Chapter 8

WARM SUDSY water lapped at her mortified ears. Janine stared down at the end of the tub where her leg arched up out of the water—bent at the knee, dripping foam, and ending in a union with the shiny gold faucet. Trapped in the opening of the chrome fixture, her big toe was as red as a cherry tomato from several minutes of futile tugging—a fitting end to her outrageous behavior, she decided. For fantasizing about another man, she was now trapped in this bathroom, a realization that did not sit well with her preference for open spaces. Her heartbeat thudded in her ears.

She hadn't heard the door open, but suddenly Derek's big body was silhouetted through the shower curtain.

"Janine, from the other side of the door it sounded like you said—"

"My big toe is stuck in the bathtub faucet."

He scoffed. "That's impossible."

"I beg to differ," she said miserably, then moved the curtain aside to peep out at him. "Are you going to help me or not?"

The man looked harried. And not well. Guilt barbed through her. She should be looking after her Best Man who was feeling under the weather instead of getting into scrapes. At the moment, however, she had no choice but to don the most pitiful expression she could conjure up.

It must have worked because Derek threw his hands in the air. "What do you want me to do?"

"Hand me a towel so I can cover myself, then try to get my toe unstuck."

He looked up, as if appealing to a higher power, then sighed and handed her a towel.

"Thank you." She dunked the thick towel under the water, dissolving mounds of bubbles, and spread it over her nakedness. But her heart thumped wildly at the thought of Derek seeing her yet again in a state of near undress, especially when she was so recently sated on thoughts of him. "Okay, I'm ready."

His large fingers curled around the edge of the shower curtain, and he pushed it aside slowly. The cool air hit her bits of exposed skin and sent a chill down her neck. She shivered, an all-over body shimmy, although she conceded she couldn't blame her reaction entirely on the elements. The man was huge, especially from her angle, his proportions nearly those of a professional athlete. A memory surfaced that Steve had once told her he had a pal who had played college football. Perhaps he'd meant Derek.

He ran a hand down over his face and looked at her through his fingers. " What is a person thinking when she shoves her toe up a faucet?"

She wasn't about to tell him what she'd been thinking—and doing. "Are you going to help me or not?"

He slid the curtain to the wall, then lowered himself to one knee.

She felt at a terrible disadvantage at this lower level, not to mention naked and submerged. The towel covered her but clung to her figure in a way that emphasized every curve. Of course, it didn't matter, since the man seemed completely unfazed. He leaned close to the faucet, so close she could feel his breath on her bare leg. Thank goodness she'd shaved them earlier.

He swept a soap wrapper and an empty miniature shampoo bottle from the side of the tub into the trash to clear a spot, then picked up the dripping metal razor and gave her a pointed look. "You used my razor?"

She bit her lower lip. "To shave my legs. I thought it was Steve's."

His jaw tightened as he set aside the razor. "It isn't."

He didn't have a girlfriend, she realized suddenly. At least not a live-in. Not even a lady friend who occasionally spent the night, else he would be used to sharing his razor. Then she frowned. Not that she'd ever used Steve's.

"Would you please turn off the motor so I can think?" he asked, his voice strained.

"I can't reach the switch," she said, pointing over his shoulder.

He stabbed the button in the corner of the tub ledge and the rumbling motor died abruptly, taking the soothing bubbles with it. Suddenly the room fell so quiet, she could hear the calling of birds outside the skylight, where daybreak was well under way. The eve of her supposed wedding day. She felt light-headed and realized she hadn't eaten in hours. And Derek's imposing nearness was tripping her claustrophobic tendencies.

He gripped the side of the tub and perused her foot from all directions, then he glanced back at her. "Can't you just pull it out?"

She scratched her nose, realizing too late her hand was covered with suds. Sputtering the bubbles away from her mouth, she said, "If I could, I wouldn't have called you."

He pursed his mouth, then said, "I'm not a plumber."

"Do something," she pleaded. "The water's getting cold, and I'm shriveling up."

"Really? Gee, and you've only been in here for an hour." His teasing tone took the bite out of his words.

"You were the one who suggested I take a long, hot bath."

He laughed, then turned his attention back to her foot. "I don't recall suggesting that you insert your toe into the metal pipe coming out of the wall."

She pressed her lips together and braced for his touch. He clasped her foot gently, but firmly, and his fingers sent arrows of tingly sensations exploding up her leg, reminiscent of her climax. She grunted and he looked over his shoulder.

"My leg is asleep," she explained.

He isolated his grip to the base of her toe, wriggling it side to side. The inside lip of the faucet dug into her tender skin.

"Ouch! Not so hard."

"I'm sorry," he said, seemingly at a loss for what to do next. "I need something slick to lubricate your toe." He looked around. "Where's the soap?"

"You mean that little bitty bar of soap the hotel provided? I used it all."

He flicked a dubious glance over her towel-covered body. Maybe he thought she didn't look clean enough to have used an entire bar of soap. Her skin tingled, and not from her leg being asleep.

