
"Get back inside." He took the weight of the hood from her and lowered it back down.
"But my car--"
"Would you even be able to tell what was wrong if you looked?"
She stared at him, her mouth pressed in a stubborn line.
"I'll take that as a 'no.' Now quit being difficult and get back in your car. You're sick."
Surprisingly, she did as he said. "Now what?"
She started shivering as she looked up at him with those big, brown eyes. All of the fight had been washed away by the rain and her illness, and he didn't like it one bit. She looked...utterly defeated.
He angled his body in the open door to shield her from the rain, which had eased up a bit but still showed no signs of stopping. "Let me take you home. You need to get out of those wet clothes and get under some blankets."
His eyes drifted down to her breasts, where he could make out the lacy outline of her bra through the soaked fabric. He ground his teeth together and snapped his gaze back to her face.
Her eyelids had drifted closed, so she hadn't noticed the inappropriate detour his eyes took when his only concern should be making sure she got home in one piece.
See. He was an asshole.
She was sick, and he was thinking about what it would be like if he was the one to help her out of her clothes and make sure she was tucked in, nice and warm and tight.
Underneath him.
She sighed. Her eyelids fluttered open, and she pinioned him with her gaze once more. He shifted against the frame of her car. Something about the way she always looked at him grabbed a hold of his insides and pulled. She made him feel like he should be doing something, like she expected something from him, but he didn't know what.
That's why he hadn't removed his sunglasses yesterday in the diner. He'd needed the protection.
"You're not taking me home. I don't even know you," she said.
"I told you...I'm not a monster." He held his breath as she searched his face. He wanted her to see past what she'd already concluded about him to the man he really was. "I'd never hurt you."
Her face softened, but she shook her head. "I'll just call my friend. Maybe she can leave work to pick me up." She arched an eyebrow at him. "You can go now."
That sounded an awful lot like, "You're dismissed."
He shoved a hand through his wet hair as she dug in her bag for her cell phone. Okay. Maybe not all the fight had gone out of her.
"I'm not going anywhere until I know you're home. Safe."
"Now who's being difficult." Her teeth chattered as she spoke. She hit the call button and held the phone to her ear. "Gabi? It's me. I don't suppose you could leave the shop for a few minutes. It's my car...I think the transmission finally went."
Derek stuck his head inside the car, close enough to the phone that he was sure her friend could hear him. "And you're sick. Tell her that."
His face was inches from hers, and for one long heartbeat their eyes locked. Her mouth opened slightly as her gaze slid down to his lips. A strand of wet hair clung to her cheek, and he had to resist the urge to brush it away.
"Tell her you're sick," he said again.
"I'm sick," she grumbled into the phone. She cleared her throat and looked up at him while her friend said something on the other end. "No...it's no one."
"Let me talk to her." Derek held out his hand.
She scowled. "Why?"
"Please..."
She didn't resist as he eased the phone from her grasp.
"Hello?" he said.
The cold, autumn rain had completely soaked through the back of his jacket from where he was hunched over her car, but he didn't care. Not when Ms. M had finally let down her defenses enough to let him help.
"Who is this?" came a wary voice from the other end.
"My name is Derek Taylor. I met your friend at the diner the other day. She needs to be in bed, not sitting here in her car trying to find a ride home. I told her I'd drive her, but she won't let me—"
"Wait...are you the jackass? The one who's too famous to buy a candy bar from a kid? She told me about you. You need to learn some manners, dude. Sounds like Layla taught you a lesson, huh. Red pants don't give you a free pass to be a prick."
Layla.
He looked down at her again. The name fit her perfectly. And he wasn't sure what his red pants had to do with anything...unless she liked them. He'd have to remember that.
Not that he'd be around to wear them in front of her again. He was leaving Maybe, and he'd worry about unloading his impulse purchase house later.
"That she did," he said. "And that's why I came to apologize today. She wouldn't let me do that either."
Gabi laughed. "Keep trying. She might forgive you eventually. So you want to drive her home?"
"It's the least I can do."
"She's that sick?"
"I believe so, though if I ask her, I'm sure she'd just yell at me."
There was a pause while Layla's friend considered what he had to say.
"How do I know you won't hurt her?" she said.
Before he could stop himself, he reached into the car with his free hand to brush the damp tendril of hair from Layla's cheek. Her eyes widened, and she sucked in a breath when his fingers grazed her skin.
He frowned, not because he regretted touching her or seeing her reaction to the simple contact, but because her skin was burning up.
"I'm not that kind of jackass. I'd never hurt--"
"You're damn right..." Gabi lowered her voice to a threatening whisper. "Because I know who you are, and I know how long it takes to get to her house. She will call me as soon as she walks through the door. Got it?"
"Yes ma'am."
"I'm only agreeing to this because I have a bridezilla coming to taste cupcakes for a third time and I want to tell her to her face to take her business elsewhere if she turns her nose up at my frosting again. And if you upset Layla again I will track you down and make you pay."
"I understand." Derek flattened his palm on the hood of the car to avoid giving into the desire to hold his hand to Layla's forehead.
With her fever-tinged cheeks and half-lowered eyelids, she just looked so...miserable. He knew it didn't make any sense, but for some reason he felt responsible, as if none of this would have happened if he'd just bought the damn candy bar.
"Good. Put her back on."
"You're a good friend," Derek said.
"Don't even think about using your rock star voodoo to charm me. It won't work."
Derek suppressed a smile as he handed the phone back to Layla. This whole thing was weird for him, but in a very good way.
Normally women threw themselves at him and begged him to take them home, or at least in the back of his tour bus. He never thought it possible, but it was kinda nice not getting what he wanted right away...made him want to work harder for it.
Layla hung up the phone, her hand resting limply on her thigh. She tilted her head back against the headrest and sighed. "Fine. I will accept a ride home. But this does not mean I forgive you for your appalling behavior."
"Of course not, Ms. M." Derek schooled his face into a serious expression.
"Are you mocking me?"
"No, Ms. M."
"I don't know how I feel about you calling me Ms. M." She sat forward in her seat, and started to get out of the car, using the steering wheel for leverage.
"Oh, no you don't...where do you think you're going." He straightened and blocked her exit, the rain falling fully on his body once more.
Maybe he was imagining things, but her eyes lingered on his thigh a little longer than was appropriate for someone who hated him. As she dragged her gaze to his face, her grip tightened on the steering wheel.
"I'm walking to your car. Unless you plan on carrying me to my house."
"Tempting, but no. Stay here." He held up his hands when she opened her mouth to argue. "You're sick, remember. Rain, bad. Dry car, good."
Before she could formulate a retort, he turned and sprinted to his car