About Last Night... (14 page)

his word.

"But how can Jack collect his paycheck if he's not around?"

"My mother keeps it for him and pays all his bills—his utilities, his health club membership—just as if he's going to walk

back in the door tomorrow." He didn't seem bitter, just resigned.

A mother who doted on her prodigal son, Janine thought. Loath to state the obvious, but unable to help herself, Janine said,

"It doesn't seem fair that you would have to sacrifice your livelihood because of your brother's selfishness."

He shrugged, moving mounds of muscle. "Life isn't fair. I'll be fine. I'm just glad I don't have a wife and family to provide

for." He pointed to her left hand. "I guess Steve doesn't have to worry about those kinds of things."

She glanced down at her engagement ring, the diamonds huge and lustrous. Funny, but as beautiful as the heirloom was, she

would've preferred that Steve give her something smaller, a ring he'd bought for her himself. Or one they'd purchased together.

If truth be known, she was still in awe of Steve's family's money, and not entirely comfortable with the concept of being rich.

Sure, Steve had worked hard to get through medical school, but a trust fund had covered his expenses, so when he completed

his residency, he hadn't faced the enormous loans like most med students. And herself.

Steve lived in a nice home in Midtown, a very hip area. When they married, he would pay off her school loans, and their

lives would be filled with relative luxury, as would their children's.

Assuming they actually had sex and conceived, that is.

"Steve always insisted on the very best," Derek said, pouring himself another cup of coffee.

Was he referring to the ring, she wondered, or to her? Warmth flooded her face. "I suppose I should call him and let him

know what's going on," she said, then glanced up quickly. "Well, n-not
everything
that's going on."

One of his dark eyebrows arched as he sipped from the cup dwarfed by his fingers. "Nothing is going on," he said mildly, but

enunciated each word.

"Right," she said, standing abruptly. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Which is what I'll tell him—that absolutely nothing is

going on."

He pursed his mouth. "He has no reason to think otherwise."

"You're right," she said, walking to the phone. "After all, he thinks I'm staying with … what exactly did you tell him?"

"That you were staying with the medical personnel."

"Oh, right. Did Steve say he'd be at home? He took a few days off work for the wedding."

"He said he'd be at his parents'."

Janine exhaled, puffing out her cheeks. "I might as well get this over with." She dialed the number, and just as she expected,

his mother answered the phone.

"Mrs. Larsen, this is Janine."

"Janine! Well, isn't this the most perfectly horrible mess? I have every television on in the house watching for news of the

quarantine, and Mr. Larsen is calling a friend of his at the CDC to arrange an immediate release for you."

Janine cleared her throat. "I appreciate Mr. Larsen's efforts," she said carefully, while something deep inside her resented

the Larsens' attitude that every situation could be corrected simply by pulling a string. "But in my case at least, since I've been

directly exposed to the illness, I seriously doubt that they'll make an exception."

Her future mother-in-law pshawed. "You'll learn soon how many doors the name Larsen will open for you in this town, my

dear. Just let Mr. Larsen handle everything, especially since you're not really in a position to argue, are you?"

Janine frowned. "Excuse me?"

"Well, dear, if you hadn't gone to the hotel, then we simply could have moved the whole kit and caboodle to the club." She

tsk-tsked. "If we can get you out by noon, we might still be able to make it work. Oh, Lord, give me strength, I'll be on the

phone all day. Janine," she said, her tone suspicious, "why
did
you go to the resort?"

"To, um … to talk to Steve." Her prim-and-proper future mother-in-law was the last person she'd share her marital concerns

with, especially since she was certain Steve had been conceived by immaculate conception. "Is Steve there, Mrs. Larsen?"

"Yes, I'll call him to the phone."

As the woman trilled in the background, Janine's heart banged against her ribs. She heard the indistinct rumble of Steve's

voice, then, "Janine?"

"Hi," she said, alarmed that his voice did not overwhelm her with the comfort she craved.

"Are you calling from the hotel?"

"Yes. The quarantine hasn't been lifted yet." A nerve rash pricked at the skin on her chest.

"I guess Derek told you I called earlier this morning."

"Um, yes." She glanced in her roommate's direction. He had risen quietly and was moving toward the bathroom, to give her

privacy, no doubt. "Did you have a good time last night?"

"Sure," he said, but guilt tinged his voice. "Just guy stuff, you know."

She fought her rising anger. Had he spent all night watching strippers when he wouldn't even spend one
meaningful
night

with her?

"But I know
your
party was rather spirited," he continued in a disapproving tone.

Janine frowned. "How could you know?"

He hesitated for a split second, then said, "Since Marie organized it, I don't have to stretch my imagination."

She smiled in concession. "Well, it was innocent fun. Everyone seemed to enjoy themselves."

"Janine," Steve said, lowering his voice. She could picture him turning his back to shield his voice from eavesdroppers.

"What made you go to the resort in the first place?" Irritation, even anger, spiked his tone.

She chewed on her lower lip and glanced toward the bathroom. Derek had turned on the shower. The moment of truth had

come, because Steve would never buy the story of her simply wanting to talk. "I thought it was time, Steve."

"Time for what?" His voice rose even higher.

Allowing the silence to speak for her, she sat on the bed and waited for realization to dawn.

"To sleep together?" he hissed.

Janine closed her eyes, since his incredulity was not a good sign. "Yes."

"Janine, we've talked about this—you know how I feel. I want to wait until we're married, and I thought you did, too."

"But Steve, if we're getting married tomorrow, why would one or two nights make a difference?"

"It does," he insisted, sounding as if he was gritting his teeth. "I thought you were a good girl, Janine. Don't disappoint me

now."

