About Last Night... (9 page)

"Television?"

"There were at least four TV crews in front of the hotel," Steve offered. "And so many uniforms we thought a bomb had gone

off. By the way, what's Janine doing at the hotel?"

For a few seconds, he panicked. "Looking for you, I suppose." Derek strained to remember what she'd said when she'd

crawled on top of him, but he'd been kind of distracted at the time by her roaming hands.

"So where did you run into her?"

"We … saw each other in the lobby," he hedged, looking to her for affirmation. She nodded. And it wasn't exactly a lie,

though he hated covering for the minx.

"She's a sweetheart, isn't she?" Steve asked. "I know she doesn't exactly stand out when she enters a room," he continued,

causing Derek to raise his eyebrows. "You probably noticed she's kind of a nature girl."

The image of Janine in that very unnatural pink getup was seared on his brain. "Um, no, I didn't notice that," he said wryly,

certain his sarcasm was lost on his hung-over friend. Janine frowned and scratched her bare foot with her toe.

Steve laughed, then lowered his voice in a conspiratorial tone. "But underneath those tentlike clothes, Janine has a nice bod."

"She sure does," Derek said without thinking, then coughed and added, "She sure does seem like a nice girl, I mean."

Her eyes widened and a hint of a smile warmed her lips. He wanted to shake his head to let her know he was only talking for

Steve's sake, but once again, he didn't have the heart to hurt her feelings.

"You sound horrible, man. Do you have whatever is going around at the resort?"

"Maybe," Derek admitted.

"Well, do me a favor and don't touch any of my stuff."

Steve's casual guffaw irritated him. Derek surveyed Pinky's elfin frame, tempted to inform Steve just how much of his "stuff"

he'd already touched.

"And do me another favor," Steve added. "Keep an eye on Janine for me, would you?"

Derek pursed his mouth. "That should be easy."

"If you know what room she's in, I'll call her myself," Steve said. "Or I'll check with the desk."

"Um, no." Derek rushed to stop him. "She's staying with…" He rolled his hand to indicate he needed help.

She put her fingers in her ears, then pinched together the fingers of her right hand and started punching the air.

"She's staying with the operator," he said, but Janine stopped, disgusted with his guess.

He splayed his hands, at a loss. She mouthed something emphatic several times before he covered the phone. "What?"

"I'm with the doctors, Einstein," she hissed. "This—" she repeated the motion "—is using a stethoscope, not a switchboard!"

He frowned, then uncovered the phone. "I mean, she's staying with the medics … on the slim chance she can help."

His words garnered another dark look from Janine, but Steve seemed convinced. "Oh. Will you see her?"

"I'd say that's a safe bet," Derek said, his tone dry.

"Just tell her to call me." Steve said, then laughed without humor. "I'm sorry as hell you got caught in this mess, man. By all

rights, it should be Jack holed up with the plague, eh?"

"Just one more reason to kick his ass when I see him," Derek grumbled, then said goodbye and hung up.

For a few seconds, neither he nor Janine spoke. Fatigue pulled at his shoulders so he stretched his arms high, then he rubbed

his eyes with his fists.

"You really shouldn't do that."

He stopped. "Shouldn't do what?"

"Rub your eyes like that," she said. "You could scratch your corneas."

Derek stared at her, feeling luckier and luckier to be unencumbered by a female. "You," he said, pointing a finger, "be quiet."

She blanched, then he was horrified to see tears pool in her eyes. "Oh, no," he said, holding up his hands. "Don't cry." A big

tear slid down her cheek and he groaned. "Ah, for the love of Pete," he begged, feeling like a heel.
"Please
don't cry. I shouldn't have snapped at you."

"I'm s-sorry," she whispered. "It's the wedding, and, and, and now this q-quarantine…"

"Are you feeling ill?" He'd hate to think he'd given her whatever he had. Derek bit down on the inside of his cheek—there he

went again, caring.

"I don't think so," she said, her lower lip trembling.

