About Last Night...

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.”

“Isn’t your best man that dreamy Jack Stillman?”

“He was. But Jack disappeared, so Steve asked Jack’s brother, Derek, to stand in.”

“Is he gorgeous too? And single?”

Her head had started to throb again. “Marie, I didn’t call to discuss the Stillman gene pool. I called to see if you would come to pick me up. I left my purse under the front seat of your car and I have no money and no key.”

“Well, sure I’ll come back, but don’t you want to wait for Steve?”

“I don’t think so.” She wasn’t sure she could go through with her plan to seduce Steve with the memory of another man’s mouth on hers so fresh in her mind.

“You lost your buzz, ergo your nerve.”

“Well—”

“Janine, if you come home, you won’t be any closer to the answer you went for.”

The sick feeling of anguish settled in her stomach again, but she appreciated her sister’s objectivity, quirky as it was. “You’re right, but Derek said the guys are supposed to be out all night.”

“Okay, so you wait in Steve’s room until morning.” Marie laughed. “That is, unless you think he won’t do it in the daylight.”

Janine tried to smile, but she felt too disjointed to respond.

“Oh, wait,” her sister said. “You said that the best man is staying in Steve’s room.”

“No,” Janine said morosely. “He left.”

“Left to go to another hotel?”

“No,” she said, swinging her gaze toward the revolving door. Flashing lights outside the front entrance caught her attention. Two ambulances and several police cars had arrived, along with a van that bore a familiar insignia: the Centers for Disease Control. A knot of people stood outside, as if in conference, and she recognized the general manager she’d been talking to earlier as one them. The revolving door turned and, to her amazement, Derek walked back in, his expression as dark as a thundercloud.

“He’s back,” she said into the phone.

“Steve?”

“No, Derek. Hang on a minute, sis. Something is happening in the lobby.” With every turn of the door, more and more suited and uniformed personnel filtered into the lobby of the hotel. Mr. Oliver walked in, and his smooth face seemed especially serious.

A terrible sense of foreboding enveloped her. Janine waved at Derek and motioned him toward her. He seemed none too pleased to see her again, but he did walk toward where she stood, his gait long and agitated.

“What’s going on?” she whispered.

Derek gestured in the air above his head. “I don’t know. A deputy said I couldn’t leave and asked me to come back inside.”

A man in a dark suit and no tie lifted a small bullhorn to his mouth. “Could I have your attention, please?”

The lobby quieted, and for the first time, Janine realized just how crowded the expansive space had become. Her lungs squeezed and she breathed as steadily as she could, trying to hedge the feeling of claustrophobia. Standing next to Derek didn’t help because his big body crowded her personal space. She stepped as far away from him as the metal phone cord would allow, which garnered her a sharp look from his brown eyes. With much effort, she resisted the urge to explain and gave the doctor her full attention.

The man had paused for effect, sweeping his gaze over the room. “My name is Dr. Marco Pedro, and I’m with the Centers for Disease Control here in Atlanta. As you can see, several dozen people have been stricken with an illness we are still trying to identify. With a recent outbreak of E. coli contagion on the west side of town, we can’t be too careful.”

Janine’s knees weakened with dread. Because of her medical training, she knew what the man’s next words would be.

“So, until further notice,” Dr. Pedro continued, “guests cannot leave the premises. Every individual in this facility is officially under quarantine.”

5

JANINE’S HEART dropped to her stomach. “A quarantine?” she whispered. This can’t be happening. Next to her, Derek muttered a healthy oath that corresponded with the collective groan that went up throughout the lobby.

“Janine,” Marie said in her ear. “What’s going on?”

“The CDC just put the place under quarantine,” she croaked. “I’ll call you back.” Then she hung up the phone unceremoniously.

“Was that Steve?” Derek asked.

“No, my sister,” she replied, distracted by the uproar.

Angry guests were on their feet, firing questions at the doctor:

“For how long?”

“But I have to leave tomorrow!”

“Am I dying?”

Dr. Pedro held up his hands. “One at a time. We will answer your questions as soon as possible. The symptoms at this time don’t appear to be life-threatening. For obvious reasons, we don’t know how long the quarantine will last, but I estimate you’ll be detained for at least forty-eight hours.”

“Oh no,” Janine murmured, and the lobby erupted into more chaos. A few people tried to make a run for the exits, but security guards had already been posted. Her heart tripped faster when she realized she was confined to the building, and might be for some time—a claustrophobe’s nightmare.

“There is no need to panic,” the doctor continued in a raised, but soothing voice. “Believe me, ladies and gentleman, the quarantine is for your own protection and for the protection of the people outside these walls with whom you would otherwise come into contact.”

As a health professional, Janine knew her first concern should be her own welfare and the safety of those around her, but as a bride-to-be, her thoughts turned to wedding invitations, ceremony programs and honeymoon reservations, all with a big red Cancel stamped on them. She swayed and reached for something to steady herself, meeting soft cotton and solid muscle.

“Easy,” Derek said, righting her. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.” She swallowed. “But my mother is going to have a stroke. We’ll have to postpone the wedding.”

One corner of his mouth slid back. “Gee, and the rest of us only have to worry about a slow, painful death from a mysterious disease.”

Remorseful, she opened her mouth to recant, but the doctor spoke again.

“Please, everyone return to your rooms immediately. If you need assistance, ask anyone who is wearing a white coat or a yellow armband. If you develop symptoms, call the front desk and leave a message, a doctor or nurse will be with you soon. Medical personnel will be canvassing the hotel room by room to ensure no potential case is overlooked. We’ll keep everyone updated as the situation progresses. We’d like to have this area cleared. After that, do not leave your room unless you are given permission by a person wearing a yellow armband.”

Now she knew what it felt like to be hit by a truck and live, Janine decided. So many emotions bombarded her, she didn’t know what to feel first—outrage that her life would have to be rescheduled, fear that she’d been exposed to a dangerous contaminant, or panic that she was expected to spend at least the next forty-eight hours in close quarters with a virtual stranger. A virtual stranger who had been vocal about the fact that he didn’t want to be here at all.

A sentiment now reinforced by his brooding expression. His jaw was dark from the shadow of his beard, his eyes bloodshot and his nose irritated.

“You look terrible,” she said without thinking.

The sarcastic glance he shot her way made even her creeping panties seem comfortable by comparison. In a dismissive move, he picked up his suitcase and joined the throng moving toward the elevator and the stairs.

“I’ll be right behind you,” she said. “I’m going to leave my name with the doctors just in case they can use my help.” She was trying desperately not to think about the fact that she and Derek might be sharing a room for the rest of the night. Or the little issue of having no money, no ID, no toiletries, no makeup, no clothes, no shoes and no underwear save the costume beneath her coat.

His only acknowledgment that he’d heard her was the barest of nods. Janine frowned at his back, then turned to approach Dr. Pedro.

A crowd of guests had gathered around him, some angry, some concerned, all asking questions. The doctor spoke succinctly in a calming voice, assuring the knot of people that quarantine procedures would be distributed to every room, then asked them to clear the lobby as soon as possible. She touched the arm of a woman who appeared to be the doctor’s assistant and asked if she could have a word with the doctor about a professional matter. The woman nodded and made her way toward him.