"Shampoo?" he asked.

She lifted a shaky finger to point to her head. "I have a lot of hair."

A wry frown tugged at his mouth. "I can see that."

"Don't you have soap or shampoo in your toiletry bag?" She pointed to the black case on the vanity she'd mistaken for Steve's.

He shook his head. "I travel light and expect hotels to have those things." Then he snapped his fingers. "But I do have shaving cream."

Janine reached behind her to hand him the empty travel-size can of shaving cream. "You were almost out anyway," she offered in her defense.

He depressed the button to the sound of hissing emptiness. The side of his cheek bulged from his probing tongue. He tossed the can into the trash, then pushed to his feet. "Maybe Steve will have something in his bag."

The bathroom seemed cavernous in his absence, and she wondered briefly how Steve would have handled this predicament. With much less good humor, she suspected, and the realization bothered her.

Derek returned with Steve's black bag, set it on the vanity and ransacked it for several minutes. "Nothing," he said, defeated. "I'll call the front desk and have something sent up."

The water had taken on a distinct chill, the last cloud of bubbles were fizzing away and her leg was beginning to throb. "Tell them to hurry," she called.

But a few minutes later, he was back in the doorway. "The line is still busy. I'll have to go downstairs."

"I thought we weren't supposed to leave our rooms."

He smirked and gestured toward her foot. "I'll leave it up to you, but I'd say this constitutes an emergency."

"Don't you have anything in your bag that would do? Hair gel? Lotion?"

"Nope."

"Petroleum jelly? Body oil?"

He shook his head.

"What would happen if you turned on the faucet?"

A tolerant smile curved one side of his mouth. "Believe me, you don't want to do that. But I can let out the water if you're cold."

"I think the water is helping to support my weight. Don't you have anything that might work?"

"I told you, I—" He stopped and his dark eyebrows drew together, then his mouth quirked.

"What?"

He shook his head, as if he'd dismissed the thought. "Never mind. It wouldn't work."

"I'm desperate here."

"I have a pint of… honey butter."

Janine squinted. "Why?"

"Does it matter?" He rubbed his itchy eyes.

"You really shouldn't do that."

He stopped rubbing, gave her a silencing glance, then whirled and disappeared into the bedroom.

Janine stretched her neck, but he'd moved out of her line of vision. Had he said honey butter? The man was incoherent, she decided, but her worry over his deteriorating symptoms was overridden by her immediate concern of being left alone to die a slow death in this bathtub. She laid her head back and stared at the skylight. Puffy white clouds floated by. At least the view would be nice.

But Derek returned holding a small container in his hand, reading the label. "Butter is listed as the second ingredient. Maybe it'll work."

"Do you always travel with a stash of condiments?"

His smirk defined the laugh lines around his mouth. She guessed his age to be mid-thirties, a bit older than Steve. "Long story. Let's just hope this works."

He knelt again, and she was struck by the sheer maleness of him—the pleasing way the knobby muscle of his shoulder rose from the collar of the sweatshirt and melded into the cord of his neck, the sheen of his hair, close-cropped but as thick as a pelt, the large, well-formed features of his face. And his hands...

Janine shivered again. Square and strong and capable. Mentally she compared them to Steve's, which were slender and beautiful—a surgeon's hands—and wondered what Derek did for a living. But in the next second, she was distracted because those hands were on the verge of smearing a gob of pale yellow goo on her toe. His concentration seemed so dogged, she was overcome by a sense of being taken care of. And it occurred to her that he still hadn't questioned her about her surprise appearance last night. He probably thought she was some kind of sex-crazed kitten, when, in truth, she was a sex-starved kitten—er, woman.

He made a disgusted sound in his throat. "People actually eat this stuff?"

"Listen, Derek," she murmured, then cleared her throat. "About last night... ahhhhhh. " She couldn't help it—the combination of his hands on her foot, the slippery substance he smeared on her skin and the tingly numbness of her leg made her body twitch and surge.

He seemed not to notice and continued to slather the area around her toe.

"You're probably wondering why I showed up here wearing that, um, costume."

Derek grunted and worked her toe back and forth.

"You see, it was a little joke between me and Steve." She manufactured a laugh, but dipped her chin and accidentally swallowed a mouthful of cool soapy water, then came up sputtering.

He looked over his shoulder, then shook his head as if considering whether to hold her under. God, what about this man turned her into such a klutz? After shoving his sweatshirt sleeve up past his biceps, he plunged his hand into the water and she heard the dull thunk of the pulled plug before he returned to his greasy task.

The water level began to lower, tickling her as it drained away, and making her feel even more exposed. The towel covered her from neck to knees, but just knowing that the only thing that stood between Derek and her birthday suit was a layer of wet terry cloth kicked off a disturbance in her stomach. When the silence became unbearable, she picked up where she'd left off. "Like I was saying, Steve and I are always joshing each other." She manufactured a laugh. "You know how couples are." She hoped she didn't sound as inane as she felt.

