About Last Night... (11 page)

Janine eyed the container with surprise. "Where did you get it?"

"I brought it with me."

Okay, maybe he wasn't incoherent, just strange. "And do you always travel with a stash of condiments?"

His smirk defined the laugh lines around his mouth. She guessed his age to be thirty-five or -six, a bit older than Steve. "It's a

long story. Let's just hope this works."

He knelt again, and she was struck by the sheer maleness of him—the pleasing way the knobby muscle of his shoulder rose

from the collar of the sweatshirt and melded into the cord of his neck, the sheen of his hair, close-cropped but as thick as a pelt,

the large, well-formed features of his face. And his hands…

Janine shivered again. Square and strong and capable. Mentally she compared them to Steve's, which were slender and

beautiful—a surgeon's hands—and wondered what Derek did for a living. But in the next second, she was distracted because

those hands were on the verge of smearing a gob of pale yellow goo on her toe. His concentration seemed so dogged, she was

overcome by a sense of being taken care of. And it occurred to her that he still hadn't questioned her about her surprise

appearance last night. He probably thought she was some kind of sex-crazed kitten, when, in truth, she was a
sex-starved
kitten

—er, woman.

He made a disgusted sound in his throat. "People actually eat this stuff?"

"Listen, Derek," she murmured, then cleared her throat. "About last night …
ahhhhhh."
She couldn't help it—the combination

of his hands on her foot, the slippery substance he smeared on her skin and the tingly numbness of her leg made her body twitch

and surge.

He seemed not to notice and continued to slather the area around her toe.

"You're probably wondering why I showed up here wearing that, um, costume."

Derek grunted and worked her toe back and forth.

"You see, it was a little joke between me and Steve." She manufactured a laugh, but dipped her chin and accidentally

swallowed a mouthful of cool soapy water, then came up sputtering.

He looked over his shoulder, then shook his head as if considering whether to hold her under until she stopped flopping.

God, what about this man turned her into such a klutz? After shoving his sweatshirt sleeve up past his biceps, he plunged his

hand into the water and she heard the dull thunk of the pulled plug before he returned to his greasy task.

The water level began to lower, tickling her as it drained away, and making her feel even more exposed. The towel covered

her from neck to knees, but just knowing that the only thing that stood between Derek and her birthday suit was a layer of wet

terry cloth left a disturbance in her stomach. When the silence became unbearable, she picked up where she'd left off. "Like I

was saying, Steve and I are always joshing each other." She laughed. "Josh, josh, josh. You know how couples are," she said,

hoping she didn't sound as inane as she felt.

Derek's arm moved back and forth as he worked to loosen her toe, then suddenly her foot jerked back, and she was free.

"Oh, thank you," she said, weak with both relief and immobility. "I was afraid we'd have to call the fire department."

Wiping his hands on a towel, he gave her a whisper of a smile. "Do you need a hand getting up?" She did, but she knew she'd

never be able to keep herself covered in the process. He must have read her mind because he added, "Don't worry, Pinky, I'll

close my eyes."

For some reason, she liked the ridiculous nickname. "Okay." Janine raised her arms for him to clasp, then he closed his eyes

and lifted her to her feet as easily as if she were a piece of fluff. Water sluiced from her hair, her body and the towel, which

she tried to keep close to her with her elbows, to no avail. The towel fell to the bottom of the tub, and when she put her weight

on her foot, it slipped out from under her. She shrieked and Derek responded by scooping an arm around her waist to steady

her, jamming her up against his body. Desire bolted through her, although he kept his hands in innocent places. Concern rode

over his features, but true to his word, his eyes remained closed.

She clung to his arms—his sleeves really, which were the first handholds she'd been able to grab. Even with her toes

dangling a couple of inches off the ground, the top of her head reached only to his collarbone. The soft cotton of his sweatshirt

soaked up the water from her breasts pressed against him, and the skin below her navel stung from proximity to the metal button

on his jeans. His fingers curved around her waist, hot and powerfully strong, and the male scent of his skin filled her nostrils.

Janine's lips parted, and in that instant, crazily, she wanted more than anything for this man to kiss her. Kiss her so she could be

indignant, outraged, even insulted that he would think that she, on the verge of being married, would entertain being kissed by

someone other than, um … she winced … oh, yeah—Steve.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his eyes still closed.

Other than waterlogged and adrenaline-shot? "I think so," she managed to say. "Just let me down slowly."

Derek swallowed, wondering if she could feel and hear his heart thudding like a randy fifteen-year-old's. Against screaming

instincts, he kept his eyes closed. He'd been too long without a woman, he decided, if he could be so easily affected by the

accident-prone wife-to-be of a friend. The same woman, he reminded himself, who was responsible for him being detained,

sleep-deprived, inconvenienced and very, very wet.

Doing as he was told, he set her down slowly, although it meant her nude body slid down the length of his straining one. The

ends of her wet hair tickled his hands as he lowered her, and he held her waist until she had her footing.

"I think I can stand on my own now," she murmured, but he was reluctant to let go. His thumbs rested on the firm slick skin

around her navel, and his fingers brushed the small of her back. She was willowy, and lush, like a long-stemmed flower, and it

was all he could do not to steal a glance of her in full bloom as he turned to exit the bathroom. She'd come to the hotel in that

crazy getup to surprise Steve, and now he couldn't decide if his buddy was the luckiest man alive, or the most cursed.

Derek closed the door behind him, and exhaled mightily to regain control of his libido. He simply could
not
be physically

attracted to the loony case in the bathroom, not if they were going to be in close quarters for the next several hours—possibly

days—and especially since she was about to marry a friend of his.

