скачать книгу бесплатно
“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.”
