About Last Night... (20 page)

She gave him a tight smile, then took the napkin from him and tucked it in the waistband of her—make that
Derek's
—

sweatpants.

He harrumped. "I'm not touching anything else I find unless it's fourteen-carat gold."

"The ring is platinum," she corrected him.

He let out an impressive, sad whistle. "Well, we'd better split up and cover this area systematically. I'll start here and go to

the tree, then back to the wall."

With her heart thumping and her fingers crossed, Janine started crisscrossing the area opposite Manny. Taking baby steps in

her huge shoes, she stared at the beam of light until her eyeballs felt raw. After only a short while, her neck and shoulders

ached. "Manny, have you found it?"

"Yeah, Janine, I found the ring ten minutes ago, but I just like walking humped over in the dark."

She smiled ruefully and shut up. A paper clip, then a foil candy wrapper raised and dashed her hopes. After an hour, she was

blinking back tears. Manny came over to stand next to her, rubbing the back of his neck. "Nothing. Are you sure it fell off your

finger when you were on the balcony?"

"I think it did."

He pursed his lips. "You
think
it did? I have two mosquito welts on my face the size of Stone Mountain, and you
think
it

did?"

"Well, we couldn't find it in the room, so I just assumed … I mean, we dropped so many things—

"

He held up one hand. "I get the picture." Manny shook his head, and chuckled. "Wow, when you mess things up, you mess

them up in a big way."

"Well, it's not like I lost the ring on purpose."

"Maybe not consciously."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing."

"Something,"
she prompted.

"Well, it's just that the subconscious can be a powerful force." He splayed one hand. "Did you lose the ring before or after

you decided you weren't going to marry Mr. Larsen?"

"After," she said miserably.

He lifted his shoulders in an exaggerated shrug. "Just a thought," he said, then steered her back toward the side entrance.

"What am I going to do?" she asked, blinking back a new wellspring of tears.

"Search the room again," he told her. "And I promise I'll come out myself first thing in the morning with a rake." He smiled,

his blue eyes kind. "I might even be able to scare up a metal detector."

"You're the best," she said, giving him a hug.

"So I've heard," he said with a boyish grin. "Try to get some sleep, okay?"

* * *

swollen and dry. Three o'clock in the morning on what was supposed to be her wedding day, and she lay awake, stiff and sore

from the lovemaking of the man sleeping on the floor.

Who just happened
not
to be her fiancé.

But someone who'd become important to her in a shamefully short amount of time. She laughed aloud, but the velvety

darkness of the room muffled the noise.

Today she would call Steve and tell him she couldn't marry him, a thought that saddened her. Even though she didn't love

him, she was fond of him and his family, and she would always admire his proficiency on the job. She would miss him, along

with the promise of a luxurious, if conservative, life.

She sighed. Then after breaking their engagement, she would offer Steve her car, her sole Coach purse and her right arm as a

down payment on the lost ring. Now that she thought about it, a hairdresser had once told her he'd give her a hundred dollars

for her hair, down to the scalp… Her mother would get used to it eventually. And she could sell her blood every six weeks at

the clinic—nobody needed a full ten pints.

Derek murmured something in his sleep. She lifted her head in his direction and saw the pale sheet over him move as he

rolled to face her, still sound asleep. Her stomach pitched and rolled when she replayed their passionate encounter in her head.

Neither she nor Derek had broached the subject of their lovemaking when she returned from her fruitless search. He'd helped

her turn the room upside down, but remained stoic as they stripped the bed and checked underneath. Obviously, the act had

been little more than an enjoyable tumble for him, and now he was racked with guilt.

Janine's mouth tightened. He would never know how much their lovemaking had meant to her, not if she could help it. This

little triangle she'd created had enough inherent problems without throwing love into the mix.

Love?

Suddenly, the metallic whine of the air conditioner roared in her ears, and the walls seemed to converge on her in the dark.

Janine clutched at her chest and gasped for breath, succumbing to a full-fledged panic attack. And why not? she asked herself,

grabbing a fistful of sheet. Never before in her life had she had so many good reasons to panic.

"Relax, Janine."

Derek's voice floated to her and she realized he was sitting on the bed, holding her hand. "Take shallow breaths and exhale

through your mouth slowly. Close your eyes," he ordered gently, and she obeyed.

"Now breathe, and think about something that makes you happy," he said as if speaking to a child.

His suggestion fell flat, however, because his face kept floating behind her eyelids. She tried to focus, but his touching was

so much more appealing.

"Tell me," he said. "Tell me the things that make you happy, Janine."

The concerned note in his voice sent warmth circulating through her chest, making her feel safe. "Peppermint ice cream," she

whispered.

The low rumble of his laugh floated around her head. "What else?"

"Red hats … old books … polka music … cotton sheets…"

"Breathe," he reminded her. "Go on."

"Daisies … jawbreakers … bowling … brown eyes…"

Derek's own breath caught in his chest. Did she like
his
brown eyes? His chest ached with the agony of not discussing their

impromptu lovemaking. On one hand, he felt compelled to tell her the sex had been a profound experience for him, but on the

other hand, she was on the rebound from an engagement to a friend of his, undoubtedly consumed with guilt over sleeping with

him
and
losing her priceless engagement ring. For all he knew, the flighty woman might manufacture a story about the ring

being stolen and marry Steve after all. He'd be a fool to reveal any of his disturbing feelings to her now, under such volatile

circumstances.

