Chapter 12

JANINE COULD help his stress? Derek tensed for her touch. Part of him shouted he absolutely should not allow her to rub his shoulders, while the rest of him clamped down on his inner voice. Her right hand drifted past his ear, and he fairly groaned in anticipation. But when she reached around to pluck up one of the containers of honey, he frowned and turned to face her.

She was studying the label. "Your client is Phillips Honey?"

"Potential client. You've heard of them?"

"Nope."

His shoulders fell. "Neither has anyone else."

"Bee-yoo-ti-ful honey?" she read, then made a face. "I hope that wasn't your idea."

Derek smiled and shook his head. "No. The CEO is shopping for a new ad agency."

"With a slogan like that, I can see why."

"I'm supposed to meet with him Monday. He's looking for a new label, a new slogan, a new campaign—the whole package."

She shrugged. "So what's the problem?"

"Other than the fact that I might still be here on Monday?"

Janine nodded a little sheepishly.

"Well, excluding Winnie the Pooh, honey isn't exactly in demand these days."

"Oh?"

He gestured toward her. "Do you put honey on your toast in the morning?"

She shook her head. "Not typically."

"Drizzle it over homemade granola?"

"Nope."

"Dip your biscuits in a big warm pot of it?"

"Uh-uh."

"See? People our age simply aren't buying honey at the grocery store every week." His hand fell in defeat.

"You're right," she said. "I buy my honey at the health food store."

He swung back in surprise. "Really? So you do eat honey?"

"In various forms. I specialize in homeopathic medicine."

He squinted, searching for the connection.

Her smile was patient. "Treating symptoms with remedies from natural ingredients whenever possible. Honey is one of my go-to therapies."

His interest piqued, he turned his chair around to face her. "To treat what?"

"Allergies, for one," she said, leaning forward to tap his nose with her finger.

The gesture struck him as almost domestic, and it warmed him absurdly.

"Bees make honey out of pollen," she continued. "When a person eats local honey, they're ingesting small amounts of pollen that in turn help to build immunity against pollens in the air."

"No offense, but that sounds a little woo-woo."

Janine sat on the bed facing him, still cradling the pint of honey in her hands. "It's the same concept that allergy shots are based on."

He nodded slowly but remained unconvinced. "So, what else is honey good for?"

Her pale eyebrows sprang up as she presumably searched her memory. "Minor arthritis pains, insomnia, superficial burns, skin irritations... among other things."

A red flag sprang up in his mind. "You mix up your own remedies and sell them to your patients?"

A musical, appealing laugh rolled out. "No, I just encourage patients to read up on the benefits of natural foods. So instead of pushing honey as an indulgent topping for toast and biscuits, maybe Phillips should tap into its more healthful uses."

He held up the honey butter. "Like freeing stuck toes from bathtub faucets?"

The rosy tint on her cheeks made her look more endearing, if possible. Derek felt an unnerving tingle of awareness that drove deep into his chest, shaking him. This mushrooming attraction to Janine was downright baffling. Certainly she was a great-looking woman, but he came into contact with attractive women on a daily basis, and he'd never before lost track of a conversation.

What had they been talking about?

He glanced down at the container in his hand. Oh, yeah, honey, the medicinal panacea. Derek cleared his throat, determined to focus. "Isn't it dangerous to make medical claims?"

She lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. "The medicinal uses for honey are as old as medicine itself. It should never be given to infants, and diabetics have to exercise restraint, but otherwise, it's perfectly safe. Some people swear by honey, just like some people swear by garlic or vinegar to boost general health." After averting her eyes, she added, "One male patient of mine insists that bee pollen and honey have improved his sex drive."

Derek had to swallow his guffaw. "Is that true?"

She shrugged. "I have a teaspoon in my morning tea."

Derek swallowed. Even as his body responded to her nearness, his enthusiasm for Janine's ideas began to shrivel. He could picture himself in front of stodgy Donald Phillips, presenting his idea for a new slogan: Have Phillips Honey for Breakfast, Then Have Your Honey for Lunch.

Suddenly her eyes flew wide. "Not that it's improved my sex life," she added hastily. Her skin turned crimson as she clamped her mouth shut.

Despite his best efforts, Derek felt a smile wrap around his face. Perhaps honey was her secret. From the scant time they'd spent together, he'd learned two things about Pinky—she attracted trouble, and she oozed sex. From every tight little pore in her tight little bod. "Then I guess we're in trouble if we need a testimonial," he teased.

She pressed her lips together, eyes wide, looking as innocent as a bunny rabbit. Feeling like a lecherous old man, Derek shifted uncomfortably in his chair and cast about for a safer topic. "What do you think about the packaging?"

Janine smoothed a finger over the plain black-and-white label, working her mouth back and forth. "I like the simplicity, but it covers too much of the container."

