About Last Night... (16 page)

were so hot for her, I would have gladly told her you were bisexual!"

"Whoa," he said, holding up his hand. "I am
not
bi. Okay? Repeat, I am
not
bi."

"I know that," she snapped.

"And I'm not
hot
for that, that, that … man predator. I just wanted to get away from
you
for a few minutes!"

Hurt, she stared openmouthed. "Well, it was a mini-vacation for me, too!"

Derek stalked across the room and dropped into the stiff chair in front of the desk, bewildered that this woman could so

easily provoke him. He sighed, then pressed out his entwined fingers to the tune of ten cracking knuckles.

"You really shouldn't do that."

He pressed his lips together, then shot a weary look in her direction. "And why not?"

"It's not a natural movement for your body."

"Oh, but I suppose standing on your head
is
a natural movement."

She upended a shopping bag on the bed. "Several other species hang upside down, but none that I know of crack their

knuckles."

Derek stared at her, his knuckle-cracked fingers itching to wring her tempting little neck. The woman was absolutely

relentless, not to mention oblivious to how she affected him.

"I had Manny bring you some shaving cream," she said, waving a small can.

"I hope he brought
you
a razor," he said, slanting a frown across the room.

"You," she said, pointing, "are contrary."

At the sight of that little finger wagging, his blood pressure spiked again. "Well, excuse me," he said, tapping a key to bring

his blank laptop screen back to life. "I'm sort of stuck in a quarantine in Atlanta, with a friend of mine's accident-prone bride,

for God only knows how long, while a client in Kentucky sits patting his Flexisole wing tips." He shoved both hands into his

hair, leaned his elbows on the desk and stared at the trio of bee by-products that were supposed to take his company into the

millennium. "I'm a little stressed here," he croaked.

Suddenly his antagonist was behind him, her sweet breath on his neck. "You know, Derek," she murmured. "I just might be

able to help."

12

« ^ »

J
anine could help his stress? Derek tensed for her touch. Part of him shouted he absolutely should
not
allow her to rub his

shoulders, while the rest of him clamped down on his inner voice. Her right hand drifted past his ear and he fairly groaned in

anticipation. But when she reached around to pluck up one of the containers of honey, he frowned and turned to face her.

She was studying the label, her lips pursing and unpursing. "Your client is Phillips Honey?"

"Potential client. You've heard of them?"

"Nope."

His shoulders fell. "Neither has anyone else."

"Bee-yoo-ti-ful honey?" she read, then made a face. "I hope that wasn't your idea."

Derek smiled and shook his head. "No. The CEO is shopping for a new ad agency."

"With a slogan like that, I can see why."

"I'm supposed to meet with him Monday. He's looking for a new label, a new slogan, a new campaign—the whole

enchilada."

She shrugged. "So what's the problem?"

"Other than the fact that I might still be
here
on Monday?"

Janine nodded a little sheepishly.

"Well, excluding Winnie the Pooh, honey isn't exactly in demand these days."

"Oh?"

He gestured toward her. "Do
you
put honey on your toast in the morning?"

She shook her head. "Not typically."

"Drizzle it over homemade granola?"

"Nope."

"Dip your biscuits in a big warm pot of it?"

"Uh-uh."

"See? People our age simply aren't buying honey at the grocery store every week." His hand fell in defeat.

"You're right," she said. "I buy my honey at the health food store."

He swung back in surprise. "Really? So you do eat honey?"

"In various forms. I specialize in homeopathic medicine."

He squinted, searching for the connection.

Her smile was patient. "Treating symptoms with remedies from natural ingredients whenever possible. Honey is one of my

favorites."

His interest piqued, he turned his chair around to face her. "To treat what?"

"Allergies, for one," she said, leaning forward to tap his nose with her finger.

The gesture struck him as almost domestic, and it warmed him absurdly.

"Bees make honey out of pollen," she continued, "and ingesting minute amounts of local pollen helps build immunity."

Dubious, he angled his head at her.

Janine sat on the bed facing him, still cradling the pint of honey in her hands. "It's the same concept that allergy shots are

based on," she said simply.

He nodded slowly, but remained unconvinced. "So, what else is honey good for?"

Her pale eyebrows sprang up as she presumably searched her memory. "Minor arthritis pains, insomnia, superficial burns,

skin irritations … among other things."

A red flag sprang up in his mind. "You mix up your own remedies and sell them to your patients?" Janine Murphy, Quack—

the image wasn't much of a stretch.

A musical, appealing laugh rolled out. "No, I just encourage patients to read up on the benefits of natural foods. So instead of

pushing honey as an indulgent, fattening topping for a big ol' plate of flour and lard, maybe Phillips should tap into its more

healthful uses."

He held up the honey butter. "Like freeing stuck toes from bathtub faucets?"

The rosy tint on her cheeks made her look even more endearing, if possible. Derek felt an unnerving tingle of awareness that

drove deep into his chest, shaking him. This mushrooming attraction to Janine was downright baffling. Certainly she was a

great-looking woman, but he came into contact with attractive women on a daily basis, and he'd never before lost track of a

conversation.

What
had
they been talking about?

He glanced down at the container in his hand. Oh, yeah, honey, the medicinal panacea for the new century. Derek cleared his

throat, determined to focus. "Isn't it dangerous to make medical claims?"

She lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. "The medicinal uses for honey are as old as medicine itself. It should never be given

to infants, and diabetics have to exercise restraint, but otherwise, it's perfectly safe. Some people swear by honey, just like

some people swear by garlic or vinegar to boost general health." After averting her eyes, she added, "One male patient of mine

insists that bee pollen and honey have improved his sex drive."

Derek had to swallow his guffaw. "And you?"

