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 tub, naked and slippery, their legs entwined. She lazily lowered her toe to the shiny chrome faucet and outlined the square opening. Feeling uncharacteristically wanton, she cupped her breasts, reveling in the textures—silky smooth and achingly hard. Long-denied sensations seized her, and she gave in to the lull of the warm bubbling water. After a moment’s hesitation, she closed her eyes and slipped a washcloth to the apex of her thighs.
Holding it from corner to corner, she drew the wet nubby cloth over the folds of her flesh, sighing as tremors delivered wonderful, quivering sensations to her extremities. This was how she wanted him to touch her, with gentle, firm strokes, knowing when to take his time and … and … and … when to speed up. She pressed her lips together to stifle the moans of pleasure that vibrated in the back of her throat. As the waves of release diminished, she sank farther into the luxuriously warm water to enjoy the lingering hum. Oh, Derek…
*
Derek tore his gaze from the closed bathroom door and tried to concentrate on the doctor’s words. The only part of Janine he’d seen was her face, surrounded by hunks of wet blond hair, but with little imagination he could picture her slender body on the other side of that shower curtain, buoyed by the water. He ground his teeth against the image, then realized the doctor had said something and was waiting for a reply.
“Excuse me?” He put a finger to his temple to feign the distraction of a headache.
Dr. Pedro smiled as he scrutinized the box of medication Derek had handed to him. “I said I’m glad Ms. Murphy is still feeling well.”
“Oh, yeah, right.” With a swift mental kick, Derek reminded himself that while they were in the middle of a serious medical situation, he was obsessing over his unexplainable attraction to Steve’s bride. With sheer determination, he pushed all thoughts of the woman from his mind.
Dr. Pedro directed Derek to keep taking the medicine for his symptoms. Afterward he quickly drew a blood sample from Derek’s forearm, then stood to leave. “If your, um, friend starts exhibiting symptoms, please call the front desk and I’ll be notified.”
Mr. Oliver extended a sheet of green paper. “These are a few guidelines concerning movement about the property during the quarantine, how your meals will be delivered, how information will be disseminated, et cetera.”
Derek exhaled noisily, then accepted the sheet. “How serious is this situation?”
Dr. Pedro’s mouth turned down. “We had to transport three people to the hospital this morning, but we’re optimistic they’ll respond to an antibiotic IV.”
Derek sobered. “How long will we be confined?”
“Until the source of the bacteria is detected, the method of contagion identified and the incubation period has passed.”
“Worst-case scenario?” he asked.
The doctor shrugged. “Two weeks.”
Derek felt a little rubbery in the knees. “I have to sit down.” He dropped to the side of the bed, reeling. He was going to have to resist Janine for two weeks? Plus, in two weeks the Phillips Honey account would be long gone, and possibly his company’s viability. Jack, where the hell are you?
“But that’s worst-case scenario,” Dr. Pedro added. The men walked toward the door, the general manager saying something about free phone calls. When the door closed, he lay back on the bed, holding his head and wondering if the situation could possibly get more bizarre.
“Derek?” Janine yelled from the bathroom. “Derek!” Her voice held a note of panic that roused him to his feet in one second flat.
He raced to the door and pressed his cheek against the smooth surface. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m stuck.”
Derek frowned. “What do you mean, you’re stuck?”
“I mean my big toe … it’s stuck in the bathtub faucet. Help me!”
*
8
« ^ »
Warm sudsy water lapped at her mortified ears. Janine stared down at the end of the tub where her leg arched up out of the water—bent at the knee, dripping foam, and ending in a union with the shiny gold faucet. Trapped toe-knuckle deep into the opening of the chrome fixture, her big toe was as red as a cherry tomato from several minutes of futile tugging—a fitting end to her outrageous behavior, she decided. For fantasizing about another man, she was now trapped in this bathroom, a realization that did not sit well with her preference for open spaces. Her heartbeat thudded in her ears.
She hadn’t heard the door open, but suddenly Derek’s big body was silhouetted through the shower curtain.
“Janine, from the other side of the door it sounded like you said—”
“My big toe is stuck in the bathtub faucet.”
He scoffed. “That’s impossible.”
“I beg to differ,” she said miserably, then moved the curtain aside to peep out, and up. “Are you going to help me or not?”
The man looked harried. And not well. Guilt barbed through her. She should be looking after him instead of getting into scrapes. At the moment, however, she had no choice but to don the most pitiful expression she could conjure up.
