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About Last Night...
Stephanie Bond
Bride-to-be Janine Murphy is experiencing more than a few jitters when she thinks about her upcoming nuptials. After all, she and her fiance haven't even, well…you know.So, dressed for success, she lets herself into her fiance's hotel room for a wedding night preview. Only, the irresistibly sexy man she ends up in bed with isn't her fiance! Best man Derek Stillman might be exhausted, but he's not complaining.The sultry siren who'd slipped under the sheets with him is definitely someone he'd like to know a lot better…until he discovers she's the bride! But when an unexpected quarantine closes the hotel - and confines them to the same room - Derek can't help showing Janine that he's the better man…



“Who are you?”
Derek put his hands on his hips, irritated to be awakened, and not amused that this woman had come to Steve’s room for an eleventh-hour fling before the wedding. “Since Steve gave me his room for the night,” he asserted, “maybe you should tell me who you are.”
The woman 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 Derek felt his body start to respond again. She was definitely one incredibly sexy female.
“I’m J-Janine Murphy, Steve’s fiancée.”
Derek abruptly reined in his libido. Staring at his friend’s bride-to-be, he realized that this was about the most awkward predicament he’d ever landed in. And, he thought wryly, par for the course of his life lately—in a hotel room with a gorgeous half-naked woman, and she was totally off-limits. Derek let out a harsh laugh.
“What’s so funny?” she asked, frantically looking around the room for something to cover herself with.
Derek pursed his mouth. “Well, now…Janine…this is a bit awkward.” Picking up her coat, he slowly walked toward her, using the gesture of courtesy to help shield his arousal. “I’m Derek Stillman. Your best man.”
Dear Reader,
Even though every woman dreams of her wedding day, last-minute jitters are completely normal, right? Well, meet jittery virginal bride-to-be Janine Murphy. Worried about compatibility with her groom, Janine dons risqué lingerie to force the issue of consummation with him on the eve of their wedding. She talks her way into her fiancé’s room at the resort where the wedding is to take place, but winds up in bed with a gorgeous stranger instead! And if you thought things couldn’t get more awkward, there’s this pesky little quarantine…
I hope you have as much fun reading this WRONG BED romp as I had writing it! Those of you who have read my Harlequin Love & Laughter romantic comedies will be reunited with an old friend in this story. And please watch for my sequel to About Last Night… in Temptation’s upcoming SWEET TALKIN’ GUYS miniseries. #769 It Takes a Rebel will be available in March 2000.
Meanwhile, write and let me know if I’m keeping you entertained: P.O. Box 2395, Alpharetta, GA 30023. If you’ve missed any of my former titles, see below for details how to order. Thanks for reading!
Fondly,
Stephanie Bond

About Last Night…
Stephanie Bond


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
This book is dedicated to romance booksellers
everywhere, who do their part to ensure that readers
find a happy ending.
Thanks so much for your ongoing support.

Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Epilogue

1
“PINEAPPLE JUICE,” Janine Murphy said, holding back her sister’s light brown hair to scrutinize the two hickeys on her neck. Or was it one? She blinked, trying to focus through the effects of a half bottle of wine on an empty stomach—the piece of her own bachelorette party cake didn’t really count. Two hours ago she’d eaten the exclamation points at the end of GOOD LUCK, JANINE!! But after reflecting on her and Steve’s relationship most of the evening, she was beginning to think question marks would have been more appropriate.
“Drinking pineapple juice will make hickeys go away?” Marie met her gaze in the dresser mirror, her eyebrows high.
Janine nodded and the movement sent showers of sparks behind her eyes. She wet her lips and spoke carefully around her thickened tongue. “The vitamin D helps the broken blood vessels heal.”
Marie screwed up her face. “When you put it that way, it’s kind of gross.”
“Good,” Janine said, letting Marie’s hair fall back in place. “Because it looks kind of gross. You’re not in high school anymore. Besides, hickeys can be dangerous.”
Her sister laughed. “What can I say? Greg’s an animal.”
Envy surged in Janine’s chest. She’d been living vicariously through Marie’s sensual escapades for years, listening to her adventures in between offering homeopathic treatments for bladder infections from too much friction, skin rashes from flavored body potions and strained muscles from unnatural positions. “Well, you better tell Greg to stay away from your jugular with those Mick Jagger lips of his.”
“Always the doctor,” Marie said with a wry smile.
“Physican’s ass…” She stopped and they giggled at her words. “Physician’s assistant,” she corrected primly, then fell back on her bed where they were sitting amidst stacks of gifts. Marie fell back too, toppling boxes, and they broke into gales of laughter.
Janine sighed and toyed with her empty wineglass. “Thanks for arranging the party, sis. It was fun.”
“You’re welcome,” Marie said. “But don’t lie. These kinds of things are always a roaring bore for the guest of honor.”
She laughed—her older sister was nothing if not honest. Instead of basking in the glow of the spotlight, Janine had spent the evening nursing a bottle of zinfandel, listening to a roomful of women talk about their fabulous sex lives. Someone had started a round robin of, “What was your most memorable encounter?” and when her turn came, she’d recounted a fantasy as if it had actually happened. She’d felt a little guilty about lying, but somehow, the middle of a raucous bachelorette party didn’t strike her as the best place to divulge the fact that she was a virgin. Not even Marie knew.
Janine sipped her wine and reflected on her chaste history. Her virginity certainly wasn’t a source of personal embarrassment. On the other hand, she didn’t deserve to be pinned with the good-girl-of-the-year ribbon—given the right man and the right circumstances, she imagined she would have indulged as enthusiastically as the next person. She’d simply…never gotten around to having sex. In high school she’d been too shy to attract a boyfriend. In her ten grueling years of part-time college and med school, she’d been too busy working and studying to be a social butterfly. And afterward…well, afterward, she’d met Steve.
“I just wish you had let me hire some live entertainment,” her sister said, breaking into her thoughts.
Janine flushed, relenting silently that her sense of modesty was perhaps above average. “You know that’s not my style.”
Marie scoffed. “After that story about doing it on a penthouse balcony?”
“Oh, that.” Janine smiled sheepishly. “I, um, might have stretched the truth a tad.”
“How much?”
“Like a piece of warm taffy.”
Her sister laughed. “You have a great imagination—that part about you dropping a shoe really had me going.”
The details were specific because she’d relived the hot summer-night scene in her head so many times. She suspected her claustrophobia made her fantasize about open spaces, and she suspected her celibacy made her fantasize, period.
“And I thought your penis was pretty impressive,” Marie continued, her lips pursed.
“Thanks,” Janine said a bit wistfully. “I didn’t think it was half-bad myself.” Marie’s brainchild of seeing who could sculpt the best penis out of a Popsicle before it melted had been a big hit, especially after the wine had started flowing.