Suddenly some of the words Janine had murmured last night when she thought he was Steve flooded back to him.
I just can't

wait any longer. I need to know now if we're good together.
Thunderstruck, he repeated the words to himself. Was it possible

that his buddy was about to marry a woman he hadn't yet slept with? That she had come to the hotel with the intention of

seducing her groom?

Derek groaned and ran his hand through his hair. If so, that meant the hormones of the shapely woman in the next room were

probably raging as high as his. And something else was bothering him. He distinctly remembered seeing Steve rummage in a

gray toiletry bag yesterday before he left, but now the bag was nowhere to be found. Derek had a feeling his buddy hadn't spent

the night out partying with the other groomsmen.

And while admittedly, Janine Murphy seemed like the kind of woman who attracted trouble, she also struck him as being a

little naive, sweetly vulnerable and completely sincere. As a determined bachelor, he was the last man qualified to give advice

about getting married, but the very least she deserved was honesty and faithfulness from her partner.

Derek cursed as those protective feelings ballooned in his chest again. What kind of fool was he even to consider protecting

Janine from the man she loved? Their relationship was none of his concern. And he had to admit that his newfound attraction to

the woman, not to mention his medication, was probably coloring his judgment. So the only solution was to stay as far away

from her as he could, while sharing a bedroom.

The bathroom door cracked and Janine's head appeared. "Derek?"

He turned, and his gut clenched. After his best efforts to resist a glance at her while wrestling in the bathroom, her nakedness

was revealed in its splendor in the mirror over the vanity, clearly visible from his vantage point. He realized she was

completely oblivious to the peep show, and he saw no reason to embarrass her by voicing his admiration for the brown beauty

mark on her right hip. His body hardened instantly.

Her smile, conversely, resonated abject innocence. "I found only socks and gym shoes in Steve's bag. Do you have some

clothes I can borrow?"

Derek swallowed hard and managed to nod. Janine beamed and closed the door, although he knew the imprint of her slender

naked body wouldn't soon be erased from his mind.

Not generally a religious man, he nonetheless recognized his limits as a mortal and muttered a silent prayer for strength.

9

« ^ »

J
anine adjusted her borrowed clothes. Derek's gray sweatpants—the counterpart to his University of Kentucky sweatshirt, she

assumed—swallowed her. Sans underwear, the cotton fleece nuzzled her skin, which was satiny smooth and warm from her

prolonged bath. Rolled cuffs helped shorten the pants while a drawstring held the waistband just under her breasts. She was

forced to go braless until Marie or her mother could drop off reinforcements. Derek's plain black T-shirt fell to her knees, so

she knotted it at her waist to take up the slack. She gazed at her reflection and nodded in satisfaction. The shapeless clothes

were a far cry from the costume she'd shown up wearing last night, which was just the way she wanted it. After an evening of

prancing around like a Frederick's of Hollywood reject, and after a morning of wrangling naked in the bathroom, big and baggy

was just the look she needed to keep her body under wraps and her urges under control. She sniffed a sleeve that fell past her

elbow, then pursed her lips in appreciation at the mountain-fresh scent—the man used fabric softener, so he had a sensitive

side.

Either that or his mother still did his laundry.

The bathroom was equipped with a blow-dryer, but she opted to detangle her wet hair with a small comb from Derek's

toiletry bag—which she rinsed and dried carefully before replacing—to allow the long strands to dry naturally. She stared at

her hair for several minutes, perusing the arrow-straight center part and waist-length style, knowing her hair was hopelessly

out of date, while acknowledging it suited her. The color wasn't as blond as it used to be, but she felt no compulsion to lighten

the honey-hued strands. And other than having to buy shampoo by the gallon, her long hair was low-maintenance, more often

than not secured into a low ponytail with her favorite tortoise-shell clasp. For now, it would have to hang loose.

She wriggled her liberated big toe. Other than some tenderness and a few scratches in the pink nail polish—a gift pedicure

from Marie—her toe seemed to have escaped permanent damage from the bathtub incident.

But her psyche, well, that was another story.

Derek Stillman had shaken her. For proof of that revelation, she needed to look no farther than her cheeks. Even in the

absence of makeup or lotion, they bore an uncommon blush that marched across her nose and tingled with a fiery intensity. So

she was attracted to the man. Okay, make that
wildly
attracted to the man. She had a simple explanation: Didn't it make sense

that the sexual feelings she'd brought with her for Steve, she might now be projecting onto Derek?

No,
came the resounding answer. It didn't make sense at all.

The body might be a fickle instrument, not caring who or what stimulated it, but the mind should be able to tell the difference

between right and wrong. Carrying enough guilt on her shoulders to fill a cathedral ten minutes before Mass, she opened the

bathroom door, hoping against hope that Derek would announce the quarantine had just been lifted. Or perhaps discover that

her eyes had played tricks on her—her best man wasn't a great-looking, incredibly built specimen with whom she had to share

four walls, but a homely, broken-down gnome who would take up residence
under
the bed if they had to spend another night

together.

But Derek glanced up from his seat on the end of the bed and dispelled her hopes in one fell swoop with the concerned

frown pulling at his appallingly handsome face.

"We're making headlines," he said, gesturing toward the television. Resisting the urge to sit next to him, she hovered a few

steps away, riveted to the screen. The tag line on the bottom of the picture read: Quarantine Crisis, Green Stations Resort, Lake

Lanier, Georgia. A grim-faced reporter wearing a yellow windbreaker, with a surgical mask dangling around his neck, stared

into the camera as he delivered his report.

"A spokesperson for the Centers for Disease Control reports some form of Legionnaires' disease may have broken out among

the guests at a resort near Lake Lanier, north of Atlanta, where a quarantine is in effect. An infirmary has been set up in the