About Last Night.... Stephanie Bond
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manage was a half smile.
Mr. Oliver leaned on the counter, an amused expression on his smooth face. “Why do I have the feeling there’s more to this story?” He nodded to her gapped coat.
Janine pulled her coat lapels closed. “I…I thought I would surprise him. He’s staying here tonight because his house is full of relatives and his groomsmen were taking him out for his bachelor party.”
He checked his watch. “And he’s back already?”
She nodded. “I called before I left, and he answered the phone.”
“So he does know you’re coming?”
“No, I hung up. This is supposed to be a surprise.”
He pursed his lips and mirth lit his eyes. “You’ve never done anything like this before, have you?”
Janine winced. “No, but after a half bottle of wine, it seemed like a good idea when my sister suggested it.”
Suddenly he laughed and shook his head. “You remind me of some friends of mine.”
“Is that good?”
Pure affection shone on his face. “Very.”
“So you’ll give me his room key?”
He stroked his chin as he studied her. “Ms. Murphy, even though it’s none of my business, I have to ask because you seem like a nice woman.” He lowered his chin and his voice. “Don’t you think it’s a little risky to surprise a man on the night of his bachelor party?”
“But he was asleep when I called,” she said.
He pressed his lips together and lifted his eyebrows, then stared at her until realization dawned on her.
“Oh, Steve wouldn’t,” she said, shaking her head.
“Alcohol can make a person do things they wouldn’t ordinarily do,” he said, giving her a pointed look. Then he patted her hand. “My advice would be to save it for the honeymoon, doll.”
She wasn’t sure where the tears came from, but suddenly a box of tissues materialized and the man was dabbing at her face.
“You’d better switch to waterproof mascara before the ceremony,” he chided gently, and she had the feeling he’d wiped away many a tear. “Did I say something wrong?”
“N-no,” she said, sniffling. “It’s just that…well, I don’t want to wait for the honeymoon—that’s sort of why I came here.”
His eyes widened slightly. “Oh. Well, now I understand your persistence.”
“So you’ll give me a key?”
Mr. Oliver chewed on his lower lip for a few seconds. “What will you do if you walk in and find him in bed with someone else?”
She blew her nose, marveling she could be so frank with a stranger. “I’d thank my lucky stars and you that I found out before it’s too late.”
“No bloodshed?”
Janine laughed. “I’m not armed.”
“Not true, I saw those stilettos.” He reached under the counter and slid an electronic key across the counter. “Top floor, room 855. Good luck.”
“Thank you, Mr. Oliver.” She smiled, then turned on her heel, somewhat unsteadily, and headed toward the stairs. With her claustrophobia, she avoided elevators, and the long climb upward gave her time to anticipate Steve’s reaction. Maybe she should simply open the door and slide into bed with him. After all, this was her chance to let it all hang out, and to find out if Steve would continue to draw sexual boundaries for their marriage.
By the time she reached the eighth floor, her heart was pounding from nervousness and exertion. A blister was raising on her left heel, and her breasts were chafed. Being sexually assertive was hard work, and darned uncomfortable. She stopped to refresh her pink lipstick under the harsh light of a hallway fixture, and didn’t recognize herself in the compact mirror. Her angular face was a little blurry around the edges, a lingering effect of her wine buzz, she assumed. Blatant desire softened her blue eyes, intense apprehension colored her cheeks and rapid respiration flared her nostrils. One look at her face—plus the fact that she was trussed up like a pink bird—and even a fence post couldn’t mistake her intention.
Janine drew color onto her mouth with a shaky hand, then gave herself a pep talk while she located his room. Her knees were knocking as she inserted the electronic key, but the flashing green light seemed to say “go”: Go after what you want, go for the gusto, go for an all-nighter.
So, with a deep breath—as much as she could muster in the binding bustier—Janine pushed open the door, limped inside and closed the door behind her.
THE SQUEAK OF HINGES stirred Derek from his angelic musings, and the click of the door closing garnered one open eye. Steve’s conscience must have kicked in; apparently he was back earlier than he’d planned. Derek faced the wall opposite the door, and he didn’t feel inclined to move. Steve could take the floor. He felt grumpily entitled to a half night’s rest in an actual bed for making the darned trip south.
Suddenly the mattress moved, as if his buddy had sat down on the other side. Removing his shoes, Derek guessed. Indeed, he heard the rustle of him undressing. But then the weight of the body rolled close to him.
“Hey, honey,” a woman whispered a split second before a slim arm snaked around his waist. “Tonight’s the night.”
Whoever she was, she had burrowed under the covers with him. Shock and confusion paralyzed him and, for a moment, he convinced himself that he was still dreaming.
“I just can’t wait any longer,” the woman said, suddenly shifting her body weight on top of him. “I need to know now if we’re good together.”
Through his medicated fog, he realized the woman was straddling him. In the darkened room, he could make out only a brief silhouette. He opened his mouth to protest, but mere grunts emerged from his constricted throat. Small, cool hands ran over his chest and his next realization was that he was being kissed—soundly. Moist lips moved upon his while a wine-dipped tongue plundered his unsuspecting mouth. A curtain of fragrant hair swept down to brush both his cheeks. His body responded instantly, even as he strained to raise himself.
Everywhere he touched, a tempting curve fit his hand. Curiosity finally won out, and he skimmed his hands over the mystery woman’s body, letting the kiss happen. He’d nearly forgotten the rapture of warm, soft flesh pressed against him. He was midstroke into arching his erection against her when sanity and wakefulness returned. Extending his left hand to the side, he fumbled for the lamp switch. With a click, light flooded the room, blinding him.
He caught a glimpse of long, long blond hair and something pink before the woman drew away and screamed like a banshee. Derek caught her by the arms, strictly for self-defense, and as she tried to wrench from his grip, his vision cleared, if not his brain.
The woman was slender and dark-complexioned with wide eyes and so much hair it had to be a wig. And she was practically bursting out of some sexy getup he’d seen only in magazines that came in his brother’s mail. She floundered against him, flaming the fire of his straining arousal. It appeared the woman liked to struggle, but since that was a scene he did not get into, he released her to take the wind out of her sails.
She scrambled off the bed in one motion, and ran for the farthest corner, where she hovered like a spooked animal, arms laughingly crossed over her privates. Derek’s skin tingled from the scrape of her fingernails, but at least she had stopped screaming.
They stared at each other for several seconds, giving Derek time to size her up. She was around five-eight or-nine, although her black spike heels accounted for some of her height. Despite her stature, the first thing that came to mind was that she was elfin—petite, chiseled features and lean limbs, with stick-straight blond hair parted in the middle. The naughty