She nodded. "I have a teaspoon in my morning tea."

Derek swallowed. Even as his body responded to her nearness, his enthusiasm for Janine's ideas began to shrivel. He could

picture himself in front of stodgy Donald Phillips, presenting his idea for a new slogan: Have Phillips Honey for Breakfast,

Then Have
Your
Honey for Lunch.

Suddenly her eyes flew wide. "Not that it's improved
m y
sex life," she added hastily. Her skin turned crimson as she

clamped her mouth shut.

Despite his best efforts, Derek felt a smile wrap around his face. Perhaps honey was her secret. From the scant time they'd

spent together, he'd learned two things about Pinky—she attracted trouble, and she oozed sex. From every tight little pore in her

tight little bod. "Then I guess we're in trouble if we need a testimonial," he teased.

She pressed her lips together, eyes wide, looking as innocent as a pink bunny rabbit. Feeling like a lecherous old man, Derek

shifted uncomfortably in his chair and cast about for a safer topic. "What do you think about the packaging?"

Janine smoothed a finger over the plain black-and-white label, working her mouth back and forth. "I like the simplicity, but it

covers too much of the container."

He lifted an eyebrow.

"If the honey is pure, the color will sell it," she explained. "I like to see what I'm buying."

"Fine, but then where would we print all those newfangled uses, Doc?"

"On the website," she said with nonchalance, then handed him the honey. Their fingers brushed, but she must not have felt the

electricity because she stood and returned to sorting through the pile of items she'd dumped out of the shopping bag, as if

nothing had transpired.

On the website … of course. Not that Phillips had a website, or even a desktop computer, for that matter, but someone had to

drag the man out of the Dark Ages. Derek jotted down a few notes on the legal pad.

"And what about changing the name?"

He glanced up. "Excuse me?"

"The name," she said, tearing the tag off a pair of yellow flip-flops. "Phillips. It's not very buyer friendly, at least not for

honey."

He stuck his tongue in his cheek, rolling around her observation. "But it's the man's name."

"What's his first name?"

"Donald."

She made a face. "What's his wife's name?"

Derek shrugged. "I have no idea."

"Daughters?"

He started to shake his head, then remembered that Phillips had bragged about his daughter's equestrian skills. Heather? No.

Holly? No. "Hannah," he said as the name slid into place.

"Perfect," she said, dropping the brightly colored-shoes to the floor and sliding her pink-tipped toes into them. Then she

spread her arms as if presenting a prize. "Hannah's Honey."

Creativity flowed from her like water, and she seemed unaware of her talent. With a start, Derek realized who she reminded

him o

f

— Jack. Jack, who always needed rescuing from some scrape or another, yet somehow managed to escape unscathed.

Jack, who could crank out more creative concepts in one day than Derek could eke out in a month. Jack, who was notorious for

his ability to make a woman feel as if she were the most important person in the world, only to disappear before the morning

paper hit the porch.

Did she know how she affected him? he wondered. Was her innocence simply a clever act? Was she the kind of woman who

thrived on male attention, who flirted with danger? The kind of woman who would delight in seducing a friend of her fiancé's?

His mouth tightened. Dammit, the woman probably knew just how adorable she looked swallowed up in his clothes, with

clashing shoes and toenails.

Suddenly he realized she was waiting for his response. "I … I don't know how Phillips will feel about changing the name of

his product line," he managed to say.

"If sales were booming, I assume he wouldn't be looking for a new agency," she said, holding a lavender Georgia on My

Mind T-shirt over her chest. "A new name for the new millennium—what does he have to lose?"

He scoffed, extending his legs and crossing them at the ankles. "You make it sound so easy."

"Well, isn't it?"

"No," he insisted, a bit flustered. Leave it to someone outside the business world to overlook the nuances of wide-sweeping

changes.

"I thought you said he was going to change the packaging anyway."

"It's not the same thing—

"

The phone rang, and they both stared at it until the second ring had sounded.

"I could get it," she said. "But what if it's Steve?"

"I could get it," he said. "But what if it's your mother?"

Janine relented, leaned across the bed, then picked up the handset. "Hallooo," she said in her best Aunt Bea impression, fully

intending to hand off the phone if Steve was on the other end.

"You
must
be sick if your voice is that distorted," Marie said, munching something fresh- and crunchy-sounding—maybe

pineapple.

Mouthing to Derek that the phone was for her, she flopped onto the bed facedown. "No, I was trying to disguise my voice."

Crunch, crunch. "Why?"

She sighed. "Long story."

"Great, I just threw in a load of laundry, so I have plenty of time. I got your voice message that the wedding is off."

"Postponed," she corrected, perturbed.

"Whatever. I'm just glad to hear you're still alive. If you believe the news, everyone up there has the African flesh-eating

disease."

Janine laughed. Marie could always lift her spirits. "No, it's not that bad, even though a few more guests have fallen ill. Dr.

Pedro of the CDC told me the hospitalized patients are responding to antibiotics. I'm hoping we'll be out of here in another day

or two."

"Speaking of we," Marie said, her voice rich with innuendo, "how's your roomie? I assume he's still there since Mother was

concerned about some
bellman
in your room early this morning when she called."

"You didn't tell her, did you?"

"Of course not, and I made her promise not to call the room constantly."

Janine sighed. "Thanks."

"Well," Marie demanded. "How is Mr. Stillman?"

From beneath her lashes, Janine glanced to the desk where Derek had returned to his computer, tapping away.

"Uninteresting," she said in a tone meant to stem further discussion on the subject.

"Is he still sick?"

"There's a good chance his symptoms are allergy-related instead of what the other guests have come down with."

"It has to be tough, sharing close quarters with a virtual stranger," her sister probed, crunching. "An attractive man and an