“I guess Steve was your inspiration.”
Janine pushed her long hair behind her ears to avoid eye contact. “I got an A in anatomy.”
Marie’s eyes lit with curiosity. “Oh? Is the infamous plastic surgeon’s operating equipment lacking?”
For all she knew, Steve’s equipment could be as blue as her Popsicle prizewinner, but she decided to cover. “Marie, I’m not going to discuss my future husband’s physical assets.”
Marie pouted, then assumed a dreamy look, already distracted. “Can you believe that in less than forty-eight hours you’ll be a married woman?”
She stared at the ring on her left hand, the cluster of huge diamonds perched atop a wide platinum band—a priceless heirloom that once belonged to Steve’s grandmother. “Yeah, married.” She wished the light-headed anticipation and breathless impatience she’d read about in Bride magazine would sweep down and roll away the stone of anguish in her stomach. Wasn’t cold feet a malady for the groom?
Marie held up a troll doll wearing a bridal gown. “Ugh. Who gave you this?”
“Lisa. It’s kind of scary, don’t you think?”
“Well, she’s still bitter over her divorce. She told me she ran her husband’s Armani suits through the wood shredder and mulched her azalea bushes. Cold, huh?”
“Brrr.”
“Heeeey, what about this sexy little number?”
She had to hold her temple when she turned her head. Upon seeing the pink and black bustier and garter belt, she frowned. “Sandy.”
Marie pushed herself to her feet, holding the outfit in front of her curvaceous figure, and posed in the mirror. “Why the attitude? I think it’s hot.”
Propping herself up on her elbow, Janine twirled a strand of honey-colored hair around her finger. Her split ends needed to be trimmed before the rehearsal dinner tomorrow—how would she be able to fit in an appointment? “It might have something to do with the fact that she assured me pink was Steve’s favorite color on a woman.”
Marie’s mouth formed a silent O. “Well, she’s his receptionist. She should know, I suppose.”
“I didn’t know,” Janine murmured, feeling ridiculously close to tears.
“Oh, come on. You don’t think there’s anything going on between Steve and that bimbo, do you?”
She shook her head. “Honestly, I don’t think he has enough sex drive to have an affair.” Her fingers flew to her mouth. Had she actually said that?
Marie’s eyes flew wide. “Oh? You should get drunk more often.” She bounced on the corner of the bed, scattering more boxes. “Do tell.”
Janine hesitated, wondering how much of her musings could be attributed to last-minute jitters.
“Come on,” Marie urged. “I gathered that you and Steve don’t exactly set the sheets on fire, but I figured it wasn’t all that important to you.”
“Should it be?”
“What?”
“Important to me. Sex, I mean.”
Marie’s eyes widened. “You’re asking me?”
She smirked. “Try to be objective, sis. Haven’t you ever had a good relationship without great sex?”
“Let me think—no.”
“You’re a big help.”
“Okay, I’m sorry.” She crossed her arms and donned a serious expression. “What seems to be the problem? Foreplay? Duration? Frequency?”
“Frequency would cover it, I think.”
“Hey, lots of couples abstain for several weeks before the wedding to, you know—” she pedaled the air with her fists “—shake things up a little.”
“We’ve abstained for longer than a few weeks.”
“How long?”
“A year.”
Marie’s eyes bulged and she guffawed. “No, really.”
“Really.”
“But you’ve only known the man for a year!”
“Precisely.”
Her sister’s head jutted forward. “You’ve never had sex with Steve?”
“Bingo.”
“Unbelievable!” Jumping to her feet, Marie began pacing and waving her arms. “How come you never said anything?”
At the moment she was wishing she still hadn’t said anything, and now she darn sure wasn’t going to admit she was a virgin on top of everything else. “I started to mention it several times, but I was just too…I don’t know—embarrassed, I guess.”
“So have you two ever talked about it?”
“I’ve brought up the subject lots of times, but he only said that he wanted to wait until we’re married.”
“Which explains why he proposed so quickly.”
Janine frowned.
“And the fact that he loves you, of course,” Marie added hastily. “Maybe you need to be more aggressive. You know, take the bull by the horns, so to speak.”
She reflected on the few awkward episodes when she’d tried to make her physical needs known to Steve. “I’ve tried everything short of throwing myself at him.”
“Hmm. Maybe he’s truly trying to be chivalrous.”
She pursed her lips and nodded. “And I’m glad he respects me. But it’s more than not having sex. He gets angry when I bring it up, and he shuts me out. Sometimes he doesn’t call for days afterward.”
Marie let out a low whistle. “Sounds like he might have some hang-ups. Maybe he’s burnt out from fixing all those breasts and butts and lips and chins.”
“Maybe,” she agreed.
“Well, you know he’s a full-fledged hetero—Steve’s other girlfriends weren’t known for their, ahem, virtuous restraint.”
Janine closed her eyes, suddenly sick to her stomach. “That’s what worries me. I’ve heard him say there are two kinds of women—the ones you sleep with and the ones you marry.”
Marie winced. “Uh-oh. Therapy alert.”
Janine nodded, blinking back tears.
“So if you’re worried, why did you say yes?”
She inhaled, then sat cross-legged. “Good question. I think I need another glass of wine.”
Marie obliged, filling her lipstick-smudged glass from the bottle sitting on the dresser. “No more for me, I’m going over to Greg’s later.”
Janine swallowed a mouthful of the sweet liquid, savoring the slight tingle as it slid down her throat. “Why did I say yes? Because Steve is great-looking and he has a terrific future, and he’s charming and he likes the same things I do.”
“Harvesting herbs and practicing yoga?” Marie looked dubious.
“Okay, not every thing I like to do, but we’re good together—you said so yourself.”
“Uh-uh,” her sister denied with a finger wag. “I said you look good together—blond and blue-eyed, you the flower child, he the Valley guy. But that doesn’t mean you’re good together.”
This conversation was not making her feel better. No one at the clinic was more surprised than she when Steve Larsen, the hunky surgeon who had every woman in white shoes worked into a lather, had asked her out. Frankly, she’d anticipated losing her virginity rather quickly to the ladies’ man with the notorious reputation, but instead, he had scrupulously avoided intimate contact.
“Steve’s a gentleman,” she murmured.
“Janine!” Marie said, exasperated. “You shouldn’t marry the guy just because you think he’s nice. Are you sure you want to spend the rest of your life with Steve Larsen?”
She’d lain awake last night asking herself the same question, wallowing in her concerns, trying to sort through her overblown fantasies of passionate love and what appeared to be a less interesting reality. “His life and his family are just so…fascinating.”
“You’re fascinating,” Marie insisted.
“I thought I was the one drinking. Sis, I have the most boring life of any person I know.”
