“Mr. Stillman, you requested another examination?”
Derek looked in her direction, then back to the doctor. “Janine seems to think I might be suffering from allergies instead of an infection.”
Dr. Pedro walked inside and set his bag on the foot of the bed. “Well, let’s take a look, shall we?”
She knew she should stay and find out as much about the status of the quarantine as possible, but Janine swept the items Manny had brought her into the shopping bag and escaped to the bathroom to think. She closed the door and dumped the contents of the bag onto the counter, then dropped to the vanity stool, sorting toiletries from souvenir clothes. Bless Manny’s heart. In addition to necessities, he’d brought her a single tube of pink lipstick, a nice quality hairbrush and a package of simple cotton underwear.
When the items had been stacked, folded and stored away, Janine sighed and stared at herself in the mirror. Her fingers jumped and twitched involuntarily. Nerves, she knew. Entwining her fingers, she stretched them out and away from her, the first time she’d ever felt compelled to crack her knuckles. One knuckle popped faintly, shooting pain up her hand, and the other fingers emitted a dull crunching sound, which made her a bit lightheaded.
She’d never been so scared in her life. Nothing was more terrifying, she realized, than thinking you knew yourself, only to discover an alien had invaded your body and mind. The real Janine Murphy wouldn’t be second-guessing her marriage to one of the most eligible men in Atlanta. The real Janine Murphy wouldn’t be entertaining kisses from a strange man and allowing his presence to drive her to distraction. The real Janine Murphy wouldn’t be lying to practically everyone she knew about her humiliating circumstances.
She squinted, hoping to find answers to her troubling questions somewhere behind her eyes, and found one.
The real Janine Murphy wouldn’t be lying to herself.
When she’d seen Steve on the television screen, she’d witnessed a spoiled, polished, self-absorbed man putting on a show for the cameras. Not a single time during Steve’s interview had he even mentioned her name, referring to her instead as Mrs. Steven Larsen. Granted, his defensive reaction on the phone to her clumsy attempt at intimacy had left a bad taste in her mouth, but she was starting to recognize a disturbing pattern in his behavior that she hadn’t seen before—or rather, hadn’t wanted to see.
Steve was more interested in her state of womanhood than in her as a woman. For his family name. For his father’s reputation. Heck, maybe even for some kind of deep-seated territorial macho urge. None of which boded well for marital happiness.
From the other room, she heard the sound of the door closing. Dr. Pedro had left, which meant that once again she was alone with Derek. Alone for—how had he put it?—for God only knows how long. A silent groan filled her belly and chest, then lodged in her constricted throat.
She’d have to be dense not to recognize the sexual pull between them. Marie had been telling her stories about electric chemistry, tingly insides and throbbing outsides since they were teenagers, but this was the first time Janine had experienced how a physical attraction could override a person’s otherwise good judgment.
A bitter laugh escaped her. Override? More like trample.
Janine’s shoulders sagged with resignation because, in the midst of her general confusion, one conclusion suddenly seemed crystal clear: she simply couldn’t marry Steve, at least not the way things were between them, not the way things were between her and Derek, even if it was only in her mind.
Regardless of her enigmatic feelings, she wasn’t about to drag Derek into the melee. After all, he and Steve were friends long before she came into the picture. Besides, Derek would probably laugh at the notion of her putting so much stock in her physical attraction to him. It was different for men, she realized, but she couldn’t help her strong, if quaint, tendency to associate sex with deep emotional feelings. Which was precisely why she found her reaction to Derek so disturbing. If she were truly in love with Steve, she wouldn’t have been tempted by Derek’s kisses.
Would she?
She heard the room door open and close again, and wondered briefly if Derek had gone to try to set things straight with Maureen the Machine.
A faint rap sounded at the bathroom door. “Janine, our dinner is here.”
The split second of relief that he hadn’t left the room was squelched by the realization that the sound of his voice had become so, so … welcome. Resolved to be cool and casual, despite her recent revelations, she pushed herself to her feet.