He lifted an eyebrow.

"If the honey is pure, the color will sell it," she explained. "I like to see what I'm buying."

"Fine, but then where would we print all those newfangled uses, Doc?"

"On the website and in social media." She handed him the honey. Their fingers brushed, but she must not have felt the electricity because she stood and returned to sorting through the pile of items she'd dumped out of the shopping bag, as if nothing had transpired.

Phillips Honey barely had a website and Donald didn't believe in social media. But someone had to drag the man out of the Dark Ages. Derek jotted down a few notes on the legal pad.

"And what about changing the name?"

He glanced up. "Excuse me?"

"The name," she said, tearing the tag off a pair of yellow flip-flops. "Phillips. It's not very buyer friendly, at least not for honey."

He stuck his tongue in his cheek, rolling around her observation. "But it's the man's name."

"What's his first name?"

"Donald."

She made a face. "What's his wife's name?"

Derek shrugged. "I have no idea."

"Daughters?"

He started to shake his head, then remembered that Phillips had bragged about his daughter's equestrian skills.

Heather? No. Holly? No. "Hannah," he said as the name slid into place.

"Perfect," she said, dropping the brightly colored shoes to the floor and sliding her pink-tipped toes into them. Then she spread her arms as if presenting a prize. "Hannah's Honey."

Creativity flowed from her like water, and she seemed unaware of her talent. With a start, Derek realized who she reminded him of—Jack. Jack, who always needed rescuing from some scrape or another, yet somehow managed to escape unscathed. Jack, who could crank out more creative concepts in one day than Derek could eke out in a month. Jack, who was notorious for his ability to make a woman feel as if she were the most important person in the world, only to disappear before dawn, with no hard feelings.

Did Janine know how she affected him? Was her innocence simply a clever act? Was she the kind of woman who thrived on male attention, who flirted with danger? The kind of woman who would delight in seducing a friend of her fiancé? His mouth tightened. Dammit, the woman probably knew just how adorable she looked swallowed up in his clothes, with clashing shoes and toenails.

Suddenly he realized she was waiting for his response. "I... I don't know how Phillips will feel about changing the name of his product line."

"If sales were booming, I assume he wouldn't be looking for a new agency," she said, holding a lavender Georgia on My Mind T-shirt over her chest. "What does he have to lose?"

He scoffed, extending his legs and crossing them at the ankles. "You make it sound so easy."

"Well, isn't it?"

"No," he insisted, a bit flustered. Leave it to someone outside the business world to overlook the nuances of wide-sweeping changes.

"I thought you said he was going to change the packaging anyway."

"He is, but… changing names is a big deal."

She gave him a wry smile. "Don't I know it."

"You're going to take Steve's name?"

Janine gave a little shrug. "I guess so. Honestly, Steve and I never discussed it. But then, as you well know… we didn't discuss a lot of things."

"You have the rest of your lives to get to know each other." He winced internally—had he really said that?

"I suppose so," she agreed, then touched her head. "If you don't mind, right now I don't want to think about the wedding."

He nodded, then glanced around the room. "I found a deck of cards in the desk. Want to play?"

She smiled. "Crazy Eights?"

He smiled back. "It's been a while, but I think I remember how to play."

"Me, too. But my family always played during the holidays."

"Mine, too," he said, walking over to retrieve the cards. "That was before smart phones and streaming TV, when everyone had their own separate entertainment."

They positioned a small table between two upholstered chairs and sat down, Janine cross-legged. She laughed. "Cards and board games will be relics someday. Our kids—" She stopped suddenly.

Derek shuffled the cards. "You're planning to have kids." It was more of a statement than a question.

"Maybe," she hedged. "You?"

He dealt the cards. "Gotta find the right girl first."

"You don't… have a girlfriend?"

"I do not," he responded definitively. "The agency keeps me busy." Busy trying to keep the lights on.

Janine played a card. "What do you like most about advertising?"

He thought for a moment. "It makes me feel close to my dad."

"Does he work with you?"

"He died."

She inhaled sharply. "I'm sorry."

He played a card. "Thanks. It was a while ago. He started the agency, and I worked with him. Jack, too, when the mood struck him. After dad died, though, it wasn't the same."

"Is there something else you'd rather do?"

"Not really," he admitted. "I like being an entrepreneur… I just don't have the same creative chops as my dad… or Jack." He waited for her to play a card, then drew until he could play again. "What do you like most about being a physician's assistant?"

"Preventive health care," she said. "I'd rather try to head off an ailment than treat it."

"Wouldn't that put you out of business?"

She smiled. "I wish. Wouldn't that be amazing, if doctors and healthcare workers were no longer needed?"