Marie lifted her hands. “I’m sure there are exciting things going on at the clinic all the time.”
“Oh, yeah, flu season gives me goose bumps.”
Marie crossed her arms. “Okay, I’ll bite—what would you consider exciting?”
Janine studied the ceiling, smiling in lazy wishful thinking. “I’d like to be caught up in a passionate relationship with Steve—you know, where we can’t keep our hands off each other. I want…something irrational. Illogical. And highly irregular.”
Her sister sighed. “Don’t we all? If you’re having second thoughts, you need to be proactive. Look in the mirror, Janine. In case no one’s told you, you don’t have to settle.”
“Spoken like a true sister,” she teased, but panic swirled in her stomach. She gripped her glass tighter. “And I don’t feel like I’m settling…most of the time. I love Steve, and I know sex isn’t everything, but what if he and I aren’t physically compatible?”
Marie angled her head. “Couples can work through those things, although Steve doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy who would agree to see a counselor.”
“You got that right.” Steve prided himself on having his life together, from his thriving cosmetic surgery practice to his low golf handicap.
Marie quirked her mouth from side to side. “You’re not married yet. There’s still time.”
Janine laughed miserably. “Right, I can just see telling Mother I’m canceling the wedding because Steve won’t have sex with me.”
“No, I mean you still have time to find out if the two of you are sexually compatible.” Her mouth curved into a mischievous smile. “Where is Steve tonight?”
“The groomsmen gave him a bachelor party at the resort. He’s spending the night there.”
“Perfect! You said you’d tried everything short of throwing yourself at him, right?”
“Yeah,” Janine offered, wary.
Marie held up the pink bustier and grinned. “I can’t think of a better outfit to wear while throwing yourself at the man you’re about to marry.”
“But—” Her mind spun for a good reason to object, except she couldn’t think of one.
“Try it on and see how it looks.”
Janine stood and considered the outrageous getup while she sipped her wine. “I don’t know if I can figure out all those hooks.”
Her sister scoffed. “I have one of these things, although it’s not nearly as nice.” She glanced at the label and whistled. “Darn, Sandy must have dropped a pretty penny on this outfit.”
“Steve obviously overpays her,” Janine said, then immediately felt petty. Steve’s receptionist wasn’t to blame for the holes in their relationship. Maybe Marie was right—maybe she hadn’t been vocal enough about her…needs.
“A little big,” Marie observed, handing over the various pieces of the naughty ensemble, “but probably more comfortable this way.”
Janine held up the lingerie, incongruous against her long, shapeless navy dress. A woman of twenty-nine had needs, after all.
“You’re going to rock his world,” Marie said over her shoulder.
She took her vitamins every day, she stayed fit, she read Cosmo…she could do this. Besides, she was a summer—pink was on her palette. “Okay, I’ll do it.”
Marie clapped her hands. “What a story for me to tell your daughter.”
“Not until she’s fifty, or I’m dead, whichever comes first.”

MINUTES LATER, they were still struggling to get all the pieces in place. Marie grunted behind her and jerked the bustier tighter. “Inhale and hold it.”
“I thought you said this was a little big,” Janine gasped, afraid to exhale. “I think you detached a rib.”
“For Steve’s sake, I hope this thing is easier to remove than it is to get on.” With a final yank, Marie straightened and backed away. “Where are those black heels you bought when we were at the mall a few months ago?” She walked to the closet.
“You mean those shoes you made me buy because they were such a great deal but they weren’t such a great deal because I’ve never worn them?”
“Yeah.”
“On the bottom shelf in the orange box.”
Marie went to the closet, and emerged, triumphant. After Janine stepped into the shoes, she stared in the full-length mirror at the pink-and-black creation: the boned pink satin bustier pushed her breasts to incredible heights and left her shoulders bare above black ruffly trim. Black laces crisscrossed her back, and Marie had tied them off with a large bow at the top. The matching panties were cut high on the legs, veeing below her navel, and trimmed with more scratchy lace. The black garter belts connecting the bottom of the bustier with the top of her thigh-high black hose were drawn so tight, she was sure if they popped, she’d be maimed for life. “If I had a feather boa, I could walk onto the set of Gunsmoke.”
Behind her, Marie laughed. “You look awesome! You hide that fab figure of yours. Believe me, Steve won’t know what hit him. You two will be so exhausted after tonight, you’ll have to postpone the wedding.”
Maybe it was the effects of the wine, but she had to admit she was feeling pretty sexy, albeit a little shaky, in her stiletto heels. “But what will I do?”
“I’ll drop you off at the resort, and you can surprise him.”
She looked down. “I’ll be arrested if I walk into the hotel like this.”
Her sister went back to the closet and returned carrying a black all-weather coat. “Here.”
Janine shrugged into the coat and belted it.
“See—perfectly innocent,” Marie said. “No one will ever know that beneath the coat is a red-hot siren getting ready to sound.”
“But what will I do for clothes tomorrow?”
“Are you serious? You two won’t leave that room. Don’t worry, I’ll come early and bring your outfit for the rehearsal dinner. Now let’s get going before you lose your nerve.”
Janine grabbed Marie’s arm. “I think I’d better call him first.”
“But this is supposed to be a surprise!”
“But what if he isn’t there? I mean, what if the guys stay out late?” She fished a thick phone book from a deep drawer in the nightstand.
Marie checked her watch. “It’s after midnight, and it’ll take us thirty minutes to get to the resort.”
“But if they went out, the bars are still open.”
Her sister sighed. “Okay, but no talking—if he answers, just hang up.”
“Agreed,” she said, dialing. An operator answered after a few rings and transferred her to Steve’s room. When the phone started ringing, for the briefest second she hoped he wouldn’t answer, to let her off the hook. She was a little tipsy, after all, and things would most likely make sense again in the morning. Their relationship was strong and their sex life would probably be great after they were married.
But on the third ring, he picked up the phone. “Hello?” he mumbled, obviously roused from sleep.
A thrill skittered through her at the sound of his smoky voice. He wasn’t out at the strip clubs with the guys after all—not that she’d been worried.
“Hello?” he repeated.
She smiled into the phone, then hung up quietly, considerably cheered and suddenly anticipating her little adventure. They would make love all night, and in the morning she would laugh at her fears. She stood and swung her purse over her shoulder, then grinned at Marie. “Let’s go.”
But while climbing into her sister’s car—she practically had to lie down to keep the boned bustier from piercing her—she did have one last thought. “Marie, what if this stunt doesn’t work?”
Her sister started the engine and flashed her a smile in the dark. “Whatever happens, Janine, this night could determine the direction of the rest of your life.”