Derek's arm moved back and forth as he worked to loosen her toe, then suddenly her foot jerked back, and she was free.

"Oh, thank you," she said, weak with both relief and immobility. "I was afraid we'd have to call the fire department."

Wiping his hands on a towel, he gave her a whisper of a smile. "Do you need a hand getting up?" She did, but she knew she'd never be able to keep herself covered in the process. He must have read her mind because he added, "Don't worry, Pinky, I'll close my eyes."

For some reason, she liked the ridiculous nickname.

"Okay." Janine raised her arms for him to clasp, then he closed his eyes and lifted her to her feet as easily as if she were a piece of fluff. Water sluiced from her hair, her body and the towel, which she tried to keep close to her with her elbows, to no avail. The towel fell to the bottom of the tub, and when she put her weight on her foot, it slipped out from under her. She shrieked and Derek responded by scooping an arm around her waist to steady her, jamming her up against his body. Desire bolted through her, although he kept his hands in innocent places. Concern rode over his features, but true to his word, his eyes remained closed.

She clung to his arms—his sleeves really, which were the first handholds she'd been able to grab. Even with her toes dangling a couple of inches off the ground, the top of her head reached only to his collarbone. The soft cotton of his sweatshirt soaked up the water from her breasts pressed against him, and the skin below her navel stung from proximity to the metal button on his jeans. His fingers curved around her waist, hot and powerfully strong, and the male scent of his skin filled her nostrils. Janine's lips parted, and in that instant, crazily, she wanted more than anything for this man to kiss her. Kiss her so she could be indignant, outraged, even insulted that he would think that she, on the verge of being married, would entertain being kissed by someone other than, um... she winced... oh, yeah—Steve.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his eyes still closed.

"I think so," she managed to say. "But my foot is numb. Just let me down slowly."

* * *

DEREK SWALLOWED hard, wondering if she could feel and hear his heart thudding like a randy fifteen-year-old's. Against screaming instincts, he kept his eyes closed. He'd been celibate too long, he decided, if he could be so easily affected by the accident-prone wife-to-be of a friend. The same woman, he reminded himself, who was responsible for him being detained, sleep-deprived, inconvenienced and very, very wet.

Doing as he was told, he set her down slowly, although it meant her nude body slid down the length of his straining one. The ends of her wet hair tickled his hands as he lowered her, and he held her waist until she had her footing.

"I think I can stand on my own now," she murmured, but he was reluctant to let go. His thumbs rested on the firm slick skin around her navel, and his fingers brushed the small of her back. She was willowy, and lush, like a long-stemmed flower, and it was all he could do not to steal a glance of her in full bloom as he turned to exit the bathroom. She'd come to the hotel in that crazy getup to surprise Steve, and now he couldn't decide if his buddy was the luckiest man alive, or the most cursed.

Derek closed the door behind him and exhaled mightily to regain control of his libido. He simply could not be physically attracted to the loony case in the bathroom, not if they were going to be in close quarters for the next several hours—possibly days—and especially since she was about to marry a friend of his.

Suddenly some of the words Janine had murmured last night when she thought he was Steve floated back to him. I just can't wait any longer. I need to know now if we're good together. Was it possible that his buddy was about to marry a woman he hadn't yet slept with? That shed come to the hotel with the intention of seducing her groom?

Derek groaned and ran his hand through his hair. If so, that meant the hormones of the shapely woman in the next room were probably raging as high as his.

And something else was bothering him. He distinctly remembered seeing Steve rummage in a gray duffel bag yesterday before he left, but now the bag was nowhere to be found. Derek had a feeling his buddy hadn't spent the night out partying with the other groomsmen.

And while admittedly, Janine Murphy seemed like the kind of woman who attracted trouble, she also struck him as being a little naive, sweetly vulnerable and completely sincere. As a determined bachelor, he was the last man qualified to give advice about getting married, but the very least she deserved was honesty and faithfulness from her partner.

Derek cursed as those protective feelings ballooned in his chest again. What kind of fool was he even to consider protecting Janine from the man she loved? Their relationship was none of his concern. Plus his newfound attraction to the woman, not to mention his medication, was probably coloring his judgment. So the only solution was to stay as far away from her as he could, while sharing a bedroom.

The bathroom door cracked open and Janine's head appeared. "Derek?"

He turned, and his gut clenched. After his best efforts to resist a glance at her while wrestling in the bathroom, her nakedness was revealed in its splendor in the mirror over the vanity, clearly visible from his vantage point. He realized she was completely oblivious to the peep show, and he saw no reason to embarrass her by voicing his admiration for the brown beauty mark on her right hip. His body hardened instantly.

Her smile, conversely, resonated abject innocence. "I found only socks and gym shoes in Steve's bag. Do you have some clothes I can borrow?"

Derek swallowed hard and managed to nod. Janine beamed and closed the door, although he knew the imprint of her slender naked body wouldn't soon be erased from his mind.

Not generally a religious man, he nonetheless recognized his limits as a mortal and muttered a silent prayer for strength.