About Last Night... (12 page)

hotel workout facility to monitor and care for those who have fallen too ill to remain in their rooms, and other measures are

being enacted to protect the many, many guests who were taken completely by surprise." The general manager appeared on-

screen, holding a microphone with a gloved hand. The interview had been shot through a window.

"The resort enjoys a brisk business this time of the year," Mr. Oliver said. "So not surprisingly, we were booked solid.

Including employees, we have around six hundred people inside the grounds, and we're going to do our best to make sure

everyone is as comfortable as possible during the confinement period."

Dr. Pedro came on next, his setting similar to Mr. Oliver's. "As of about 5:00 a.m. this morning, approximately four dozen

guests were exhibiting symptoms, with three of those cases serious enough to require hospitalization—" The clip of the doctor

was cut short, obviously edited, and the reporter's dour face appeared once again.

"The resort has been inundated with calls and deliveries from relatives and well-wishers, but officials asked the media to

inform the public that no objects, such as clothing, food or flowers, will be allowed inside the resort. Meals are being

prepared in another facility and delivered under the supervision of the CDC." The man lowered his chin for dramatic effect.

"Except for CDC personnel,
no one
is allowed to leave or enter the resort, unless, of course, a body needs to be moved to the

hospital … or to the morgue." The reporter lifted the surgical mask to cover his mouth. "Reporting live from Lake Lanier. Now

back to you in the studio."

Janine rolled her eyes and Derek scoffed, using the remote to turn down the volume. "According to that guy, we should be

making out our wills."

She nodded. "I would've liked to hear what the doctor had to say that didn't make it into the news segment. Did he insinuate

to you this morning that the situation is worse?"

"Just what you heard on TV. Three people in the hospital, although he said he didn't think their lives were at risk."

His voice was conversational and sincere, his demeanor fatigued. What was it about this man that made her want to touch

him? His boy-next-door chivalry? His all-American looks? His aloof attitude? Despite being close to Steve's age, Derek

seemed decades more mature. Worry lined his serious brown eyes. Was he more concerned about his health than he let on? She

felt compelled to comfort him, to ease the wrinkles from his forehead. Angling her head, she circled to stand in front of him.

"How are you feeling?"

"About the same," he said with a shrug.

"Still congested?"

He nodded.

She stepped forward and placed her hand on his forehead. With him sitting and her standing, they were nearly eye to eye.

More like breast to eye, although she tried not to dwell on it. His skin felt smooth and taut, and she liked the silkiness of his

short bangs against the pads of her fingers. His temperature felt normal, but hers had definitely risen a couple of degrees, even

higher when she realized she was standing between his open knees.

Her gaze locked with his and awareness gripped her, electrifying her limbs and warming her midsection. His brown eyes

were bottomless, and she realized with a start that she'd always equated dark eyes with thoughtfulness. And sincerity. And

comfort. And sensuality.

"You don't have a fever," she whispered, then wet her dry lips. Her hand fell to the muscled ledge of his shoulder, a natural

resting place, it seemed.

Something was happening, she could feel it. The energy emanating from his body pulled at her, and she had to go rigid to

keep from swaying into him. But his face belied none of the sexual force vibrating between them. His mouth was set in a firm

line and his eyes were alert. The only indication that he was affected by her nearness was the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

She lifted her hand to probe the soft area of his neck just beneath the curve of his jaw. He stiffened, but she pretended not to

notice. She could best smooth over the awkward moment by continuing to check his vital signs. "Your pulse is elevated."

He exhaled. "I guess I can chalk it up to all the, um…"

"Excitement?" she finished.

"How's your toe?" he asked, effectively changing the subject.

She looked down at her small white feet situated between his two large ones, and experienced a queer sense of intimacy.

"Fine," she said. "I never thanked you for rescuing me."

He returned her smile, which made her heart lurch crazily. "Glad to pinch-hit for Steve," he said. Then his smile evaporated

and he added, "In that one particular instance."

