ABOUT LAST NIGHT

by Stephanie Bond

  His voice was conversational and sincere, his demeanor fatigued. What was it about this man that made her want to touch him? His boy-next-door chivalry? His all-American looks? His aloof attitude? Despite being close to Steve’s age, Derek seemed decades more mature. Worry lined his serious brown eyes. Was he more concerned about his health than he let on? She felt compelled to comfort him, to ease the wrinkles from his forehead. Angling her head, she circled to stand in front of him. “How are you feeling?”

  “About the same,” he said with a shrug.

  “Still congested?”

  He nodded.

  She stepped forward and placed her hand on his forehead. With him sitting and her standing, they were nearly eye to eye. More like breast to eye, although she tried not to dwell on it. His skin felt smooth and taut, and she liked the silkiness of his short bangs against the pads of her fingers. His temperature felt normal, but hers had definitely risen a couple of degrees, even higher when she realized she was standing between his open knees.

  Her gaze locked with his and awareness gripped her, electrifying her limbs and warming her midsection. His brown eyes were bottomless, and she realized with a start that she’d always equated dark eyes with thoughtfulness. And sincerity. And comfort. And sensuality.

  “You don’t have a fever,” she whispered, then wet her dry lips. Her hand fell to the muscled ledge of his shoulder, a natural resting place, it seemed.

  Something was happening, she could feel it. The energy emanating from his body pulled at her, and she had to go rigid to keep from swaying into him. But his face belied none of the sexual force vibrating between them. His mouth was set in a firm line and his eyes were alert. The only indication that he was affected by her nearness was the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

  She lifted her hand to probe the soft area of his neck just beneath the curve of his jaw. He stiffened, but she pretended not to notice. She could best smooth over the awkward moment by continuing to check his vital signs. “Your pulse is elevated.”

  He exhaled. “I guess I can chalk it up to all the, um…”

  “Excitement?” she finished.

  “How’s your toe?” he asked, effectively changing the subject.

  She looked down at her small white feet situated between his two large ones, and experienced a queer sense of intimacy. “Fine,” she said. “I never thanked you for rescuing me.”

  He returned her smile, which made her heart lurch crazily. “Glad to pinch-hit for Steve,” he said. Then his smile evaporated and he added, “In that one particular instance.”

  At the mention of Steve’s name, she relaxed, feeling firmly back on platonic footing. “Thanks, too, for the clothes. You’re a lifesaver.” Impulsively, she leaned forward and dropped a kiss on his cheek. Janine realized her mistake the second she drew away. Derek’s mocha-colored eyes had grown glazed and heavy-lidded. The worry lines had fled, and his lips were open in silent invitation. Blatant desire chased reason from her mind. Acting purely on instinct, she lowered her lips to his for an experimental kiss. Just one, she promised herself. One last illicit kiss for comparison.

  If indeed he hesitated, it wasn’t for more than a heartbeat. His lips opened to welcome hers, and the tide of longing that swept over her left her breathless. Their tongues darted, danced and dueled in a coming together that could be described as anything but platonic.

  Her knees weakened and she became aware that his hands were at her waist, and her arms around his neck. His taste was as foreign and delicious as exotic fruit, and she wanted to draw more of him into her mouth. Derek angled his head to deepen the kiss and she moaned in gratitude. Pulling her forward, he melded her body to his, and she was conscious of his hands sliding beneath her shirt. He splayed his hands over her shoulder blades, kneading her skin with his strong fingers in long, determined caresses that gave her a glimpse into his body rhythm.

  She shivered and might have buckled had he not imprisoned her legs with his knees. Janine reveled in the strength and possession of his touch. She arched her back and rolled her shoulders, then slipped her hands inside his shirt and ran her hands over the smooth expanse of his back, kneading the firm muscle. His guttural sounds propelled her excitement to the highest plateau she’d ever endured. The world fell away around them, and Janine felt completely, utterly safe. She pressed her body against his, sure in the knowledge that he could fuel the flames licking at her body to an all-consuming fire, much more satisfying than her earlier release.

