About Last Night... (3 page)

of angels—blond and white-robed, pure and innocent. A side effect of the over-the-counter medication, he reasoned drowsily.

2

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"
I
'm sorry, ma'am, but I can't give you a key to Mr. Larsen's room without his permission." The young male clerk gave Janine

an apologetic look, but shook his head.

Janine bit down on her lower lip to assuage her growing panic. What had she gotten herself into? Marie was long gone and

said she was going to stop by Greg's on the way home. Janine would have to call a cab to get a ride back to the apartment they

shared. Which would be fine except she'd left her purse in Marie's car, and she had no money or apartment key on her person.

And beneath the raincoat, had very little
clothing
on her person.

"Okay, call him," she relented. It would still be a surprise, just not as dramatic.

The clerk obliged, then looked up from the phone. "The line's busy, ma'am."

She frowned. Who could Steve be talking to at one in the morning? A sliver of concern skittered up her spine, but she

manufactured a persuasive smile. "He's probably trying to call
me.
If
you'll give me his room number, I'll just walk on up."

"I'm afraid that's against hotel policy, ma'am." The teenager ran a finger around his collar, and he looked flushed.

Sizing up her options, she leaned forward on the counter, making sure the coat gaped just enough for a glimpse of the pink

bustier. She looked at his name tag. "Um, Ben—may I call you Ben?"

He nodded, his gaze riveted on the opening in her coat.

"Ben, Mr. Larsen is my fiancé, and we're getting married here on Saturday. I dropped by to, um, surprise him, and I'd hate to

tell him that you're the one who wouldn't let me up to his room."

Ben swallowed. "I'll call his room a-g-gain." He picked up the phone and dialed, then gave her a weak smile. "Still busy."

She assumed a wounded expression, and leaned closer. "Ben, can't you make an exception, just this one teensy-weensy

time?"

"Is there a problem here, Ben?"

Janine turned her head to see a tall blond man wearing a hotel sport coat standing a few steps away.

The young man straightened. "No, Mr. Oliver. This lady needs to see a guest, but the line is busy."

The blond man's clear blue eyes seemed to miss nothing as his gaze flitted over her, then he turned to Ben, obviously his

employee. "Ben, there seems to be a bug going around and you look a little feverish. Why don't you take a break and I'll help

our guest."

Ben scooted away and Mr. Oliver took his place behind the counter. "Good evening, ma'am. I'm Manny Oliver, the general

manager. How can I help you?" His smile was genuine, and his voice friendly. She immediately liked him and her first thought

was that he was as sharp as a tack. She hoped she didn't look drunk.

"I'm Janine Murphy and I came to visit my fiancé, Steve Larsen. We're having our rehearsal dinner here tomorrow—I mean,

tonight, and our wedding in your gazebo on Saturday."

He nodded. "Congratulations. I'm familiar with the arrangements. Now, let me see what I can do for you." He consulted a

computer, then picked up the phone and dialed. A few seconds later, he returned the handset. "Mr. Larsen's phone is still busy,

but I'd be glad to walk up and knock on his door to let him know you're here."

The best she could manage was a half smile.

Mr. Oliver leaned on the counter, an amused expression on his smooth face. "Why do I have the feeling there's more to this

story?" He nodded to her gapped coat.

Janine pulled her coat lapels closed. "I … I thought I would surprise him. He's staying here tonight because his house is full

of relatives and his groomsmen were taking him out for his bachelor party."

He checked his watch. "And he's back already?"

She nodded. "I called before I left, and he answered the phone."

"So he
does
know you're coming?"

"No, I hung up. This is supposed to be a surprise."

He pursed his lips and mirth lit his eyes. "You've never done anything like this before, have you?"

Janine winced. "No, but after a half bottle of wine, it seemed like a good idea when my sister suggested it."

Suddenly he laughed and shook his head. "You remind me of some friends of mine."

"Is that good?"

Pure affection shone on his face. "Very."

"So you'll give me his room key?"

He stroked his chin as he studied her. "Ms. Murphy, even though it's none of my business, I have to ask because you seem

like a nice woman." He lowered his chin and his voice. "Don't you think it's a little risky to surprise a man on the night of his

bachelor party?"

"But he was asleep when I called," she said.

He pressed his lips together and lifted his eyebrows, then stared at her until realization dawned on her.

"Oh, Steve wouldn't," she said, shaking her head.

"Alcohol can make a person do things they wouldn't ordinarily do," he said, giving her a pointed look. Then he patted her

hand. "My advice would be to save it for the honeymoon, doll."

She wasn't sure where the tears came from, but suddenly a box of tissues materialized and the man was dabbing at her face.

"You'd better switch to waterproof mascara before the ceremony," he chided gently, and she had the feeling he'd wiped away

many a tear. "Did I say something wrong?"

"N-no," she said, sniffling. "It's just that … well, I don't want to wait for the honeymoon—that's sort of why I came here."

His eyes widened slightly. "Oh. Well, now I understand your persistence."

"So you'll give me a key?"

Mr. Oliver chewed on his lower lip for a few seconds. "What will you do if you walk in and find him in bed with someone

else?"

She blew her nose, marveling she could be so frank with a stranger. "I'd thank my lucky stars and you that I found out before

it's too late."

"No bloodshed?"

Janine laughed. "I'm not armed."

"Not true, I saw those stilettos." He reached under the counter and slid an electronic key across the counter. "Top floor, room

855. Good luck."

"Thank you, Mr. Oliver." She smiled, then turned on her heel, somewhat unsteadily, and headed toward the stairs. With her

claustrophobia, she avoided elevators, and the long climb upward gave her time to anticipate Steve's reaction. Maybe she

should simply open the door and slide into bed with him. After all, this was her chance to let it all hang out, and to find out if

Steve would continue to draw sexual boundaries for their marriage.

