About Last Night...

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.