Page 51 of About Last Night

"There," she said, tucking the end of the cloth into the makeshift bandage. After screwing the lid back on the honey butter, she wiped her hands on the other napkin. "I'll call down for some gauze."

She moved like a dancer, limber and graceful even in his too-big clothes. With an inward groan, he acknowledged his resolve to ignore her was having the opposite effect—he was more aware of her than ever. When she hung up the phone, she turned back to him, hugging herself, looking small and vulnerable. Her expression was unreadable, and the silence stretched between them. At last she looked away, her gaze landing on a stack of pillows and linens.

"I had those brought up," he said. "I'll sleep on the floor tonight and let you have the bed."

She stared at the linens as if mesmerized. What was going on in her head?

Derek's mind raced, trying to think of something to say to ease the soupy tension between them. Steve's TV interview had shaken her, that much was obvious. Was she worried he was going to tell Steve about their near lapses? That her future with the wealthy Larsen family was in jeopardy?

"I'm starving," he said with a small laugh, gesturing to their covered trays.

Janine walked over and picked up a bottle of spring water. "Go ahead, I'm going to get some air." She practically jogged across the room, escaping to the balcony. Between his company and her claustrophobia, he supposed she was doing the only thing she could under the circumstances.

Derek stared at the tray. Despite the nice aromas escaping from the lid, he discovered he wasn't hungry after all. He poured himself another cup of coffee—an awkward task with his hand wrapped—and mulled over the events of the past twenty-fourhours or so. Funny, but he felt as if he'd come to know Janine almost better than he knew Steve.

Of course, he and Steve had never been quarantined in a room together.

The sexual pull between them confounded him. Was it inevitable for a man and a woman in close quarters to be drawn to each other? In a crisis, even a minor one, did age-old instincts kick in, elevating their urge to seek comfort in each other?

Perhaps, he decided with a sigh. But thankfully, humans were distinguished from other animals in the kingdom by their evolved brain that gave them the ability to act counter to their instincts. He snorted in disgust. They were adults—they could talk through this situation. In the event the quarantine was drawn out for several more days, he'd prefer they at least be on speaking terms.

Setting down his coffee mug—better safe than sorry—he crossed to the sliding glass door. When he saw her standing with her back to him, leaning on the railing, he hesitated for only a second before opening the door and stepping outside.

She turned, her eyes wide in the semidarkness. "You shouldn't be out here."

"I thought we should talk."

"But your allergies—"

"Won't kill me," he cut in. Although he was beginning to think that resisting her might. Her pale hair glowed thick and healthy in the moonlight, and he itched to loosen her braid.

"We could go back inside," she offered, her gaze darting behind him as if she were sizing up an emergency exit.

"No, I realize you're more comfortable in an open space. Besides," he said, joining her at the railing, "it's a nice evening."

"Uh-huh." She turned back to the view, although he noticed she moved farther down the rail, away from him. Suddenly, she emitted a soft cry, reaching over the rail in futility as her plasticbottle of water fell top over end until out of sight. A couple of seconds later, a dull thud sounded as it hit something soft on the ground.

"With my luck lately, that was probably a guard," she whispered.

Derek laughed heartily, glad for the release. When she joined in, he welcomed the slight shift in atmosphere. "I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but you do seem to be a little accident-prone."

"Only recently," she said softly. "I guess I have a lot on my mind." Then she smiled. "But then so do you, leaving your business when you hadn't planned to."

He appreciated her concern, especially since no one else seemed to care whether the ad agency lived or died, especially Jack.

She pointed with her index finger out over the rail. "See those pinkish lights on top of the hill?"

He squinted. "Yeah."

"That's the gazebo where our ceremony was supposed to take place. Tomorrow."

His heart caught at the wistful tone in her voice. "So you'll reschedule. I have a feeling the hotel will bend over backward to accommodate the Larsens when this is all over."

"No."

"Sure they will," he insisted. "Steve's father will—"

"I mean, no, I'm not going to reschedule the wedding."

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