At the mention of Steve's name, she relaxed, feeling firmly back on platonic footing. "Thanks, too, for the clothes. You're a

lifesaver." Impulsively, she leaned forward and dropped a kiss on his cheek. Janine realized her mistake the second she drew

away. Derek's mocha-colored eyes had grown glazed and heavy-lidded. The worry lines had fled, and his lips were open in

silent invitation. Blatant desire chased reason from her mind. Acting purely on instinct, she lowered her lips to his for an

experimental kiss. Just one, she promised herself. One last illicit kiss for comparison.

If indeed he hesitated, it wasn't for more than a heartbeat. His lips opened to welcome hers, and the tide of longing that swept

over her left her breathless. Their tongues darted, danced and dueled in a coming together that could be described as anything

but
platonic.

Her knees weakened and she became aware that his hands were at her waist, and her arms around his neck. His taste was as

foreign and delicious as exotic fruit, and she wanted to draw more of him into her mouth. Derek angled his head to deepen the

kiss and she moaned in gratitude. Pulling her forward, he melded her body to his, and she was conscious of his hands sliding

beneath her shirt. He splayed his hands over her shoulder blades, kneading her skin with his strong fingers in long, determined

caresses that gave her a glimpse into his body rhythm.

She shivered and might have buckled had he not imprisoned her legs with his knees. Janine reveled in the strength and

possession of his touch. She arched her back and rolled her shoulders, then slipped her hands inside his shirt and ran her hands

over the smooth expanse of his back, kneading the firm muscle. His guttural sounds propelled her excitement to the highest

plateau she'd ever endured. The world fell away around them, and Janine felt completely, utterly safe. She pressed her body

against his, sure in the knowledge that he could fuel the flames licking at her body to an all-consuming fire, much more

satisfying than her earlier release.

When he stiffened, her first instinct was to resist, but when she heard the knock at the door, she straightened and stepped

back, disentangling herself from him. The look he gave her still smoldered from their heated kiss, but he wore his remorse just

as plainly.

The full extent of her shameful participation flooded over her. She backed away and clapped a hand over her traitorous

mouth, sucking air against her fingers to fill her quivering lungs. If her skin hadn't still burned from his touch, she might not

have believed what had just transpired. Regret nearly paralyzed her. What had she done? What had she nearly allowed Derek

to do?

He was watching her. She stared at him, at the body she could now call familiar, but she didn't know what to say. Janine

suspected, however, that her face reflected her horror at her own behavior.

Another knock sounded at the door. Derek panned his hand over his face, then stood, visibly trying to shake off the effects of

their encounter. Her gaze flew to the telltale bulge in his pants that he didn't attempt to hide as he limped a half circle in the

room. Hair tousled, shirt askew, and hard for her … Derek Stillman was simply the most devastatingly appealing man she'd

ever met. Best man, she corrected.
Her
best man. She might as well run headlong into a train tunnel while the whistle sounded

in her ears.

Realizing Derek was in no shape to answer the door, she cleared her throat and murmured, "I'll see who it is."

"Thanks," he said over his shoulder, his big hands riding his hips as he headed toward the bathroom.

Still reeling, she walked to the door and, through the peephole, saw the general manager standing in the hall. Shot with relief

without really knowing why, she swung open the door. "Hello, Mr. Oliver."

A multishelved cart loaded with great-smelling covered trays flanked him. He took in her ill-fitting garb with only a blink

and a smile. "Call me Manny, Ms. Murphy."

She felt warmed by the friendly tone in his voice. "Then call me Janine."

The blond man nodded. "Glad to see you're still with us. How are you feeling?"

Shoving a fall of hair away from her face, she pulled a smile from nowhere to hide her shaky emotions. "F-fine."

His penetrating blue gaze seemed all-knowing, but he didn't contradict her. "Mr., um, Stillman, isn't it?"

"Yes," she croaked.