He studied her shining face, struck by her sincerity. He gave a little laugh. "Don't let Steve hear you say that."

"Don't worry, I won't." Then she bit into her lip, as if she regretted her outburst.

"But yes, that would be terrific," he added.

She played a card. "Steve calls me Pollyanna."

He played a card. "I think we need more Pollyannas in the world."

Their eyes locked, and a zing passed between them… at least he felt it. Janine looked away, then played a card and grinned. "I'm out."

He groaned, then added up his points. "Tell me about your family." He was intrigued by the upbringing that had shaped her aspirations.

She shrugged. "Not much to tell. My father is an appliance repairman. My mother is a teacher. I have a terrific older sister Marie who's a massage therapist. We all love each other."

Very middle-class, he acknowledged. "How did you meet Steve?"

"On the job." Her voice sounded high and tight. "I work at the clinic in the hospital where he performs surgery."

A stark reminder of his friend's career success and Derek's relative failure. At a time when most men his age were hitting their stride, he was struggling to pay the office electric bill. He cleared his throat. "Steve certainly has a lot going for him. I can see why you're looking forward to marrying him." When she didn't respond, he set the cards on the table between them. "Your deal."

Janine shuffled the cards, then dealt a new hand. "So what do you do for fun?"

Derek lifted an eyebrow. "Fun?"

"You know—hobbies and stuff."

He scoffed. "I haven't had time for that lately."

"But when you do?" she pressed.

"I like to travel," he admitted. "I thought I'd see more of the world by now."

"You still have plenty of time."

He nodded in concession, then played a card. She was right—he'd gotten so mired in the logistics of his failing family business, he hadn't given much thought to future adventures.

"Where would you most like to go?" she asked.

"It's a little cliché, but Hawaii's at the top of the list. Most people have been there, I guess."

"I haven't," Janine said, playing a card. "It's where I wanted to go on our honeymoon, but Steve suggested Paris."

"Also nice," he offered.

"Yes," she murmured. "What's Lexington like?"

"Much smaller than Atlanta. Beautiful, though. Very green, lots of farmland. Horses. And I like the people."

She played a card. "Tell me more."

Her simple question sent wonder bleeding through his chest. He couldn't remember the last time a woman had seemed interested in his opinion on anything. "The people there would help a stranger. They're solid, sturdy. Dependable." Then he gave a laugh. "Except for my brother."

"I don't know Jack, but it sounds as if the two of you are very different."

He played a card. "Dad always said we were two sides of the same coin."

"So you make good business partners?"

"We should," he countered. "We could… if Jack would settle down."

Janine played a card. "Are you angry with him because he's out there exploring, and you're stuck at home running the business?"

"No," Derek said, then bit down on his tongue. "Maybe."

"It's your play," she prodded.

He drew a few cards, so distracted by the woman sitting across from him that he drew too many and when he played, was left with a handful. He couldn't remember when he'd felt more comfortable and had enjoyed something so simple as playing cards. When she wasn't being accident-prone, Janine Murphy was very good company. "How about you?" he asked. "What do you do for fun?"

"Nothing too exciting," she said. "I like to hike. The approach trail to the Appalachian Trail is just north of here."

"I don't remember Steve being much of an outdoorsman."

"He isn't, except for golf. My sister is my hiking partner. And I like to garden—herbs, mostly."

"For your homeopathic treatments?"

She nodded, smiling. "Just for friends and family."

"You must have a lot of those, considering the size of the wedding." Then he winced. "Sorry—you said you didn't want to talk about it."

"It's okay. And most of the guests are on Steve's side—he has lots of colleagues and his parents have lots of friends." She smiled. "Including you."

Derek opened his mouth to reiterate he and Steve weren't close, but warning flags raised in his mind. He was already too-attracted to this woman… he didn't need to say things that would further break down the barriers between them. Indeed, Janine seemed to be studying his face, waiting for him to proclaim his loyalty to Steve. "Including me," he confirmed.

The room's phone rang, breaking their intense eye contact. They both sat frozen until the second ring had sounded.

"I could get it," she said. "But what if it's Steve?"

"I could get it," he said. "But what if it's your mother?"

Janine relented and walked over to pick up the handset. "Hallooo," she said in her best older lady impression, fully intending to hand off the phone if Steve was on the other end.

"You must be sick if your voice is that distorted," Marie said, munching something fresh-and crunchy-sounding—maybe pineapple.

Mouthing to Derek that it was her sister, she flopped onto the bed facedown. "No, I was trying to disguise my voice."

Crunch, crunch. "Why?"

She sighed. "Long story."

"Great, I just threw in a load of laundry, so I have plenty of time. I got your voice message that the wedding is off."

"Postponed," she corrected, perturbed.

"Whatever. I'm just glad to hear you're still alive. If you believe the news, everyone up there has the African flesh-eating disease."