By the time she reached the eighth floor, her heart was pounding from nervousness and exertion. A blister was raising on her

left heel, and her breasts were chafed. Being sexually assertive was hard work, and darned uncomfortable. She stopped to

refresh her pink lipstick under the harsh light of a hallway fixture, and didn't recognize herself in the compact mirror. Her

angular face was a little blurry around the edges, a lingering effect of her wine buzz, she assumed. Blatant desire softened her

blue eyes, intense apprehension colored her cheeks and rapid respiration flared her nostrils. One look at her face—plus the

fact that she was trussed up like a pink bird—and even a fence post couldn't mistake her intention.

Janine drew color onto her mouth with a shaky hand, then gave herself a pep talk while she located his room. Her knees

were knocking as she inserted the electronic key, but the flashing green light seemed to say "go": Go after what you want, go

for the gusto, go for an all-nighter.

So, with a deep breath—as much as she could muster in the binding bustier—Janine pushed open the door, limped inside and

closed the door behind her.

* * *

conscience must have kicked in; apparently he was back earlier than he'd planned. Derek faced the wall opposite the door, and

he didn't feel inclined to move. Steve could take the floor. He felt grumpily entitled to a half night's rest in an actual bed for

making the darned trip south.

Suddenly the mattress moved, as if his buddy had sat down on the other side. Removing his shoes, Derek guessed. Indeed, he

heard the rustle of him undressing. But then the weight of the body rolled close to him.

"Hey, honey," a woman whispered a split second before a slim arm snaked around his waist. "Tonight's the night."

Whoever she was, she had burrowed under the covers with him. Shock and confusion paralyzed him and, for a moment, he

convinced himself that he was still dreaming.

"I just can't wait any longer," the woman said, suddenly shifting her body weight on top of him. "I need to know now if we're

good together."

Through his medicated fog, he realized the woman was straddling him. In the darkened room, he could make out only a brief

silhouette. He opened his mouth to protest, but mere grunts emerged from his constricted throat. Small, cool hands ran over his

chest and his next realization was that he was being kissed—soundly. Moist lips moved upon his while a wine-dipped tongue

plundered his unsuspecting mouth. A curtain of fragrant hair swept down to brush both his cheeks. His body responded

instantly, even as he strained to raise himself.

Everywhere he touched, a tempting curve fit his hand. Curiosity finally won out, and he skimmed his hands over the mystery

woman's body, letting the kiss happen. He'd nearly forgotten the rapture of warm, soft flesh pressed against him. He was

midstroke into arching his erection against her when sanity and wakefulness returned. Extending his left hand to the side, he

fumbled for the lamp switch. With a click, light flooded the room, blinding him.

He caught a glimpse of long, long blond hair and something pink before the woman drew away and screamed like a banshee.

Derek caught her by the arms, strictly for self-defense, and as she tried to wrench from his grip, his vision cleared, if not his

brain.

The woman was slender and dark-complexioned with wide eyes and so much hair it had to be a wig. And she was

practically bursting out of some sexy get-up he'd seen only in magazines that came in his brother's mail. She floundered against

him, flaming the fire of his straining arousal. It appeared the woman liked to struggle, but since that was a scene he did not get

into, he released her to take the wind out of her sails.

She scrambled off the bed in one motion, and ran for the farthest corner, where she hovered like a spooked animal, arms

laughingly crossed over her privates. Derek's skin tingled from the scrape of her fingernails, but at least she had stopped

screaming.

They stared at each other for several seconds, giving Derek time to size her up. She was around five-eight or -nine, although

her black spike heels accounted for some of her height. Despite her stature, the first thing that came to mind was that she was

elfin—petite, chiseled features and lean limbs, with stick-straight blond hair parted in the middle. The naughty outfit

accentuated her amazing figure—her breasts were high, her waist slight, her hips rounded. Between the wig and the getup, she

had to be a hooker the guys had bought for Steve.

"I thought this was Steve Larsen's room," she gasped, inching her way along the wall in the direction of the door, her gaze on

a black raincoat draped over the foot of the bed.

She was a hooker who knew Steve well enough to recognize him, which didn't surprise him. "This
is
Steve's room," he said,

and she stopped. Pressing a finger against the pressure in his sinuses, he pushed himself to his feet. As silly as standing around

in his boxers in front of the woman seemed, having a conversation with her while lying in bed seemed even more absurd,

especially since she herself was in her skivvies.

"Stay right there!" She pointed a finger at him as if a laser beam might emerge from her fingernail at will. "Who are you?"

Derek put his hands on his hips, irritated to be awakened and not amused by the idea that the woman had come to Steve's

room for an eleventh-hour fling before his wedding. "Since Steve gave me his room for the night," he asserted, "maybe you

should tell me who
you
are."

She shoved her hair out of her eyes, and her chest moved up and down in the pink thing that resembled a corset. She seemed

very close to spilling over the underwire cups, and he felt his body start to respond again. The woman was one incredibly sexy

female.

"I'm J-Janine Murphy, Steve's fiancée."

Derek swallowed and abruptly reined in his libido. He realized he'd been cynical in his assumption about the reason for this

woman's presence in Steve's room—blame it on years of witnessing his brother's shenanigans. Not many things surprised him

these days, but her declaration shook him.
This
was the woman who'd snared Steve? So much for his theory of her being a

missionary type. But he had to hand it to her—the woman's costume made it clear she knew how to communicate on Steve's

level. Guilt zigzagged through his chest when he acknowledged he'd been affected by her himself—he, the man of steel, who

prided himself on discretion and restraint.

He stared at his friend's bride-to-be and realized this was about the most awkward predicament he'd ever landed himself in.