Page 28 of About Last Night

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 haveanythingin 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 onher 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 asex-starvedkitten—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."

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