*
Derek leaned against the window next to the desk with one splayed hand holding open the curtain and comparing the vast, sparkling horizon to the south to the sparse, more rural skyline he’d left behind. The remnants of daylight bled pale blue into the distant violet-colored treeline, broken up with splashes of silver and light where progress encroached on the north side of the city. He sipped just-delivered coffee, then winced when the hot liquid burned his tongue.
He deserved it, he decided. For kissing an engaged woman. Steve’s engaged woman. His pal was a bit on the uppity side, and he questioned his commitment to Janine, but seeing his face on TV, hearing him say he loved her was like a wake-up call to his snoozing sense of honor.
No matter how attracted he was to the woman, he’d simply have to keep his damn hands to himself, and pray that she did the same. She walked up behind him, flip-flops flapping, and he turned slowly, setting his jaw against the onslaught of desire that seemed to accompany every glance at her over the past few hours.
“What did Dr. Pedro have to say—aarrrrrrrhhhhh!”
Stumbling over the toe of one of her rubber sandals, Pinky fell forward, clutching the air. Reaching out instinctively, he grabbed her by the upper arm, managing to steady her with one hand before he felt the white sting of hot coffee on his other hand. He sucked in sharply and slammed the cup down on the desk, sending more scalding liquid over his thumb and wrist. He grunted and made a fist against the pain. Before he knew what was happening, Janine had grabbed his forearm and thrust his hand into the partially melted bucket of ice sitting next to their covered food trays.
“Aaaah,” he moaned as the fiery sensation gave way to chilling numbness.
“I’m sorry,” she gasped. “I’m so sorry!”
“It’s okay,” he assured her, conjuring up a smile. Truth be known, her body pressed up against his and her fingers curved around his arm were more of a threat to his well-being than the burn. “Really, it’ll be fine.”
Slowly he withdrew his hand, and Janine leaned in close. “No puckering and no blisters.”
“Told you,” he said, allowing her to turn his hand this way and that.
Clucking like a mother hen, she reached for the container of honey butter and proceeded to gently douse the reddened areas of his hand.
“That stuff will help?”
She used both her hands to sandwich his, spreading the condiment with feathery strokes that sent an ache to his groin. “The honey will soothe, and the butter will keep the skin moist,” she said. “But only after the skin has cooled, else the butter will accelerate the burn, kind of like frying a piece of meat.”
“Now there’s an image,” he said dryly.
“Good,” she said, wrapping his hand loosely with a white cloth napkin from one of their trays. “Then you’ll remember it the next time you burn yourself.”
He bit his tongue to keep from blurting that he normally didn’t toss his coffee around.
“Thank you, Derek.”
Derek frowned at her bent head. She had braided her hair, and the thick blond plait fell over her shoulder, the ends skimming his arm. “For what?”
“For catching me.”
He swallowed and reminded himself of his determination to keep his distance. “I would rather your ‘something blue’ not be a bruise.”
Her hands halted briefly, but she didn’t look up. “So what did Dr. Pedro have to say?”
�
��He concurred with your diagnosis,” he said, nodding toward sample packets of Benedryl. “My blood tests were negative.”
The whisper of a smile curved her pink mouth. “What about the quarantine?”
“Another outbreak today,” he said. “Four people in this building, and a half dozen in the golf villas.”
“Are the cases serious?” she asked, raising her blue eyes to meet his gaze at last.
A man could lose himself in those eyes, he decided, and he couldn’t tear himself away.
“Derek?”
He blinked. “Uh, serious enough to maintain the quarantine.”
“There,” she said, tucking the end of the cloth into the makeshift bandage. After screwing the lid back on the honey butter, she wiped her hands on the other napkin. “I’ll call down for some gauze.”
She moved like a dancer, limber and graceful even in his big clothes. With an inward groan, he acknowledged his resolve to ignore her was having the opposite effect—he was more aware of her than ever. When she hung up the phone, she turned back to him, hugging herself, looking small and vulnerable. Her expression was unreadable, and the silence stretched between them. At last she looked away, her gaze landing on a stack of pillows and linens.