"Mr. Stillman said this morning that you had no symptoms."

"That depends—is irrational behavior a symptom?"

He pursed his mouth, then shook his head slowly. "I don't recall, but I can mention it to the doctor."

She sighed. "Don't bother, I'm fine."

His eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn't skip a beat. "Good. I've brought breakfast, not a typical resort meal, I can assure

you, since our chefs didn't prepare the food, but not bad if you're hungry."

"I am."

The door across the hall opened and Ms. Jiles stepped out, perfectly coifed and wrapped in a coral-colored silk robe. "I

heard voices."

At eight o'clock in the morning, the woman was stunning. Janine decided she must have slept in her makeup
and
sitting

straight up. But she inclined her head politely. "Maureen Jiles, this is Manny Oliver, the general manager."

He smiled. "I'm delivering breakfast, ma'am."

"Something low-fat, I hope," she said in a voice reserved for lowly help.

"Yes, ma'am," Manny replied smoothly. "We have a vegetarian meal."

"That will do," she said, then turned back to Janine and smiled. "Is your friend Derek up and about?"

Is he ever.
"Um, yes."

Maureen appeared to be chewing on her tongue as her face slowly erupted into a mischievous smile. "I thought about Derek

all night. I love a good challenge, and I decided I'm not going to let his being gay get in the way."

Manny, setting a tray inside the Jiles woman's door, erupted into a fit of coughing.

Janine, stunned by Maureen's audacity, looked past the woman. "Are you okay, Manny?"

He nodded, facing her, and she could see he wasn't choking at all—he was laughing.

"So, Janine, do you have any suggestions for attracting a gay man?" Maureen asked, obviously warming up to her scheme.

Thrown off balance, Janine shook her head. "Since, to my knowledge, I've never dated a gay man, no, I can't say that I do."

Manny exited the woman's room. "Ms. Murphy, I'm sure Mr. Stillman will be wanting a vegetarian meal," he said, his mouth

twitching. "Would you like a traditional breakfast for yourself?"

She sent him an exasperated look with her eyes. "Yes, thank you, one of each."

"And I have the magazine he requested." From a side rack of reading material, he produced a copy of
Victorian Age

Decorating.

Janine plucked the magazine out of his hand. "He will be pleased," she said, injecting a warning note into her voice.

Oblivious to their exchange, Maureen crossed her arms. "Does Derek cut hair? Because I could use a trim."

Manny cleared his throat. "Excuse me, Ms. Jiles, but guests are not supposed to be in each other's quarters."

Maureen stepped back into her room and harrumphed at Manny. "Probably want him for yourself." Then she closed the door

with a bang.

Manny looked at her, his mouth drawn back in a wry grin. "Explain."

"It's simple, " Janine said in a low voice, taking a tray from him and walking it inside. She glanced at the bathroom door to

make sure Derek was out of earshot. "Maureen is a sales rep who calls on the clinic. And she knows a lot of the same people I

do. I had to think of something to keep the gossip down at work, so—

" She glanced toward the closed bathroom door, then back

to Manny. "I told her Derek is gay."

"Looks like it backfired," he observed. "She's determined to salvage the man."

One lie led to another, she realized. She set the tray on the writing desk and waited for Manny to set down the second one,

her eyes tearing up. She was having a nervous breakdown, she was certain.

"Hey, come on now, it can't be that bad." Manny handed her a handkerchief, on which she blew her nose heartily.

"Manny," she whispered, "you see what a predicament I'm in here. No one can know I'm sharing a room with Derek."

"I'm sure all this will be over soon," he said in a soothing voice. "As long as you and Mr. Stillman agree to keep it quiet,

who will be the wiser?"

"You're right," she said, sniffing. "It's just that I don't know how much more I can take."

"Is he hostile?" he asked, touching her arm, concern in his eyes.

"Oh, no," she said, waving off his concern. "It's not that." How could she explain her raging feelings about a man she barely