DEREK STILLMAN MUMBLED a curse and rolled over to replace the handset. He missed the receiver and the phone thudded to the floor, but his head ached so much he didn’t move to replace it. Just his luck that he’d finally gotten to sleep and someone had called to wake him and breathe into the receiver. He lay staring at the ceiling, wishing, not for the first time, he were still in Kentucky. There was something about feeling like hell that made a person homesick, especially when he hadn’t wanted to make the trip to Atlanta in the first place.

      The caller had probably been Steve, he thought. Maybe checking in to see how he was feeling. A second later he changed his mind—his buddy was too wrapped up in enjoying a last night of freedom to be concerned about him. He sneezed, then fisted his hands against the mattress. Confound his brother, Jack! In college Jack had been closer to Steve than he, but since Jack had dropped out of sight for the past couple of months, Derek had felt obligated to stand in as best man when Steve had asked him. Once again, he was left to pick up his younger brother’s slack.

      He inhaled cautiously because his head felt close to bursting. He’d obviously picked up a bug while traveling, which only added insult to injury. On top of everything else, the timing to be away from the advertising firm couldn’t be worse—he was vying for the business of a client large enough to swing the company well into the black, but he needed an innovative campaign for their product, and soon. If ever he could use Jack, it was now, since he’d always been the more creative one. Derek was certain their father had established the Stillman & Sons Agency with the thought in mind to try to keep Jack busy and out of trouble, but so far, the plan had failed.

      Hot and irritable, Derek swung his legs over the side of the bed and felt his way toward the bathroom for a glass of water. His throat was so parched, he could barely swallow. He banged his shin on a hard suitcase, either his or Steve’s, he wasn’t sure which. If his trip hadn’t been enough of an ordeal, he’d arrived late at the hotel and they’d already given away his room. Since Steve was planning to be out all night partying, he’d offered Derek his room, and since Derek had felt too ill to join the rowdy group for the bachelor party, he’d accepted.

      The tap water was tepid, but it was wet and gave his throat momentary relief. He drank deeply, then stumbled back to bed, knowing he wouldn’t be sleeping again soon.

      Too bad he hadn’t come down with something at home. Then he would’ve had a legitimate excuse to skip the ceremony. He thought of Steve and grunted in sympathy. Marriage. Why on earth would anyone want to get married these days anyway? What kind of fool would stake his freedom on a bet where the odds were two failures out of every three? Wasn’t life complicated enough without throwing something else into the mix?

      They were all confirmed bachelors—he, Jack and Steve. Steve was the womanizer; Jack, the scoundrel; and he, the loner. He couldn’t imagine what kind of woman had managed to catch Steve Larsen’s eye and keep it. The only comment his buddy had made about his fiancée was that she was sweet, but anyone who could convince Steve to set aside his philandering ways had to be a veritable angel.

      Achy and scratchy, he lay awake for several more minutes before he started to doze off. Oddly, his head was full of visions of angels—blond and white-robed, pure and innocent. A side effect of the over-the-counter medication, he reasoned drowsily.

      2

      “I’M SORRY, ma’am, but I can’t give you a key to Mr. Larsen’s room without his permission.” The young male clerk gave Janine an apologetic look, but shook his head.

      Janine bit down on her lower lip to assuage her growing panic. What had she gotten herself into? Marie was long gone and said she was going to stop by Greg’s on the way home. Janine would have to call a cab to get a ride back to the apartment they shared. Which would be fine except she’d left her purse in Marie’s car, and she had no money or apartment key on her person.

      And beneath the raincoat, had very little clothing on her person.

      “Okay, call him,” she relented. It would still be a surprise, just not as dramatic.

      The clerk obliged, then looked up from the phone. “The line’s busy, ma’am.”

      She frowned. Who could Steve be talking to at one in the morning? A sliver of concern skittered up her spine, but she manufactured a persuasive smile. “He’s probably trying to call me. If you’ll give me his room number, I’ll just walk on up.”

      “I’m afraid that’s against hotel policy, ma’am.” The teenager ran a finger around his collar, and he looked flushed.

      Sizing up her options, she leaned forward on the counter, making sure the coat gaped just enough for a glimpse of the pink bustier. She looked at his name tag. “Um, Ben—may I call you Ben?”

      He nodded, his gaze riveted on the opening in her coat.

      “Ben, Mr. Larsen is my fiancé, and we’re getting married here on Saturday. I dropped by to, um, surprise him, and I’d hate to tell him that you’re the one who wouldn’t let me up to his room.”

      Ben swallowed. “I’ll call his room a-g-gain.” He picked up the phone and dialed, then gave her a weak smile. “Still busy.”

      She assumed a wounded expression, and leaned closer. “Ben, can’t you make an exception, just this one teensy-weensy time?”

      “Is there a problem here, Ben?”

      Janine turned her head to see a tall blond man wearing a hotel sport coat standing a few steps away.

      The young man straightened. “No, Mr. Oliver. This lady needs to see a guest, but the line is busy.”

      The blond man’s clear blue eyes seemed to miss nothing as his gaze flitted over her, then he turned to Ben, obviously his employee. “Ben, there seems to be a bug going around and you look a little feverish. Why don’t you take a break and I’ll help our guest.”

      Ben scooted away and Mr. Oliver took his place behind the counter. “Good evening, ma’am. I’m Manny Oliver, the general manager. How can I help you?” His smile was genuine, and his voice friendly. She immediately liked him and her first thought was that he was as sharp as a tack. She hoped she didn’t look drunk.

      “I’m Janine Murphy and I came to visit my fiancé, Steve Larsen. We’re having our rehearsal dinner here tomorrow—I mean, tonight, and our wedding in your gazebo on Saturday.”

      He nodded. “Congratulations. I’m familiar with the arrangements. Now, let me see what I can do for you.” He consulted a computer, then picked up the phone and