Warning bells sounded in her ears. "A good girl? What's that supposed to mean?"

He sighed, clearly agitated. "You
know
what I mean. Someone who will do the family name proud."

She was stunned into silence. Panic clawed at her.

"Janine?"

He hadn't said anything about love, respect or honor. Did he simply want a virgin to take on the good family name of Larsen?

A lump lodged in her throat at her own gullibility.

"Janine?" Desperation laced his voice. "Janine, honey, you know I love you. By waiting until our honeymoon, I thought I was

doing the honorable thing."

But she heard his words through a haze. The honorable thing—but for an honorable reason? Nausea rolled in her stomach.

"Steve, I … I have to go."

"Dad will get you out of there soon, Janine," he said. "Then we can talk."

"Yes," she murmured. "We do need to talk, Steve."

"I'll call you after Dad makes the necessary phone calls," he said, back to his congenial self, their disagreement already

smoothed over in his mind. "What room are you staying in?"

"Um, the health club has been turned into an infirmary," she replied truthfully, but evasively. "But it's a madhouse. If you

need to talk to me, call and ask for the general manager, Manny Oliver. He knows how to reach me."

The shower in the next room shut off, and Derek's tuneless whistle reached her ears. She closed her eyes against the sexual

pull leaking through the keyhole.
Not now.

"Oh, and Janine, check in on Derek when you can," Steve said. "I feel better just knowing the two of you are there together."

11

« ^ »

Dad is still working his contacts at the CDC. Don't worry, this mess will be over soon.

Love, Steve

J
anine's shoulders dropped in relief as she stared at the handwritten note, then she raised a smile to the messenger standing

beside her in the hallway.

Manny seemed surprised at her reaction. "Gee, the message didn't sound like such great news when I took it over the phone."

"Oh, but it is," she assured him.

Looking perplexed, he said, "But not if your fiancé is trying to get you out o

f here."

Janine glanced guiltily over her shoulder where she'd left the room door slightly ajar. She pulled the door closed and

lowered her voice. "I, um … could use some time to sort through a few things."

He nodded thoughtfully, then crossed his arms. "Since I've been away from Atlanta for a couple of years, I didn't connect

with the name Larsen at first. I checked the catering records to be sure—your future father-in-law is the vice-mayor."

She nodded. "Lance Larsen."

"The champion of the Morality Movement."

"Yes." The Morality Movement was a group of conservative individuals in Atlanta who had formed to banish prostitution

and crack houses in a particularly seedy part of town. But once they'd made headway, the group had moved on to more

controversial practices, and in the process, had propelled Lance Larsen to one of the most recognizable personalities in the

city. Steve's father had run on the platform of being a family man with solid southern values, and had won the election by a

nose.

"I know the man," Manny said, reclaiming her from her muse. "Very right wing. He and I clashed a time or two during rallies

in my youth." He smiled, although the mirth didn't quite reach his eyes. "Is the son anything like the senior Mr. Larsen?"

Janine shook her head. "Steve has some of his father's traditional values, but he's much more open-minded." But she stopped

before the echo of her own words had died. Was Steve really more open-minded, or was it simply the persona he had

perfected? "He's … a surgeon," she murmured, then caught Manny's gaze, which was crystal clear and reflected her own

revelation. What did Steve being a surgeon have to do with anything that truly mattered?

But her new friend let her off the hook, his mouth softening into a smile. "A surgeon, huh? Sounds like a real catch."

She nodded slowly.

"And I understand now why you wouldn't want word of your accidental and unfortunate sleeping arrangements to get back to

the Larsen family." He tilted his head and his eyes probed hers. "After all, they might jump to some crazy conclusion about you

and Mr. Stillman."

Janine blinked once, twice. "Manny, I … I think I'm in over my head and I don't know what to do."

He exhaled, then smiled sadly and clasped her hand between both of his. "There's only one thing you
can
do when you're in

over your head, sweetheart."

"What?" she whispered.

"You have to cut anchor." He nudged her chin up a fraction of an inch with his forefinger before giving her an encouraging

wink, then turned on his heel.

"Manny," she called after him. He looked back, and she gestured to the shopping bag of goodies he'd brought her. "Thanks.

For everything."

He inclined his fair head, then disappeared around the corner.

Janine hesitated long enough to scan the bright yellow tag on the doorknob which indicated an occupant remained

symptomatic. From her point of view, she could see only one additional yellow tag, on a door at the end of the hall. She

frowned at Maureen Jiles's empty doorknob. Apparently the woman was still kicking.

Uneasy about returning to the tension-fraught room, she nonetheless picked up the shopping bag and elbowed open the door.

Derek glanced up from the desk where he'd been sitting for the past several hours, but immediately turned his attention back to

his laptop computer screen.

Setting the shopping bag on the end of the bed, Janine strove to quiet the emotions warring within her. Since she'd talked to

Steve this morning, she and Derek had retreated to separate areas of the room and, except for a few words exchanged when

their lunch had been delivered, they had maintained conversational silence by mutual consent.

She'd passed the time playing solitaire and performing yoga exercises, exasperated to learn that when she stood on her head

he was just as handsome upside down. She pretended to watch television, when in fact she'd absorbed little of what flashed

across the screen. Instead, she had replayed in her mind scenes from her relationship with Steve, from meeting him on her first

P.A. job to his romantic proposal six months later at the most exclusive restaurant in Atlanta. All told, she'd known him for one

year.

Had she been so swept away by Steve's charming good looks and his position and name that she'd fallen in love with the

image of him? A stone of disappointment thudded to the bottom of her stomach. Not disappointment in Steve, of course, but in

herself. Was she so anxious to share her life with someone that she had sacrificed the chance of finding a man who, who …