“I had those brought up,” he said. “I’ll sleep on the floor tonight and let you have the bed.”
She stared at the linens as if mesmerized. What was going on in her head?
Derek’s mind raced, trying to think of something to say to ease the soupy tension between them. Steve’s TV interview had shaken her, that much was obvious. Was she worried he was going to tell Steve about their near lapses? That her future with the wealthy Larsen family was in jeopardy?
“I’m starved,” he said with a small laugh, gesturing to their covered trays.
Janine walked over and picked up a bottle of spring-water. “Go ahead, I’m going to get some air.” She practically jogged across the room, escaping to the balcony. Between his company and her claustrophobia, he supposed she was doing the only thing she could under the circumstances.
Derek stared at the tray. Despite the nice aromas escaping from the lid, he discovered he wasn’t starved after all. Not even hungry, if truth be known. He poured himself another cup of coffee—an awkward task with his hand wrapped—and mulled over the events of the past twenty-four hours or so. Funny, but he felt as if he’d come to know Janine almost better than he knew Steve.
Of course, he and Steve had never been quarantined in a room together.
The sexual pull between them confounded him. Was it inevitable that a man and a woman in close quarters would be drawn to each other? In a crisis, even a minor one, did age-old instincts kick in, elevating their urge to seek comfort in each other?
Perhaps, he decided with a sigh. But thankfully, humans were distinguished from other animals in the kingdom by their presumably evolved brain that gave them the ability to act counter to their instincts. He snorted in disgust. They were adults—they could talk through this situation. In the event the quarantine was drawn out for several more days, he’d prefer they at least be on speaking terms.
Setting down his coffee mug—better safe than sorry—he crossed to the sliding glass door. When he saw her standing with her back to him, leaning on the railing, he hesitated for only a second before opening the door and stepping outside.
She turned, her eyes wide in the semidarkness. “You shouldn’t be out here.”
“I thought we should talk.”
“But your allergies—”
“Won’t kill me,” he cut in. Although he was beginning to think that resisting her might. Her pale hair glowed thick and healthy in the moonlight, and he itched to loosen her braid.
“We could go back inside,” she offered, her gaze darting behind him as if she were sizing up an emergency exit.
“No, I realize you’re more comfortable in an open space. Besides,” he said, joining her at the railing, “it’s a nice night.”
“Uh-huh,” she said, turning back to the view, although he noticed she moved farther down the rail, away from him. Suddenly, she emitted a soft cry, reaching over the rail in futility as her plastic bottle of water fell top over end until out of sight. A couple of seconds later, a dull thud sounded as it hit something soft on the ground.
“With my luck lately, that was probably a guard,” she whispered.
Derek laughed heartily, glad for the release. When she joined in, he welcomed the slight shift in atmosphere. “I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but you do seem to be a little accident-prone.”
“Only recently,” she said softly. “I guess I have a lot on my mind.”
After a pause, he said, “Tell me about your family.” He was intrigued by the upbringing that had shaped her aspirations.
She shrugged. “Not much to tell. My father is a traveling appliance repairman for Sears. My mother gardens. I have a terrific older sister who’s a massage therapist. We all love each other.”
Very middle-class, he acknowledged. “How did you meet Steve?”
“On the job,” she replied, her voice a bit high. “I work at the clinic in the hospital where he performs surgery.”
A stark reminder of his friend’s career success and Derek’s relative failure. At a time when most men his age were hitting their stride, he was struggling to pay the office electricity bill. He cleared his throat. “Steve certainly has a lot going for him. I can see why you’re looking forward to marrying him.”
She was silent for several seconds, then pointed with her index finger out over the rail. “See those pinkish lights on top of the hill?”
He squinted. “Yeah.”
“That’s the gazebo where our ceremony was supposed to take place. Tomorrow.”