  When he stiffened, her first instinct was to resist, but when she heard the knock at the door, she straightened and stepped back, disentangling herself from him. The look he gave her still smoldered from their heated kiss, but he wore his remorse just as plainly.

  The full extent of her shameful participation flooded over her. She backed away and clapped a hand over her traitorous mouth, sucking air against her fingers to fill her quivering lungs. If her skin hadn’t still burned from his touch, she might not have believed what had just transpired. Regret nearly paralyzed her. What had she done? What had she nearly allowed Derek to do?

  He was watching her. She stared at him, at the body she could now call familiar, but she didn’t know what to say. Janine suspected, however, that her face reflected her horror at her own behavior.

  Another knock sounded at the door. Derek panned his hand over his face, then stood, visibly trying to shake off the effects of their encounter. Her gaze flew to the telltale bulge in his pants that he didn’t attempt to hide as he limped a half circle in the room. Hair tousled, shirt askew, and hard for her … Derek Stillman was simply the most devastatingly appealing man she’d ever met. Best man, she corrected. Her best man. She might as well run headlong into a train tunnel while the whistle sounded in her ears.

  Realizing Derek was in no shape to answer the door, she cleared her throat and murmured, “I’ll see who it is.”

  “Thanks,” he said over his shoulder, his big hands riding his hips as he headed toward the bathroom.

  Still reeling, she walked to the door and, through the peephole, saw the general manager standing in the hall. Shot with relief without really knowing why, she swung open the door. “Hello, Mr. Oliver.”

  A multishelved cart loaded with great-smelling covered trays flanked him. He took in her ill-fitting garb with only a blink and a smile. “Call me Manny, Ms. Murphy.”

  She felt warmed by the friendly tone in his voice. “Then call me Janine.”

  The blond man nodded. “Glad to see you’re still with us. How are you feeling?”

  Shoving a fall of hair away from her face, she pulled a smile from nowhere to hide her shaky emotions. “F-fine.”

  His penetrating blue gaze seemed all-knowing, but he didn’t contradict her. “Mr., um, Stillman, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” she croaked.

  “Mr. Stillman said this morning that you had no symptoms.”

  “That depends—is irrational behavior a symptom?”

  He pursed his mouth, then shook his head slowly. “I don’t recall, but I can mention it to the doctor.”

  She sighed. “Don’t bother, I’m fine.”

  His eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn’t skip a beat. “Good. I’ve brought breakfast, not a typical resort meal, I can assure you, since our chefs didn’t prepare the food, but not bad if you’re hungry.”

  “I am.”

  The door across the hall opened and Ms. Jiles stepped out, perfectly coifed and wrapped in a coral-colored silk robe. “I heard voices.”

  At eight o’clock in the morning, the woman was stunning. Janine decided she must have slept in her makeup and sitting straight up. But she inclined her head politely. “Maureen Jiles, this is Manny Oliver, the general manager.”

  He smiled. “I’m delivering breakfast, ma’am.”

  “Something low-fat, I hope,” she said in a voice reserved for lowly help.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Manny replied smoothly. “We have a vegetarian meal.”

  “That will d
o,” she said, then turned back to Janine and smiled. “Is your friend Derek up and about?”

  Is he ever. “Um, yes.”

  Maureen appeared to be chewing on her tongue as her face slowly erupted into a mischievous smile. “I thought about Derek all night. I love a good challenge, and I decided I’m not going to let his being gay get in the way.”

  Manny, setting a tray inside the Jiles woman’s door, erupted into a fit of coughing.

  Janine, stunned by Maureen’s audacity, looked past the woman. “Are you okay, Manny?”

  He nodded, facing her, and she could see he wasn’t choking at all—he was laughing.

  “So, Janine, do you have any suggestions for attracting a gay man?” Maureen asked, obviously warming up to her scheme.

  Thrown off balance, Janine shook her head. “Since, to my knowledge, I’ve never dated a gay man, no, I can’t say that I do.”