He realized her breathing had returned to normal and, eyes closed, she looked like a resting child. Her beauty seemed

boundless. The more time he spent with her, the more expressions and mannerisms she revealed, each uniquely Janine, and

each riveting. The woman was incredible, and he hoped Steve was smart enough to fight for her love. He hated himself for

submitting to his desire for her, for taking advantage of her vulnerability during pre-wedding jitters. In doing so, he prayed he

hadn't jeopardized her chance for happiness.

He started to withdraw his hand, but Janine's fingers closed around his, and her eyes fluttered open. "Stay with me."

Even though everything logical in him shouted not to, he stretched out beside her, careful to leave a few inches between

them. Janine turned on her side away from him, then scooted back until they were touching from shoulder to knee. Instinctively,

he rolled to his side and spooned her small body against his. A foreign, not completely uncomfortable heat filled his chest, and

he suddenly couldn't pull her close enough. She wore a short T-shirt rucked up to her waist, revealing plain white cotton

panties. His body responded immediately.

No matter, he thought. She was breathing deeply, probably already asleep and oblivious to his state. He reached up and

smoothed the hair back from her face, studying her profile, wishing he knew what made her tick. Unexpectedly, she pressed her

rump-back against his arousal, and he bit back a groan. Was she merely moving in her sleep, or urging him to intimacy? Janine

reached her hand back to hook around his thigh and pulled him so that his sex nestled against hers, settling the question.

Derek buried his face in her hair, then kissed her neck while sliding his hand beneath her shirt to caress her stomach and tuck

her body even closer to his. By spreading his fingers, he stroked her breasts, gently tweaking each nipple. He cupped a handful

of her firm flesh, rasping his desire for her in her ear. She responded by sliding her hand back and tugging on the waistband of

his boxers. He lifted himself just enough to skim the underwear down his legs, then kicked them away. Freed, his erection

sought the heat between her thighs, straining against the firm cheeks of her buttocks.

She had shed her T-shirt. With a slide of her hand and a teeth-grating wiggle, the thin panties were pushed down to her

knees. Derek throbbed to be inside her, but rolled away long enough to secure a condom. Spooning her close to him again, he

reached around to delve into the curls at the apex of her thighs, which were already wet. With great restraint, he inserted only

the tip of his bulging erection into her slick channel from behind, and plied her nub of pleasure until she writhed in his arms,

moaning his name. On the verge of climax himself, he slid into her fully, thrilling in the extra pressure of their position. Sheer

concentration helped him maintain control for several long, slow strokes, then the life fluid burst from him with a force equal to

that of a man who might never get to indulge in such sweetness again.

Indeed, Derek thought as his breathing returned to normal, he would never again make love to Janine. He would go back to

Kentucky, immerse himself in his work and leave Janine and Steve to work through their problems. Once Steve had singled out

a woman to make her his wife, Derek knew he wouldn't easily let her go. The panicky thought sprang to his mind that Janine

might be using him to get back at Steve in some way. His stomach twisted. He suspected that Steve was unfaithful to Janine—

did she as well?

She sighed and settled back against his chest. With his head full of troubled thoughts and his lungs full of the scent of her

hair, he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

"Janine," he whispered, his tone urgent. "Wake up."

"What's wrong?" she asked, looping her arms around his neck and pulling him closer.

"Shh." He pulled away her hands and flung back the covers, sending a chill over her naked body. "Janine, sweetheart, you

have to get up.
Now."

"Why?" she asked, sitting up grudgingly, wincing at her sore muscles.

An impatient knock sounded at the door, apparently not the first.

"Because," he said, pulling on his underwear, his lowered voice tinged with warning. "Steve's here."

16

« ^ »

S
he swayed and Derek grabbed her by the shoulders to steady her. "Steve's here?" she parroted, dazed.

"Yes," he whispered, pulling her to her feet. "Keep your voice down."

Her heart threatened to burst from her chest, and her brain seemed mired in goo. "B-but what's he doing here? How?"

"I don't know," he said, fishing her panties and T-shirt from the covers. "The point is, he can't find
you
here."

Steve banged on the door. "Derek, man, are you awake? I lost my key."

At the sound of Steve's voice, her knees nearly collapsed. She bit down hard on her knuckle, terrified at what might transpire

between the men if Steve found out what had happened last night. Twice.

"Give me a minute, Steve," Derek called, pivoting to scan the room. His darting eyes came full circle to rest on the bed. "Get

underneath," he said, shoving her clothes into her hands.

"But I

—

"

"Now, Janine, under the bed!"

Dreading even the thought of being confined in such a tight space, she nonetheless relented, quickly recognizing the lesser of

two evils. She shimmied the T-shirt over her head and practically vaulted into her panties.

The clothes brought back a flood of erotic memories, and she felt compelled to at least acknowledge their lovemaking.

"Derek, about last night—

"

"Janine," he cut in. "We definitely need to talk, but now hardly seems like the time."

Contrite, she nodded, then dropped to her belly and squeezed her way under the bed, giving thanks for her B-cup—a C

would've rendered this particular hiding place impossible. Quickly she determined the least uncomfortable position was to lie

with her cheek to the dusty floor.

With her heart doing a tap dance against the parquet, she watched Derek's feet move toward the door. The foggy numbness of

a panic attack encroached, but she forced herself to focus on breathing.
Please, please, please,
she begged the heavens.
Get me

out of this predicament, and I'll behave myself. Really, I will.

Inhale, exhale.
No more men until I get the ring paid off.

Inhale, exhale.
No more engagements unless I'm certain the man is right for me.

Inhale, exhale.
And no more sex until I'm married.