About Last Night.... Stephanie BondЧитать онлайн книгу.
direction of the door, her gaze on a black raincoat draped over the foot of the bed.
She was a hooker who knew Steve well enough to recognize him, which didn’t surprise him. “This is Steve’s room,” he said, and she stopped. Pressing a finger against the pressure in his sinuses, he pushed himself to his feet. As silly as standing around in his boxers in front of the woman seemed, having a conversation with her while lying in bed seemed even more absurd, especially since she herself was in her skivvies.
“Stay right there!” She pointed a finger at him as if a laser beam might emerge from her fingernail at will. “Who are you?”
Derek put his hands on his hips, irritated to be awakened and not amused by the idea that the woman had come to Steve’s room for an eleventh-hour fling before his wedding. “Since Steve gave me his room for the night,” he asserted, “maybe you should tell me who you are.”
She shoved her hair out of her eyes, and her chest moved up and down in the pink thing that resembled a corset. She seemed very close to spilling over the underwire cups, and he felt his body start to respond again. The woman was one incredibly sexy female.
“I’m J-Janine Murphy, Steve’s fiancée. “
Derek swallowed and abruptly reined in his libido. He realized he’d been cynical in his assumption about the reason for this woman’s presence in Steve’s room—blame it on years of witnessing his brother’s shenanigans. Not many things surprised him these days, but her declaration shook him. This was the woman who’d snared Steve? So much for his theory of her being a missionary type. But he had to hand it to her—the woman’s costume made it clear she knew how to communicate on Steve’s level. Guilt zigzagged through his chest when he acknowledged he’d been affected by her himself—he, the man of steel, who prided himself on discretion and restraint.
He stared at his friend’s bride-to-be and realized this was about the most awkward predicament he’d ever landed himself in. And, he thought wryly, par for the course of his life lately—in a hotel room with a gorgeous half-naked woman, and she was totally, utterly and indubitably off limits. Derek’s dry laugh was meant to express his frustration at the accumulation of injustices of the past few months, but the woman was clearly offended.
“What’s so funny?”
He pursed his mouth. “Well, now…Janine…this is a bit awkward.” Picking up her coat, he slowly walked toward her, using the gesture of courtesy to help shield his appallingly determined arousal. “I’m Derek Stillman. Your best man.”
3
JANINE FROZE, although her insides heaved upward. “My b-best man?” Oh, please dear God, take me now—no wait, let me change clothes first. The stranger’s smug expression mortified her, but at least he’d carried her coat to her, which she snatched and held over herself.
“Technically speaking,” he said, curling his fingers around one wrist and holding his hands low over his crotch, “I guess I’m Steve’s best man.”
She snapped her gaze back to his and squinted at him in the low lighting. She was certain she’d never met him before, although granted, people looked different with their clothes off. He was a big man—even in her preposterous shoes, he towered over her. His dark hair was cropped close at the sides and back, with the top just long enough to stick up after sleeping. His face was broad and pleasing, with a strong jaw, distinct cheekbones and an athletically altered nose which now appeared red and irritated. On his mouth was the telltale stain of her pink lipstick and she cringed, recalling the way she’d kissed the perfect stranger. But on the list of kissing transgressions, surely kissing your fiancé’s best man was worse than kissing a perfect stranger…Her brain was too fuzzy to work it all out—she’d have to ask Marie.
But one realization did strike her with jarring clarity: she hadn’t even realized she wasn’t kissing Steve.
With that sobering thought, Janine refused to look lower than Derek’s wide shoulders, although she vividly remembered the mat of hair she’d run her fingers through while straddling the man. She wasn’t even sure Steve had hair on his chest. A wave of dizziness hit her and she realized the bustier was probably limiting her oxygen supply. “You…” Are the most physically appealing man I’ve ever laid eyes on. “You must be Jack’s brother.”
The man’s mouth tightened almost imperceptibly. “Yes.”
“You went to college with Steve?”
He nodded, and she noticed his eyes were the deepest brown—quite intense with his dark coloring.
“Um…” She glanced around, spying Steve’s suitcase sitting next to a writing desk. “Where is Steve?”
“At his bachelor party.”
Not a man of many words, this one. “Why aren’t you with him?”
“I wasn’t—that is, I’m not—feeling well.”
She peered closer, taking in his drooping eyes. “Do you have a cold?”
“I suppose.”
“What are you taking for it?”
His eyebrows knitted in question.
“I’m a physician’s assistant.”
He looked thoroughly unimpressed. “I’m taking some stuff I picked up in the gift shop.”
He reached for a handkerchief on the nightstand next to the bed, then sneezed twice, each time causing his flat abdominal muscles to contract above the waistband of his pale blue boxers—strictly a medical observation of his general fitness level, she noted, which was important when prescribing treatment. “Bless you. You really should get some rest.”
He turned watery eyes her way and smirked. “I was trying.”
Her cheeks flamed. As if the mix-up were her mistake, as if she’d planned this fiasco. Flustered, she flung out her arm to indicate the dark walls of the room, but somehow ended up pointing to the bed where the covers lay as contorted as her thoughts. “What…when…” She jerked back her offending hand. “Why did Steve give you his room?”
“My flight was late, and I didn’t have a room when I arrived. Steve said he wouldn’t need—” He broke off and averted his gaze.
“Wouldn’t need what, Mr. Stillman?”
Glancing back, he massaged the bridge of his nose and winced. “Don’t you think we can drop the formalities since we’re both in our underwear?”
At his sarcastic tone, anger drove out any vestiges of fear that lingered, since she didn’t appear to be in imminent danger of anything other than dying of humiliation. Still, she forced herself to speak in a calm tone to Steve’s best man. “Okay. Derek, Steve wouldn’t need what?”
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then frowned at the streak of pink lipstick. Janine squirmed when he looked to her. “He said he wouldn’t be needing the room—I suppose the guys were going to party all night.” His gaze fell to her shoes and one corner of his mouth drew back. “I take it he wasn’t expecting you.”
She summoned the dredges of her pride and lifted her chin. “It was supposed to be a surprise.”
“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