DEREK STILLMAN MUMBLED a curse and rolled over to replace the handset. He missed the receiver and the phone thudded to the floor, but his head ached so much he didn’t move to replace it. Just his luck that he’d finally gotten to sleep and someone had called to wake him and breathe into the receiver. He lay staring at the ceiling, wishing, not for the first time, he were still in Kentucky. There was something about feeling like hell that made a person homesick, especially when he hadn’t wanted to make the trip to Atlanta in the first place.
The caller had probably been Steve, he thought. Maybe checking in to see how he was feeling. A second later he changed his mind—his buddy was too wrapped up in enjoying a last night of freedom to be concerned about him. He sneezed, then fisted his hands against the mattress. Confound his brother, Jack! In college Jack had been closer to Steve than he, but since Jack had dropped out of sight for the past couple of months, Derek had felt obligated to stand in as best man when Steve had asked him. Once again, he was left to pick up his younger brother’s slack.
He inhaled cautiously because his head felt close to bursting. He’d obviously picked up a bug while traveling, which only added insult to injury. On top of everything else, the timing to be away from the advertising firm couldn’t be worse—he was vying for the business of a client large enough to swing the company well into the black, but he needed an innovative campaign for their product, and soon. If ever he could use Jack, it was now, since he’d always been the more creative one. Derek was certain their father had established the Stillman & Sons Agency with the thought in mind to try to keep Jack busy and out of trouble, but so far, the plan had failed.
Hot and irritable, Derek swung his legs over the side of the bed and felt his way toward the bathroom for a glass of water. His throat was so parched, he could barely swallow. He banged his shin on a hard suitcase, either his or Steve’s, he wasn’t sure which. If his trip hadn’t been enough of an ordeal, he’d arrived late at the hotel and they’d already given away his room. Since Steve was planning to be out all night partying, he’d offered Derek his room, and since Derek had felt too ill to join the rowdy group for the bachelor party, he’d accepted.
The tap water was tepid, but it was wet and gave his throat momentary relief. He drank deeply, then stumbled back to bed, knowing he wouldn’t be sleeping again soon.
Too bad he hadn’t come down with something at home. Then he would’ve had a legitimate excuse to skip the ceremony. He thought of Steve and grunted in sympathy. Marriage. Why on earth would anyone want to get married these days anyway? What kind of fool would stake his freedom on a bet where the odds were two failures out of every three? Wasn’t life complicated enough without throwing something else into the mix?
They were all confirmed bachelors—he, Jack and Steve. Steve was the womanizer; Jack, the scoundrel; and he, the loner. He couldn’t imagine what kind of woman had managed to catch Steve Larsen’s eye and keep it. The only comment his buddy had made about his fiancée was that she was sweet, but anyone who could convince Steve to set aside his philandering ways had to be a veritable angel.
Achy and scratchy, he lay awake for several more minutes before he started to doze off. Oddly, his head was full of visions of angels—blond and white-robed, pure and innocent. A side effect of the over-the-counter medication, he reasoned drowsily.

2
“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.

THE SQUEAK OF HINGES stirred Derek from his angelic musings, and the click of the door closing garnered one open eye. Steve’s 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 getup 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. And, he thought wryly, par for the course of his life lately—in a hotel room with a gorgeous half-naked woman, and she was totally, utterly and indubitably off limits. Derek’s dry laugh was meant to express his frustration at the accumulation of injustices of the past few months, but the woman was clearly offended.
“What’s so funny?”
He pursed his mouth. “Well, now…Janine…this is a bit awkward.” Picking up her coat, he slowly walked toward her, using the gesture of courtesy to help shield his appallingly determined arousal. “I’m Derek Stillman. Your best man.”

3
JANINE FROZE, although her insides heaved upward. “My b-best man?” Oh, please dear God, take me now—no wait, let me change clothes first. The stranger’s smug expression mortified her, but at least he’d carried her coat to her, which she snatched and held over herself.
“Technically speaking,” he said, curling his fingers around one wrist and holding his hands low over his crotch, “I guess I’m Steve’s best man.”
She snapped her gaze back to his and squinted at him in the low lighting. She was certain she’d never met him before, although granted, people looked different with their clothes off. He was a big man—even in her preposterous shoes, he towered over her. His dark hair was cropped close at the sides and back, with the top just long enough to stick up after sleeping. His face was broad and pleasing, with a strong jaw, distinct cheekbones and an athletically altered nose which now appeared red and irritated. On his mouth was the telltale stain of her pink lipstick and she cringed, recalling the way she’d kissed the perfect stranger. But on the list of kissing transgressions, surely kissing your fiancé’s best man was worse than kissing a perfect stranger…Her brain was too fuzzy to work it all out—she’d have to ask Marie.
But one realization did strike her with jarring clarity: she hadn’t even realized she wasn’t kissing Steve.
With that sobering thought, Janine refused to look lower than Derek’s wide shoulders, although she vividly remembered the mat of hair she’d run her fingers through while straddling the man. She wasn’t even sure Steve had hair on his chest. A wave of dizziness hit her and she realized the bustier was probably limiting her oxygen supply. “You…” Are the most physically appealing man I’ve ever laid eyes on. “You must be Jack’s brother.”
The man’s mouth tightened almost imperceptibly. “Yes.”
“You went to college with Steve?”
He nodded, and she noticed his eyes were the deepest brown—quite intense with his dark coloring.
“Um…” She glanced around, spying Steve’s suitcase sitting next to a writing desk. “Where is Steve?”
“At his bachelor party.”
Not a man of many words, this one. “Why aren’t you with him?”
“I wasn’t—that is, I’m not—feeling well.”
She peered closer, taking in his drooping eyes. “Do you have a cold?”
“I suppose.”
“What are you taking for it?”
His eyebrows knitted in question.
“I’m a physician’s assistant.”
He looked thoroughly unimpressed. “I’m taking some stuff I picked up in the gift shop.”
He reached for a handkerchief on the nightstand next to the bed, then sneezed twice, each time causing his flat abdominal muscles to contract above the waistband of his pale blue boxers—strictly a medical observation of his general fitness level, she noted, which was important when prescribing treatment. “Bless you. You really should get some rest.”
He turned watery eyes her way and smirked. “I was trying.”
Her cheeks flamed. As if the mix-up were her mistake, as if she’d planned this fiasco. Flustered, she flung out her arm to indicate the dark walls of the room, but somehow ended up pointing to the bed where the covers lay as contorted as her thoughts. “What…when…” She jerked back her offending hand. “Why did Steve give you his room?”
“My flight was late, and I didn’t have a room when I arrived. Steve said he wouldn’t need—” He broke off and averted his gaze.
“Wouldn’t need what, Mr. Stillman?”
Glancing back, he massaged the bridge of his nose and winced. “Don’t you think we can drop the formalities since we’re both in our underwear?”
