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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?”