  Manny exited the woman’s room. “Ms. Murphy, I’m sure Mr. Stillman will be wanting a vegetarian meal,” he said, his mouth twitching. “Would you like a traditional breakfast for yourself?”

  She sent him an exasperated look with her eyes. “Yes, thank you, one of each.”

  “And I have the magazine he requested.” From a side rack of reading material, he produced a copy of Victorian Age Decorating.

  Janine plucked the magazine out of his hand. “He will be pleased,” she said, injecting a warning note into her voice.

  Oblivious to their exchange, Maureen crossed her arms. “Does Derek cut hair? Because I could use a trim.”

  Manny cleared his throat. “Excuse me, Ms. Jiles, but guests are not supposed to be in each other’s quarters.”

  Maureen stepped back into her room and harrumphed at Manny. “Probably want him for yourself.” Then she closed the door with a bang.

  Manny looked at her, his mouth drawn back in a wry grin. “Explain.”

  “It’s simple, ” Janine said in a low voice, taking a tray from him and walking it inside. She glanced at the bathroom door to make sure Derek was out of earshot. “Maureen is a sales rep who calls on the clinic. And she knows a lot of the same people I do. I had to think of something to keep the gossip down at work, so—” She glanced toward the closed bathroom door, then back to Manny. “I told her Derek is gay.”

  “Looks like it backfired,” he observed. “She’s determined to salvage the man.”

  One lie led to another, she realized. She set the tray on the writing desk and waited for Manny to set down the second one, her eyes tearing up. She was having a nervous breakdown, she was certain.

  “Hey, come on now, it can’t be that bad.” Manny handed her a handkerchief, on which she blew her nose heartily.

  “Manny,” she whispered, “you see what a predicament I’m in here. No one can know I’m sharing a room with Derek.”

  “I’m sure all this will be over soon,” he said in a soothing voice. “As long as you and Mr. Stillman agree to keep it quiet, who will be the wiser?”

  “You’re right,” she said, sniffing. “It’s just that I don’t know how much more I can take.”

  “Is he hostile?” he asked, touching her arm, concern in his eyes.

  “Oh, no,” she said, waving off his concern. “It’s not that.” How could she explain her raging feelings about a man she barely knew to a man she barely knew? She gestured to her outfit. “It’s the close quarters, no privacy—you know.”

  Manny studied her face, then gave her hand a comforting pat. “Janine, emotions run high during a crisis, and people can behave in ways that are out of character.”

  She hugged herself. “You think?”

  He nodded. “You have a lot on your mind, with the wedding and all.”

  Janine sighed. “I guess we’ll have to call the whole thing off.”

  He tipped his head to the side. “You mean postpone it, don’t you?”

  She straightened her shoulders. “Yes. Of course. Postpone the wedding, not call it off. Of course that’s what I meant.” A Freudian slip?

  “Is there anything I can do to make this situation more bearable?”

  “I need clothes and toiletries … and a cot would be nice.”

  He opened the desk drawer and removed a sheet of stationery and a pen. “We’re completely out of cots, but write down whatever else you need and I’ll see what I can confiscate from the gift shops.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered, then jotted down a dozen or so items.

  He gave her a brief wink before he left, and when the door closed, she felt so alone. Alone like a stone. And accident-prone.

  She glanced toward the bathroom door. What was she going to say to Derek about the kiss? How was she going to explain that she was so overcome with lust that she was willing to indulge in a few hours of unfettered sex, despite her being about to exchange vows with a friend of his? What must he think of her? Probably no worse than she thought of herself, she decided, and walked to the bathroom door. Perhaps the words would come if she didn’t have to talk to him face-to-face.

  Janine rapped lightly on the door. “Derek? Derek, I’m so sorry for what just happened. The kiss was my fault, and I can’t give you a good excuse, because I have no excuse.” She sighed and leaned her cheek against the door. “Please know that I do love Steve, despite the abominable way I’ve behaved. If you feel compelled to tell him what happened, I’ll understand and I’ll accept full responsibility.” She closed her eyes. “Thank goodness we stopped when we did.”