Janine laughed. Marie could always lift her spirits. "It's not that bad, although a few more guests have fallen ill. Dr. Pedro of the CDC told me the hospitalized patients are responding to antibiotics. I'm hoping we'll be out of here in another day or two."

"Speaking of 'we,'" Marie said, her voice rich with innuendo, "how's your roomie? I assume he's still there since Mother was concerned about some bellman in your room early this morning when she called."

"You didn't tell her, did you?"

"Of course not, and I made her promise not to call the room constantly."

Janine sighed. "Thanks."

"Well," Marie demanded, "how is your Best Man?"

From beneath her lashes, Janine glanced to the desk where Derek had returned to his computer, tapping away on the keyboard. "Uninteresting," she said in a tone meant to stem further discussion on the subject.

"Is he still sick?"

"There's a good chance his symptoms are allergy-related instead of what the other guests have come down with."

"It has to be tough, sharing close quarters with a virtual stranger," her sister probed, still crunching. "An attractive man and an attractive woman, at that."

With a last look at Derek's handsome profile, Janine pushed herself up from the bed and stretched the phone line across the room to the sliding glass door. She opened it, stepped onto the tiny balcony and closed the door to the smallest crack that would accommodate the cord. She drew in a deep breath of fresh air—pollen be damned—relieved for a few minutes of freedom from those four suffocating burgundy walls, and from those two captivating brown eyes. Slowly she exhaled, surveying the peaceful scene below her. Except for the fact that the grounds were deserted, and that two uniformed guards stood chatting at the corner of the building, one would never suspect the resort was under quarantine.

"Sis, are you there?"

Janine snapped back to attention. "Yeah, I'm here. I stepped out onto the balcony."

Marie resumed her munching. "You were about to tell me what you and your hunky Best Man are doing to while away the hours."

She mentally reviewed the day—getting her toe stuck in the bathtub faucet, nearly having a sexual encounter with Derek, playing cards, discovering she might not be in love with Steve after all... "There's not much to report. We've barely interacted."

"Oooooooooh. Is he the big, strong, silent type?"

"No. He's the big, strong, mind-his-own-business type—hint, hint."

"So he is big and strong."

Janine rolled her eyes. "Marie, enough. What's going on out there?"

"Well, you know Mom—she thinks the quarantine is a bad omen. She's lit dozens of prayer candles at the church. I took an extra fire extinguisher over there, just in case."

"Thanks for being my buffer, sis. I just can't talk to her right now."

Marie didn't respond, and she'd stopped chewing. Janine waited with dread for her sister's perceptiveness to make itself apparent.

"Are you okay, sis?"

She cleared her throat. "Other than a persistent bout of clumsiness, I'm fine."

"What does Steve think about calling off the wedding?"

"Postponing," Janine corrected her sourly.

"Whatever. He's not giving you a hard time, is he?"

Not knowingly. Misery knotted in her stomach. "No, he knows it can't be helped."

"How much longer do you think they'll have the place under quarantine?"

"I don't know. The doctor told Derek worst-case scenario, two weeks."

The announcement obviously stunned her sister into silence. After a few seconds, Marie said, "Well, you asked for something exciting, and you got it—a quarantine, mixed-up rooms, sleeping with a stranger—"

Janine yanked the phone cord tight and hissed, "I am not sleeping with him!"

"Easy, sis," Marie murmured with a laugh, "else I might think that something is going on between you and your Best Man."

Opening her mouth to shout a denial, she realized she was only digging herself deeper into a hole.

"Speaking of which," Marie continued, "where did you sleep last night?"

"If you must know, I slept in the bathtub." She held the phone away from her ear until Marie's laughter petered out.

"Whew, that's a good one! So doesn't this guy have any manners?"

"He fell asleep in the bed first, while I was trying to calm down Mother."

"So? You put a pillow in the middle and sleep on the other side."

"Except he was naked."

"Okaaaaaaaay," Marie sang, ever openminded. "And that would be because...?"

"Because he wasn't wearing any clothes."

"Okeydokey," she said in an accepting tone. "Speaking of clothes, what are you doing for them?"

"He loaned me a few things."

"He being Derek?"

"Yes."

"You're wearing the man's clothes?"

"Marie, for God's sake, am I talking to myself here?"

"Is this guy on the up-and-up?"

At least once today, she thought wryly. But she recognized concern in her sister's voice when she heard it, and right now, Marie needed some peace of mind. "He's a decent guy, sis. A little uptight, but decent." She cleared her throat. "In fact, he's nice."

A knock on the sliding glass door spun her around. Derek slid the door open, his expression unreadable as he jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "You might want to see this."

She covered the mouth of the phone. "What?"

"It's Steve. He's on television."