At his sarcastic tone, anger drove out any vestiges of fear that lingered, since she didn’t appear to be in imminent danger of anything other than dying of humiliation. Still, she forced herself to speak in a calm tone to Steve’s best man. “Okay. Derek, Steve wouldn’t need what?”
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then frowned at the streak of pink lipstick. Janine squirmed when he looked to her. “He said he wouldn’t be needing the room—I suppose the guys were going to party all night.” His gaze fell to her shoes and one corner of his mouth drew back. “I take it he wasn’t expecting you.”
She summoned the dredges of her pride and lifted her chin. “It was supposed to be a surprise.”
“Trust me, it was,” he said, then retrieved a pair of wrinkled jeans from the arm of a chair.
Distracted by the fluid motion of his body performing the simple act of getting dressed, she almost lost her own opportunity to don her coat in relative privacy. But she quickly recovered, and by the time he’d pulled on the jeans and a gray University of Kentucky sweatshirt, she had buttoned the coat up to her chin and knotted the belt twice. With his back to her, he used the palm of his hand and pushed his chin first right, then left, to the tune of two loud pops of his neck bones.
“You really shouldn’t do that,” she admonished. “It could…be…danger…ous…” She trailed off when he looked up, his lips pursed, his expression perturbed. Janine swallowed. “M-maybe I should call Steve on his cell phone.”
He nodded curtly and walked past her into the bathroom without making eye contact. A few seconds later the muffled sound of the sink water splashing on floated out from behind the closed door.
With her heart in her throat, Janine trotted to the nightstand, then followed the phone cord to the handset that lay under the bed. Now she knew why the line had been busy, and with shock realized that smoky voice on the other end when she’d called from home had been none other than Derek Stillman’s. She bit the inside of her cheek. What a fine mess she’d gotten herself into. Steve’s surprise was ruined, and she’d never live down this scene. She sat on the floor, her finger hovering over the buttons. Maybe she should just call a cab and vamoose, after swearing Derek to secrecy. Assuming she could trust the man. He seemed pretty surly for someone who was supposed to be a friend of Steve’s.
Her fingers shook as she punched in the number of her sister’s boyfriend’s place, but no one answered and Greg didn’t believe in answering machines. She called twice more, allowing the phone to ring several times, to no avail. Next she called her and her sister’s apartment, but Marie was either in transit, or still at Greg’s—probably indulging in something wonderfully wicked. When the machine picked up, she left a quick message for Marie to stay put until she called again.
Janine hung up and glanced over her shoulder at the closed bathroom door, still tingling over the accidental encounter with the unsettling stranger. Talk about crawling into the wrong bed—Goldilocks had officially been unseated. To top it off, Derek had shrugged off the sexualized situation with a laugh, while she’d been shaken to her spleen, not just by her unbelievable gaff, but by her base response to the man’s physique.
To curtail her line of thinking, she punched in Steve’s cell-phone number, willing words to her mouth to explain the awkward situation in the best possible light. Steve might get a big kick out of the mix-up and return to the hotel right away. She brightened, thinking the night had a chance to be salvaged, if they could shuffle the best man to another room, that is. After Steve’s phone rang three times, he answered over a buzz of background noise. “Hello?”
“Hi, this is Janine,” she said, fighting a twinge of jealousy that Steve was probably out ogling naked women. The fact that she’d been ogling his friend didn’t count because she hadn’t gone looking for it, and besides, Derek hadn’t been naked. Completely. And she hadn’t tipped him.
The background noise cleared suddenly, then he said, “Janine, look over your shoulder.”
Perplexed, she did, and scowled when she saw Derek standing in the room, talking into a cellular phone.
“Steve left his phone in the bathroom,” he said, his voice sounding in her ear. His mouth was pulled back in a sham of a smile.
She replaced the handset with a bang. “That’s not funny.”
He pressed a button on the phone and pushed down the antenna. “No. Not as funny as the fact that you can’t recognize the voice of the man you’re going to marry.”
Annoyed, she flailed to her feet and was rewarded with a head rush, plus a stabbing pain in her heel that indicated she had burst the blister there. “You sound like him,” she insisted. Only to tell the truth, Derek’s voice was deeper and his speech slower, more relaxed.
Derek’s jaw tightened, but when he spoke, his voice was casual. “I’m nothing like Steve.”
An odd thing to say for someone who was supposed to be Steve’s friend, but he was right. Steve was gregarious, carefree. Derek carried himself as if the weight of the world yoked those wide shoulders, and she wondered fleetingly if he had a wife, children, pets.
He held up a pager. “This was in the bathroom too.”
Her shoulders fell in defeat. It was obvious Steve hadn’t wanted to be bothered tonight. “Do you know where he went?”
He shook his head and shoved his feet into tan-colored loafers. “Sorry.”
She frowned as he strapped on his watch, then stuffed a wallet into the pocket of his jeans. When he picked up a small suitcase and a computer bag, then headed toward the door, her stomach lurched. “Where are you going?”
He nodded toward the door with nonchalance. “To get another room.”
Humiliated or not, she couldn’t help feeling panicky at the thought of Derek leaving. What must he think of her? What would he tell Steve? “But I…I thought you said the hotel was out of rooms.”
Derek shrugged. “There has to be an empty bed somewhere in this place, and no offense, but I feel lousy and I need to get some sleep.”
“I’ll leave,” she said quickly, walking toward the door. “I’ll call my ride from the lobby.”
He held out a hand like a stop sign and laughed without mirth. “Oh, no. Steve would never forgive me. The place is all yours.” He put his hand on the doorknob and turned it.
“But—”
“It was, um—” he swept her figure head to toe, and for the first time, genuine amusement lit his dark eyes “—interesting meeting you.” Then he opened the door and strode out.

4
DEREK MARVELED at the turn of events as he stumbled toward the elevator. Whew! Steve had one kinky nut of a fiancée on his hands, that much was certain. His buddy’s and his brother’s escapades with women never ceased to amaze him, and every time he felt the least bit jealous of their ability to attract the most outrageous litter of sex kittens, he reminded himself that their lives were roller coasters and his life was a…a…
He frowned and rubbed his temple to focus his train of thought. Searching for a metaphor to symbolize his solid, responsible position in the amusement park of life, the best he could come up with was…a chaperone. God, he felt older than his thirty-five years.
Thankfully the elevator arrived, rousing him from his unsettling contemplation. On the ride to the lobby he snorted at the memory of Janine Murphy straddling him, thinking he was Steve. Tomorrow when he felt better, he was sure he’d have a belly laugh over the case of mistaken identity, but for now he knew he desperately needed sleep. He glanced at his watch and groaned. Almost two in the morning, which meant he’d been awake for nearly forty-eight hours, thanks to Donald Phillips. And Steve Larsen. Oh, and Pinky Tuscadero.