  When the silence on the other side of the door stretched on, she rapped again. “Derek?” No answer. “Derek?” she asked louder. Making a fist, she knocked harder. “Derek, answer me to let me know you’re okay.” Fingers of panic curled low in her stomach. What if he had grown more ill? What if he’d passed out and hit his head when he fell?

  She turned the doorknob, relieved that it gave easily. After cracking the door open, she called his name again, but he didn’t respond. Her heart pounded as she inched the door wider, but she didn’t see his reflection in the mirror. Janine opened the door and stepped into the bathroom. The shower curtain was pushed back, just as she’d left it—he wasn’t there. In fact, the huge mass of man was nowhere to be found.

  *

  10

  « ^ »

  Thank goodness the tiny balcony was cast in the shade of the building at this early hour, because he needed to cool off. Derek leaned on the white wrought-iron railing and fought to collect himself, appreciating the view of walking paths, fountain and golf courses, and reproaching himself. He’d never acted so foolishly in his life. Women had never been high on his list of priorities—school, football, work, family and friendship had always taken precedence. Always.

  At the age of fourteen, he’d lost his first girlfriend to his younger, but more debonair brother, Jack, and decided shortly thereafter that women weren’t worth arguing over. He’d left the brightest flowers for both Jack and Steve, preferring to date quiet, uncomplicated girls who didn’t consume him or his energy.

  He still preferred the quiet ones. Which was why his infuriating attraction to Pinky—dammit—Janine so perplexed him. Not only was the woman the mistress of mischief, but she just happened to be engaged to a man who thought enough of Derek to ask him to be his best man.

  Well, granted, he was second choice behind Jack, but still, the least he owed Steve was to keep his hands off his bride. No matter how adorably inept she was, the woman already had a protector—a rich doctor—so she certainly didn’t need him, a struggling entrepreneur.

  It was his near-celibate life-style of late, he decided. He’d been so caught up in trying to locate Jack, and with the goings-on at the ad agency, he hadn’t indulged in much of a social life lately. Lenore, the woman he’d been seeing occasionally had moved on to greener pastures, and because he typically didn’t believe in casual sex—too many crazies and too many diseases—he hadn’t slept with a woman in months.

  And the bizarre circumstances undoubtedly contributed to his behavior.
The intimacy of the close quarters, and the highly sexual accidental encounters with Janine were enough to test any man’s willpower. Plus, he had to admit, Janine was a looker with that mop of blond hair and her too-blue eyes. He grunted when the image of her body reflected in that mirror came to mind. Worse still, the silky texture of her skin was still imprinted on his hands. And that kiss…

  The woman was a paradox. One minute she struck him as an innocent, the next, a tease. One minute he was running to help her, the next, he was running to escape from her. He massaged his temples and filled his lungs with morning-sweet air. Gradually, his head cleared and he was able to look at the situation logically. Even if he took Steve and the whole marriage variable out of the equation, Janine Murphy couldn’t be more wrong for him or his way of life. She was messy, emotional and erratic. Fisting his hand, he pounded once on the railing with resolve, gratified by the slight echo of the iron vibrating and the dull pain that lingered in his hand. There was nothing like a little space and fresh air for perspective.

  The sound of her raised voice inside the room caught his attention, and he jogged back to the sliding glass door. Apprehensive, he opened the door and pushed aside the curtain, then stepped into the room.

  Janine whirled mid-yell, her eyes huge. “Oh, there you are. I was worried.” Then she gestured vaguely, and added, “I mean, I was afraid you might be feeling bad. Sick, I mean. Feeling sick.”

  He steeled himself against the quickening in his loins at the sight of her all bundled up in his clothes. He’d have to toss them on the Goodwill pile when he returned to Kentucky. Jerking a thumb behind him, he said, “I stepped out onto the balcony.”

  She looked past him. “There’s a balcony behind all those curtains?”

  “Not much of one,” he admitted, “but I needed some air.” He pressed his lips together, trying to slough off the remnants of their kiss. “I’m sorry—”

  “I’m sorry—” she said at the same time.

  “—I had no business—”

  “—I don’t know what came over me—”