It must have worked because Derek threw his hands in the air. “What do you want me to do?”
“Hand me a towel so I can cover myself, then try to get my toe unstuck.”
He looked up, as if appealing to a higher power, then sighed and handed her a towel.
“Thank you.” She dunked the thick towel under the water, dissolving mounds of bubbles, and spread it over her nakedness. But her heart thumped wildly at the thought of Derek seeing her yet again in a state of near undress, especially when she was so recently sated on thoughts of him. “Okay, I’m ready.”
His large fingers curled around the edge of the shower curtain, and he pushed it aside slowly. The cool air hit her bits of exposed skin and sent a chill down her neck. She shivered, an all-over body shimmy, although she conceded she couldn’t blame her reaction entirely on the elements. The man was huge, especially from her angle, his proportions nearly those of a professional athlete. A memory surfaced that Steve had once told her he had a pal who had played college football. Perhaps he’d meant Derek.
He ran a hand down over his face and looked at her through his fingers. “What is a person thinking when she shoves her toe up a faucet?”
Janine averted her eyes. She certainly couldn’t tell him what she’d been doing. “I wasn’t thinking.”
“Obviously,” he said, his expression bewildered. He slid the curtain to the wall, then lowered himself to one knee.
She felt at a terrible disadvantage at this lower level, not to mention naked and submerged. The towel covered her, but clung to her figure in a manner that belied its purpose. Of course, it didn’t matter, since the man seemed completely unfazed. He leaned close to the faucet, so close she could feel his breath on her bare leg. Thank goodness she’d shaved them earlier.
He swept a soap wrapper and an empty miniature shampoo bottle from the side of the tub into the trash to clear a spot, then picked up the dripping metal razor and gave her a pointed look. “You used my razor?”
She bit her lower lip. “To shave my legs. I thought it was Steve’s.”
His jaw tightened as he set aside the razor. “It isn’t.”
He didn’t have a girlfriend, she realized suddenly. At least not a live-in. Not even a lady friend who occasionally spent the night, else he would be used to sharing his razor. Then she frowned. Not that she’d ever used Steve’s.
“Would you please turn off the motor so I can think?” he asked, his voice strained.
“I can’t reach the switch,” she said, pointing over his shoulder.
He stabbed the button in the corner of the tub ledge and the rumbling motor died abruptly, taking the soothing bubbles with it. Suddenly the room fell so quiet, she could hear the calling of birds outside the skylight, where daybreak was well under way. The eve of her supposed wedding day. She felt lightheaded and realized she hadn’t eaten in hours. And Derek’s imposing nearness was tripping her cla
ustrophobic tendencies.
He gripped the side of the tub and perused her foot from all directions, then he glanced back at her. “Can’t you just pull it out?”
She scratched her nose, realizing too late her hand was covered with suds. Sputtering the bubbles away from her mouth, she said, “If I could, I wouldn’t have called you.”
He pursed his mouth, then said, “I’m not a plumber.”
“Do something,” she pleaded. “The water’s getting cold, and I’m shriveling up.”
“Really? Gee, and you’ve only been in here for an hour.”
She frowned at his teasing. “You were the one who suggested I take a long, hot bath.”
He laughed, then turned his attention back to her foot. “Except I don’t recall suggesting that you insert your toe into the metal pipe coming out of the wall.”
She pressed her lips together and braced for his touch. He clasped her foot gently, but firmly, and his fingers sent arrows of tingly sensations exploding up her leg, reminiscent of her climax. She grunted and he looked over his shoulder.
“My leg is asleep,” she explained.
He isolated his grip to the base of her toe, wriggling it side to side. The inside lip of the faucet dug into her tender skin.
“Ouch! Not so hard.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, seemingly at a loss for what to do next. “I need something slick to lubricate your toe.” He looked around. “Where’s the soap?”
Janine lifted her hand and held her thumb and forefinger close together. “You mean that little bitty bar of soap the hotel provided?”
Derek nodded.
A flush warmed her cool cheeks. “I used it all.” He flicked a dubious glance over her towel-covered body. Maybe he thought she didn’t look clean enough to have used an entire bar of soap. Her skin tingled, and not from her leg being asleep. “Shampoo?” he asked.
She lifted a shaky finger to point to her hair, wet and plastered to her head. “I have a lot of hair.”
A wry frown tugged at his mouth. “I can see that.”
“Don’t you have soap or shampoo in your toiletry bag?” she asked, pointing to the black case on the vanity she’d mistaken for Steve’s.
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