Back in Lexington, Donald Phillips was one of the largest producers of honey in the Southeast. Dissatisfied with his product sales, Phillips had decided to shop around for a new advertising firm, and Stillman & Sons, which at the moment consisted solely of himself, was being given the opportunity to swipe the account from a larger competitor. But Derek was having one little problem: inventing a campaign designed to entice consumers to buy more honey. Honey, for crissake—a sweet condiment best known in the South for spreading on toast and biscuits; consequently, market growth was not projected to be explosive.
Computers and wireless phones and home stereo systems were flying off the shelves. Branded sportswear and gourmet appliances and exercise-equipment sales were booming. Large vehicles and exotic vacations and swimming pools were experiencing a huge resurgence. With all the sexy, progressive products in the world, he was chasing a darned honey account to save the family business.
When the elevator dinged and the door slid open, his exhaustion nearly immobilized him, but he managed to drag himself and his bags across the red thick-piled carpet to the empty reservations counter. Just his luck that everyone was taking a break. He looked for a bell to ring, but he guessed the hotel was a little too classy for ringers. Live flower arrangements the size of a person graced the enormous mahogany counter shiny enough to reflect his image—in his opinion, just another overdone element of the posh resort whose decorating philosophy seemed to be “Size does matter.”
He wondered briefly how much green the bride and groom were dropping for the wedding. Between the rehearsal dinner, the ceremony and the reception, all of which were supposed to take place at the resort, he suspected his buddy would have to perform an extra face-lift or two to foot the bill. Derek scoffed, shaking his head. Marriage—bah. He gave his pal and the Murphy woman six months, tops.
“Hello?” he called, trying to tamp down his impatience. He was not above stretching out behind the counter to sleep if he had to.
A door opened on the other side of the elevators, and his mood plunged when Pinky herself emerged from the stairwell, pale and limping, hair everywhere, coat flapping. “Oh, brother,” he muttered. The last thing he needed was to spend one more minute with the leggy siren.
Stepping up next to him, she said, “Derek, I insist you take the room.”
One look into her blue eyes gave him a glimpse of Steve’s future—the woman would be a handful, even for Steve. He might have felt sorry for his pal, but, he reasoned perversely, the man who had led such a charmed life to date probably deserved a little grief. “Janine, go back upstairs.”
She frowned and planted her hands on her hips. “I thought people from the country were supposed to be polite.”
His ire climbed, then he drawled, “I get testy when I run out of hayseed to chaw on.”
Her eyebrows came together and she crossed her arms, sending a waft of her citrusy perfume to tickle his nose. “What’s that smart remark supposed to mean?”
He did not need this, this, this…aggravation, not when his body hummed of fatigue, stress and lingering lust. Derek felt his patience snap like a dry twig. He leaned forward and spoke quietly through clenched teeth. “I’ll tell you what it means, Pinky. It means I left my firm in the middle of a very important project to fly here and stand in for my runaway brother in a ceremony I don’t even believe in, only to catch some kind of plague and have my reservation canceled and have my sleep interrupted by a stranger crawling into my bed!”
She blinked. “Do you have blood pressure problems?”
Heat suffused his face and he felt precariously close to blowing a gasket. She and Steve deserved each other, and they’d never miss him. So after one calming breath, he saluted her. “I’m going home. Please give Steve my regrets.” He turned, then added over his shoulder, “And my condolences.”
He picked up his suitcase, then headed toward the main lobby, not a bit surprised to hear her trotting two steps behind him. “Wait, you can’t go!”
“Watch me,” he growled.
“I’m sorry—you can have the room.”
Derek lengthened his stride.
“After all, you made the trip down here…”
As he approached the lobby area, a buzz of voices rose above the saxophone Muzak, reminding him of bees. But then again, he did have honey on the brain. Good grief, he needed sleep.
“And you’re not feeling well,” she rattled on. “Blah, blah, blah…”
The buzz increased as he rounded the corner. He stopped abruptly at the sight before him, and she slammed into him from behind, jarring his aching head.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she gasped. “I didn’t realize—”
“Can you be quiet?” He pulled her by the arm to stand alongside him, too distracted by the scene to worry about her tender feelings.
The step-down lobby of the hotel was swarming with people, some in their pajamas sitting in chairs or lying on couches, others in lab coats, tending to the guests, others in security uniforms, hovering.
“What the hell?” he murmured.
“They’re medics,” Janine said. “Something’s wrong.” She walked over and knelt in front of a young man in a hotel uniform sitting in a chair looking feverish and limp. While her lips moved, Janine put a hand on the youth’s forehead and took his pulse. The coat she wore fell open below the last button, revealing splendid legs encased in those black hose, and bringing to mind other vivid details about what lay hidden beneath the coat. She tossed the mane of blond hair he’d come to suspect was real over one shoulder, evoking memories of its silkiness sliding over his chest and face.
Recognizing the dead-end street he was traveling, Derek shook himself mentally and strained to remember what she said she did for a living. A nurse? A nurse’s aide? No, a physician’s assistant. Except the woman seemed way too flaky to oversee someone else’s welfare.
She rose and patted the young man on the arm, then returned.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
Janine shrugged. “No one knows. Several employees and guests have come down with flulike symptoms, so they called for medical assistance.”
The remains of pink color shimmered on her full mouth…a mouth that had been kissing him not too long ago. His groin tightened. “Is it serious?”
She shook her head. “It doesn’t seem to be. My guess is a bad white sauce served in the restaurant, or something like that.” Then she stopped and angled her head at him. “Wait a minute—when did you start feeling bad?”
He shrugged. “When I got here, there was a mix-up on my reservation, so I hung around the lobby for a while until Steve arrived. I remember asking the clerk for directions to the gift shop to buy some cold medicine before I walked up to Steve’s room.”
She stepped closer and tiptoed to place her small hand on his forehead. He flinched in surprise, but relented. Her eyes were the same deep color of blue as his mother’s favorite pansies. The best part of winter, she always said. His pulse kicked higher. He had to get out of here, fast.
“You’re a little warm,” she announced, her forehead slightly creased. “But not anything alarming.”
He stepped around her, his eye on the revolving exit door on the far side of the lobby. Outside sat a yellow taxi, his escape hatch. “Listen, I’m going to grab that cab to the airport. I’ll see ya, Pinky. Have a happy marriage and all that jazz.” And good riddance.
“But wait, don’t you want to see a doctor?”
He shook his head as he turned to go. “Nope.”
She grabbed his arm. “Derek, what are you going to tell Steve…about tonight?”