He stood and walked over to her, then gently clasped her shoulders and turned her around to face the bathroom. "Why don't

you take a nice, long bath?" he said in the voice he saved for his most neurotic clients. "I'm sure you'll feel much better."

She nodded mutely and disappeared behind the closed door. The wafer splashed on and, too late, he realized his cold

medicine was still on the vanity. Derek blew his nose, then lowered himself to the floor for twenty-seven push-ups before he

had to stop and sneeze again. He gave up and pulled an accordion file marked Phillips Honey from the bag he'd repacked,

along with three pint-size clear plastic containers of Phillips's products: nearly transparent wildwood honey, pale yellow

honey butter and a mahogany-colored sourwood honey with a chunk of the waxy honeycomb imbedded in its murky depths.

Derek stared at the honey, willing a brilliant idea to leap to his blank pad of paper. After a few seconds without a revelation,

he numbered lines on the pad from one to twenty. He would start with trite ideas, but sometimes when he reached the end of the

list, something fresh would occur to him.
A honey of a taste. How sweet it is.
He kept glancing toward the bathroom,

wondering what she was doing in there.
Sweet, sweet surrender.
He tossed down his pen in disgust.

Picking up the container of light honey, he rolled it between his hands to warm and loosen the contents, then opened the flip-

top lid and squeezed a tiny dollop onto his finger. He smelled the translucent stickiness, jotting down notes about the aroma—

sweet but pungent and a little wild. He tasted the honey, sucking it from his finger, allowing it to dissolve in his mouth,

wondering why, instead of images of warm biscuits, the nutty sweet flavor of the honey evoked images of the woman bathing in

the next room. Probably because she was a nut, he reasoned, then massaged his aching temples.

A knock on the door interrupted his rambling thoughts. Derek pulled his sweatshirt over his head and ran a hand through his

hair, then checked the peephole to see two sets of suited shoulders. He opened the door to Dr. Pedro and a tall blond man who

introduced himself as the general manager. The doctor carried a black leather bag, and the manager sported a clipboard that

held down a one-inch stack of papers. Both men appeared weary, their eyes bloodshot.

"Mr. Stillman," the doctor said. "I understand you're not feeling well. I need to examine you, draw some blood and record

your symptoms."

Derek invited them inside. The general manager hung back, then peered around warily as he entered. "Isn't Janine Murphy in

this room?"

A strange sound emerged from the bathroom. The men stopped and Derek identified the low noise as the world's worst

rendition of "You Light Up My Life." He looked at Mr. Oliver and nodded toward the closed door. "Janine." When she hit a

particularly off-key note, he felt compelled to add, "I don't really know her."

The doctor offered him a tight smile. "She informed us of your, um, unusual circumstances." While Derek pondered
that

conversation, the shorter man pulled the straight-back chair toward the foot of the bed. "Shall we get started?"

Derek sat in the chair and allowed the doctor to take his vital signs. "What's the status of the quarantine?"

"Still on," the man muttered, while peering into Derek's ears with a lighted instrument. He made notes on a pad of yellow

forms.

"Have you identified the illness?"

"Yes," the doctor replied. "But not the source. Open your mouth and say 'ah.'"

Derek obeyed, realizing he'd have to drag answers out of the man. Meanwhile, he watched Mr. Oliver pivot and take in

details of the room. The man stopped, his gaze on the pink-and-black bustier lying on top of the bedcovers where Derek had

tossed it after using it as a shield. With an inward groan, Derek resisted the urge to jump up and discard the misleading

evidence. Mr. Oliver's perusal continued, this time stopping to stare at the stash of honey on the nightstand. One of the

manager's eyebrows arched and he slid a glance toward Derek. Great, Derek thought in exasperation. He thinks I'm doing kinky

things with that woman braying in the bathroom.

"Your throat is irritated," the doctor announced.

Derek gagged on the tongue depressor, then pulled away and swallowed. "I could have told you that."

"When did you arrive at the hotel?"

"Yesterday, around three o'clock."

"When did you first start exhibiting symptoms?"