His heart caught at the wistful tone in her voice. “So you’ll reschedule. I have a feeling the hotel will bend over backward to accommodate the Larsens when this is all over.”
“No.”
“Sure they will,” he insisted. “Steve’s father will—”
“I mean, no, I’m not going to reschedule the wedding.”
*
14
« ^ »
A low hum of panic churned in his stomach. “Wh-what did you say?”
“I said I’m not going to reschedule the wedding. I’m not going to marry Steve.”
Adrenaline pumped through his body. “You’re not serious,” he said, his chest rising and falling hard.
“Yes, I am.”
“But why?”
“That’s really between me and Steve, isn’t it?”
Anger sparked in his stomach. “Not if it has something to do with what happened between us.” He’d messed with her mind by not keeping his hands to himself. He’d ruined not only her well-laid plans, but Steve’s, too. “Those kisses didn’t mean anything, Janine. We were thrown together in an intimate situation. You’re a beautiful woman, I’m a red-blooded guy. People do strange things in situations like this. Things happen, but it doesn’t have to change the course of our lives.”
“Don’t blame yourself, Derek. I’m grateful to you, really.”
“Grateful?”
“For helping me realize that Steve and I wouldn’t be happy.”
“I n-never said that,” he stammered, desperate to redirect her thinking. “In fact, you two make a great couple. If you marry Steve, you’ll never want for anything.”
“Except a kiss like the ones you and I shared,” she said, turning to face him.
“Janine,” he murmured, his heart falling to his knees. “It was just a kiss, that’s all. A friendly little kiss from a best man to the bride.” He tried to laugh, but a strangled sound emerged when she touched his arm. “I think you were right about me not being out here,” he said, backing into the corner of the railing. “My throat is starting to tingle.”
“Kiss me, Derek,” she whispered, following him.
His gut clenched. “Janine, I don’t think this is a good idea.” But even as his mouth prot
ested, he lowered his head to meet her. Their lips came together frantically, as if they were both afraid they might change their minds. He pulled her body against him, groaning with pleasure as her curves molded to fit his angles. She tasted so sweet, he could have bottled her and sold it. His tongue dipped into her mouth, skating over her slick teeth, teasing every surface, savoring every texture. She inhaled, taking his breath, and he lifted her to her toes to claim as much leverage as possible.
Encouraged by her soft moans, Derek slid his good hand under her baggy T-shirt, reveling in the silky texture of the tight skin on her back. He drew away long enough to loosen the tie on his old sweatpants, marveling in the erotic thrill of removing his own clothes from her lithe body. When the pants fell to her ankles, she stepped free of them. The long T-shirt hung to her knees. He pulled her back into a fierce kiss, and realized with a start that she wasn’t wearing underwear. Only a skiff of cotton shirt stood between him and her nakedness.
Wild desire flooded his body, swelling his manhood against the fly of his jeans. Impatiently, he tugged on the makeshift bandage to free his hand and tossed down the napkin. He ran his hand along the cleft of her spine, cupping her rear end, rubbing the sticky-slick honey butter from his hand into her smooth skin. Lifting her against him, he slid his fingers down to the backs of her thighs, curving to the inside. His knees weakened slightly when he felt the tickle of soft curly hair against his knuckles, and the wetness of her excitement under his fingers.
He lifted his head, stunned to a moment of sanity. But she met his gaze straight on, her eyes glazed, but unwavering. When she shuddered in his arms, Derek was lost. He lifted her in his arms and somehow managed to get them back into the room, where he set Janine on the bed. She glanced around the room, uncertainty clear in her expression.
Derek ground his teeth, nearly over the edge for her, but he was determined to give her a chance to change her mind. “The lights,” she murmured.
He almost buckled in relief that her concern was modesty, but he shook his head. “Lights on, Pinky, I want to see all of you.” With slow deliberation, he lifted the black T-shirt over her head, then swept his gaze over her, exhaling in appreciation.
ABOUT LAST NIGHT Page 13