He took in her wide eyes and her parted lips and for a minute he wondered if she knew what kind of man she was marrying. She seemed so innocent. Then he laughed at himself—dressing up in naughty lingerie and coming to the hotel to please Steve was not the act of an innocent. Besides, for all he knew, Steve had changed and would be a faithful husband. On the other hand, sometimes women knew their boyfriends were philanderers and didn’t care, or liked the freedom it afforded them. Steve was probably well on his way to becoming a wealthy man, and money could make people overlook a variety of indiscretions. Either way, it was none of his business. He wet his parched lips. “What do you want me to tell him?”
She averted her eyes, and he could see the wheels turning in her pretty head. When she glanced back, she looked hopeful. “Nothing?”
He smirked. Nothing like honesty to get a marriage started off on the right foot. “You got it, Pinkie. Nothing happened. We ran into each other in the lobby as I was leaving.”
“Okay.” Her smile was tentative as he increased the distance between them. “Well, goodbye,” she said, then waved awkwardly.
He nodded. “I’ll leave Steve a message when I get to the airport and I’ll touch base with him next week.”
“We’ll be in Paris for two weeks,” she called.
“Better him than me,” he said, knowing she couldn’t hear him. He waved and smiled as if he’d said something inanely nice, then turned and strode toward the exit, his steps hurried. He couldn’t wait to feel bluegrass under his feet again. Steve and Jack could have the high life and the high-maintenance women. Right now he’d settle for a honey of a good advertising idea.
And a good night’s sleep to banish the memory of Steve’s bride in his bed.

WITH MIXED FEELINGS swirling in her chest, Janine watched Derek’s broad-shouldered frame walk out the door. She was off the hook. She could leave now and Steve would never know she’d been there. Derek had said he wouldn’t mention the incident, and for some odd reason, she believed him. His seriousness had struck her—he was a man with a lot of responsibility. What had he said? That he’d left at a busy time to attend a ceremony he didn’t believe in?
Actually, she should be feeling nothing but giddy relief. Instead, she had the most unsettling sensation that something…important…had just slipped through her fingers…
Janine shook herself back to the present. She still had tomorrow night—technically, tonight—after the rehearsal dinner to broach the issue of having sex with Steve. Leaning over to massage her heel, she acknowledged she might have to regroup and come up with a different outfit, but Marie would think of something.
She headed toward the pay phones, threading her way through the people in the lobby. She was tempted to offer assistance to the medics, but they seemed to have everything under control, and she was still feeling the effects of the wine. Tomorrow morning—correction, in a few hours—she’d call that nice Mr. Oliver to make certain the problem had been resolved. The last thing she needed was to have the entire wedding party food-poisoned at the rehearsal dinner. Her mother was already on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
She picked up the phone and redialed the apartment using her memorized calling-card number. Her sister answered on the first ring.
“Marie, thank God you’re home.”
“I just walked in the door. I stopped on the way home to pick up pineapple juice. Why aren’t you, um, busy?”
“Because Steve’s not here.”
“What? But he answered the phone when you called.”
“No, his best man answered the phone. Steve gave the guy his room because the man was sick and didn’t feel like going out with everyone else.” She waited for the revelation to sink in and was rewarded with a gasp.
“You mean, you greeted the best man wearing that pink getup?”
Janine relived her humiliation yet again. “Noooooo. I mean, I crawled into bed with the best man wearing this pink getup.”
For once, she had achieved the impossible—Marie was struck speechless.
“Marie, are you there?”
“Are you saying—” her sister make a strangled noise “—that you put a stroke on the best man?”
“No!” she snapped. “We sort of realized the mistake, Marie.”
“At what point?”
Janine remembered the kiss and experienced her first all-body blush—not completely unpleasant—then leaned against the enclosure. “My virtue is intact.”
“Unbelievable! See, exciting things do happen to you.”
“Really? Humiliating was the first word that came to my mind.”
“Isn’t your best man that dreamy Jack Stillman?”
“He was. But Jack disappeared, so Steve asked Jack’s brother, Derek, to stand in.”
“Is he gorgeous too? And single?”
Her head had started to throb again. “Marie, I didn’t call to discuss the Stillman gene pool. I called to see if you would come to pick me up. I left my purse under the front seat of your car and I have no money and no key.”
“Well, sure I’ll come back, but don’t you want to wait for Steve?”
“I don’t think so.” She wasn’t sure she could go through with her plan to seduce Steve with the memory of another man’s mouth on hers so fresh in her mind.
“You lost your buzz, ergo your nerve.”
“Well—”
“Janine, if you come home, you won’t be any closer to the answer you went for.”
The sick feeling of anguish settled in her stomach again, but she appreciated her sister’s objectivity, quirky as it was. “You’re right, but Derek said the guys are supposed to be out all night.”
“Okay, so you wait in Steve’s room until morning.” Marie laughed. “That is, unless you think he won’t do it in the daylight.”
Janine tried to smile, but she felt too disjointed to respond.
“Oh, wait,” her sister said. “You said that the best man is staying in Steve’s room.”
“No,” Janine said morosely. “He left.”
“Left to go to another hotel?”
“No,” she said, swinging her gaze toward the revolving door. Flashing lights outside the front entrance caught her attention. Two ambulances and several police cars had arrived, along with a van that bore a familiar insignia: the Centers for Disease Control. A knot of people stood outside, as if in conference, and she recognized the general manager she’d been talking to earlier as one them. The revolving door turned and, to her amazement, Derek walked back in, his expression as dark as a thundercloud.
“He’s back,” she said into the phone.
“Steve?”
“No, Derek. Hang on a minute, sis. Something is happening in the lobby.” With every turn of the door, more and more suited and uniformed personnel filtered into the lobby of the hotel. Mr. Oliver walked in, and his smooth face seemed especially serious.
A terrible sense of foreboding enveloped her. Janine waved at Derek and motioned him toward her. He seemed none too pleased to see her again, but he did walk toward where she stood, his gait long and agitated.
“What’s going on?” she whispered.
Derek gestured in the air above his head. “I don’t know. A deputy said I couldn’t leave and asked me to come back inside.”
A man in a dark suit and no tie lifted a small bullhorn to his mouth. “Could I have your attention, please?”
The lobby quieted, and for the first time, Janine realized just how crowded the expansive space had become. Her lungs squeezed and she breathed as steadily as she could, trying to hedge the feeling of claustrophobia. Standing next to Derek didn’t help because his big body crowded her personal space. She stepped as far away from him as the metal phone cord would allow, which garnered her a sharp look from his brown eyes. With much effort, she resisted the urge to explain and gave the doctor her full attention.
The man had paused for effect, sweeping his gaze over the room. “My name is Dr. Marco Pedro, and I’m with the Centers for Disease Control here in Atlanta. As you can see, several dozen people have been stricken with an illness we are still trying to identify. With a recent outbreak of E. coli contagion on the west side of town, we can’t be too careful.”