"Around five o'clock, I guess."

"Describe your symptoms."

Derek shrugged. "Congestion, sore throat."

"Body aches?" the doctor prompted.

He nodded. "Some."

"Vomiting?"

"No."

"Diarrhea?"

"No."

Mr. Oliver stepped forward. "Did you eat in the hotel restaurant?"

He nodded.

"When and what did you eat?" the manager continued.

"A burger and fries, around four o'clock."

"What did you have to drink?" Dr. Pedro cut in.

"Water and coffee."

"Decaf?"

"No, I was tired and needed the boost."

"Have you eaten anything else since you arrived?" the doctor asked.

Derek shook his head.

"Honey, perhaps?" The general manager nodded toward the nightstand with an amused expression.

He frowned. "Only a taste. And just this morning."

"What else?" Dr. Pedro asked, scribbling.

"Some over-the-counter medicine I picked up in the gift shop."

"I'll need to see it."

Derek jerked his thumb toward the bathroom where Pinky continued her teeth-grating performance. "It's in there."

The doctor gestured toward the bathroom. "Is Ms. Murphy ailing?"

"Sure sounds like it, doesn't it?" Derek asked wryly, then rose. "Give me a minute or two." He walked over to the bathroom

door and rapped loudly. The singing, thank goodness, stopped, although he could still hear the hum of the Jacuzzi and the gurgle

of bubbling water.

"Who is it?" she called.

He rolled his eyes. "Derek. I need to get my medication."

"Just a minute." A rustling noise sounded through the door. "You can come in."

With a backward glance to their visitors, who seemed rapt, he opened the door and leaned inside, patting the vanity.

Behind the closed shower curtain, Janine held her breath as he rummaged on the vanity for what seemed like an eternity.

Finally she moved the curtain aside mere inches to peer out. He was leaning inside the room, stretching his arm across the

counter, but unable to reach the bright orange box at the far end.

"I said you could come in," she repeated, although grateful for his attempt at discretion.

Wordlessly, he stepped into the room to grab the box, then caught her gaze in the mirror.

For a few seconds, they were frozen in place. An erotic tingle skipped across her skin, sending chills over her shoulders and

knees—the only part of her not submerged in the bubble bath. Even fully dressed, the man emitted a powerful sexual energy that

spoke to her. His hands, his arms, his shoulders, his face—all of him radiated a strength and masculinity that stirred her insides

in the most confounding way, which might explain why her normal levelheadedness had abandoned her, and clumsiness had

taken its place.

"Found it," he said suddenly with a tight smile, holding up the box.

"Good," she said inanely, supremely aware that only a paper-thin curtain shielded her nudity from his eyes.

"Um, the doctor and the general manager of the hotel are here," he said, nodding toward the door. His grin was unexpected.

"You might want to keep it down, or at least come up with a new song."

Her cheeks warmed and she returned a sheepish smile. "I didn't realize anyone could hear me."

"They want to know if you're feeling okay."

She nodded, suddenly wanting the other men to leave and wanting their conversation to continue. "Has the quarantine been

lifted?"

"Nope. Looks like we're stuck here together for the day."

An unbidden thrill zipped through her. She studied Derek's face for his reaction to the news, but his expression remained

unreadable, although he began to tap the box of medication against his other hand.

"Guess we'll have to make the best of it," he added lightly.

Her breasts tightened and she curled her fingers into such a tight fist, her nails bit into her palm. Could he hear her heart

beating?

Suddenly he straightened. "I'd better get back to the doctor and the manager."

"I'll be out soon," she felt compelled to murmur as he headed toward the door.

He hesitated, his hand on the doorknob. "Take your time," he said, although his voice sounded hoarse.

When the door closed behind him, Janine leaned back against the smooth surface of the tub and allowed a pressing smile to

emerge. Sliding deeper into the water, she ran her hands over her body. She raised her right leg and watched the suds drip from

the end of her bright pink-polished toe. Without too much difficulty she could imagine Derek facing her on the other end of the