Janine’s knees weakened with dread. Because of her medical training, she knew what the man’s next words would be.
“So, until further notice,” Dr. Pedro continued, “guests cannot leave the premises. Every individual in this facility is officially under quarantine.”

5
JANINE’S HEART dropped to her stomach. “A quarantine?” she whispered. This can’t be happening. Next to her, Derek muttered a healthy oath that corresponded with the collective groan that went up throughout the lobby.
“Janine,” Marie said in her ear. “What’s going on?”
“The CDC just put the place under quarantine,” she croaked. “I’ll call you back.” Then she hung up the phone unceremoniously.
“Was that Steve?” Derek asked.
“No, my sister,” she replied, distracted by the uproar.
Angry guests were on their feet, firing questions at the doctor:
“For how long?”
“But I have to leave tomorrow!”
“Am I dying?”
Dr. Pedro held up his hands. “One at a time. We will answer your questions as soon as possible. The symptoms at this time don’t appear to be life-threatening. For obvious reasons, we don’t know how long the quarantine will last, but I estimate you’ll be detained for at least forty-eight hours.”
“Oh no,” Janine murmured, and the lobby erupted into more chaos. A few people tried to make a run for the exits, but security guards had already been posted. Her heart tripped faster when she realized she was confined to the building, and might be for some time—a claustrophobe’s nightmare.
“There is no need to panic,” the doctor continued in a raised, but soothing voice. “Believe me, ladies and gentleman, the quarantine is for your own protection and for the protection of the people outside these walls with whom you would otherwise come into contact.”
As a health professional, Janine knew her first concern should be her own welfare and the safety of those around her, but as a bride-to-be, her thoughts turned to wedding invitations, ceremony programs and honeymoon reservations, all with a big red Cancel stamped on them. She swayed and reached for something to steady herself, meeting soft cotton and solid muscle.
“Easy,” Derek said, righting her. “Are you okay?”
“Yes.” She swallowed. “But my mother is going to have a stroke. We’ll have to postpone the wedding.”
One corner of his mouth slid back. “Gee, and the rest of us only have to worry about a slow, painful death from a mysterious disease.”
Remorseful, she opened her mouth to recant, but the doctor spoke again.
“Please, everyone return to your rooms immediately. If you need assistance, ask anyone who is wearing a white coat or a yellow armband. If you develop symptoms, call the front desk and leave a message, a doctor or nurse will be with you soon. Medical personnel will be canvassing the hotel room by room to ensure no potential case is overlooked. We’ll keep everyone updated as the situation progresses. We’d like to have this area cleared. After that, do not leave your room unless you are given permission by a person wearing a yellow armband.”
Now she knew what it felt like to be hit by a truck and live, Janine decided. So many emotions bombarded her, she didn’t know what to feel first—outrage that her life would have to be rescheduled, fear that she’d been exposed to a dangerous contaminant, or panic that she was expected to spend at least the next forty-eight hours in close quarters with a virtual stranger. A virtual stranger who had been vocal about the fact that he didn’t want to be here at all.
A sentiment now reinforced by his brooding expression. His jaw was dark from the shadow of his beard, his eyes bloodshot and his nose irritated.
“You look terrible,” she said without thinking.
The sarcastic glance he shot her way made even her creeping panties seem comfortable by comparison. In a dismissive move, he picked up his suitcase and joined the throng moving toward the elevator and the stairs.
“I’ll be right behind you,” she said. “I’m going to leave my name with the doctors just in case they can use my help.” She was trying desperately not to think about the fact that she and Derek might be sharing a room for the rest of the night. Or the little issue of having no money, no ID, no toiletries, no makeup, no clothes, no shoes and no underwear save the costume beneath her coat.
His only acknowledgment that he’d heard her was the barest of nods. Janine frowned at his back, then turned to approach Dr. Pedro.
A crowd of guests had gathered around him, some angry, some concerned, all asking questions. The doctor spoke succinctly in a calming voice, assuring the knot of people that quarantine procedures would be distributed to every room, then asked them to clear the lobby as soon as possible. She touched the arm of a woman who appeared to be the doctor’s assistant and asked if she could have a word with the doctor about a professional matter. The woman nodded and made her way toward him.
“Ms. Murphy, our paths cross again.”
She swung around to see the general manager approaching her, a hint of a smile hiding the worry she knew lingered under his calm surface. “I trust you found room 855?”
“Um, yes.”
He looked as if he was curious about the outcome, but was too much of a gentleman to ask.
She cleared her throat. “Mr. Oliver, I was hoping you would speak to the doctor on my behalf.”
“On your behalf?”
“Well, since you can verify I arrived at the resort less than an hour ago—” she splayed her hands “—I was hoping you could arrange for me to leave.”
He poked his tongue into his cheek. “Leave? If I remember correctly, when I first saw you, you were having a nose-to-nose conversation with Ben, who is now quite ill.”
She leaned forward and whispered, “I’m also extremely claustrophobic.”
A slight frown creased his forehead. “I suppose I could consult the doctor about your situation, Ms. Murphy, but what about your fiancé?”
“He, um, wasn’t in the room after all.”
He pulled a notebook from his pocket. “We have to account for all guests—I’ll make a note that the room is empty.”
She told herself she should keep her mouth shut, but Derek was ill and, therefore, probably needed to be kept under surveillance. Her medical ethics kicked in, and she sighed. “Actually, there was another gentleman in the room.”
Mr. Oliver’s blue eyes widened. “Oh?”
At that moment, the doctor walked up, nodding to Mr. Oliver, then to Janine. “My assistant said you wished to speak to me.”
She tried on her professional face, wondering how disheveled she appeared. “Dr. Pedro, my name is Janine Murphy. I’m a P.A. here in Atlanta, and I wanted to offer my services in case you find yourself short of personnel.”
He was a pleasant-looking man who seemed unruffled in the midst of the pandemonium. “It’s kind of you to offer, Ms. Murphy, but we’re fully staffed. Are you feeling well?”
She was sick to her stomach with worry, not to mention a little hungover, but she nodded. “Yes, and Mr. Oliver can verify I haven’t been at the resort very long, so if you don’t think you’ll need my help, I was wondering if you might see your way to release me from the quarantine.”
Dr. Pedro gave her a regretful smile. “Ms. Murphy, because of your medical training, you understand why I can’t release you, but if you don’t fall ill and a lot of other guests do, indeed we might need your help. I assume you have your license with you?”
Too late, she remembered she didn’t have her purse, in which she kept a card-size copy of her license. “Um, no, I’m sorry, I don’t have my license with me.”
“If you have other ID on you, my assistant can verify your credentials over the phone.”

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