Read Online About Last Night... by Stephanie Bond - Free Book Online
Authors: Stephanie Bond
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tone in her voice. She still wore that black raincoat, rendered even more ridiculous
because he knew what lay beneath it. Her arms were crossed, and with her blond hair falling in her eyes, she looked like a
cross between Rapunzel and Columbo.
He closed his eyes again to summon enough strength to speak. "Yes."
He'd nearly drifted off to sleep when she broke in again. "And are they sending one up?"
Sigh. "No."
"Why not?"
She was like a pesky fly, and he was too tired to flick his tail. "They were out," he mumbled. The haze of sleep was claiming
him again. "Okay, you can get up."
He jerked awake and cast his weary gaze in her direction. "Excuse me?"
"I said you can get up."
He scoffed—a tremendous feat—and shook his head.
"I'm not about to share this bed with you," she said, her voice laced with indignance.
"Relax, Pinky," he muttered, then yawned. "Even if you were my type, which you're not, I'm too tired to take advantage of
you."
"If … think … sleeping … you … another think coming."
He squinted at her because her voice faded in and out. "Suit yourself." It was her fault he was in this worsening mess, her
fault he was in Atlanta, period. Hers and his brother's, dammit. At the moment, he wasn't sure which of them he resented more.
He would sleep on it, Derek decided.
* * *
Janine wasn't certain he'd fallen asleep until one of his pectoral muscles twitched, causing her to jump. She pressed her lips
together in anger. Surely the man didn't expect her to crawl into bed with him. She swallowed. Again. As if he'd sensed her
thoughts, he groaned in his sleep and rolled on his side to face her, hugging the pillow under his head with a bent arm. The
cream-colored towel around his waist parted slightly, revealing corded thighs covered with dark hair and the faintest almost-
maybe-could-be glimpse of his sex. A pang of desire struck her low—or had her corset simply ruptured? Feeling like the most
naughty of little girls, she strained for a better look, but when he shifted again and the towel fell away completely, she squeezed
her eyes shut and whirled to face the wall.
Yesterday she was a yearning bride-to-be, and today she was peeping at sleeping naked men. She was going to hell, she just
knew it.
Bone-deep weariness claimed her and she scanned the room for another place to lie down. She hadn't realized how opulent
the room was, and now she crinkled her nose at the decor, designed more for southern aesthetics than functionality. Being on
the top floor, the room boasted a cathedral ceiling and a garish chandelier with fringed minishades over the lights. Several
bouquets of flowers were situated around the room, emitting a cloying sweetness. The walls were a deep burgundy with a
nondescript tone-on-tone design, broken up with a jutting off-white chair rail. To her left, a large pale-painted writing desk
with curlicued legs and gilded accents sat at an angle. She walked over and tested it for strength, but didn't like the looks of the
distance to the hard parquet floor, at least not the way her luck had been running.
A bulky armoire in the same gaudy style contained a television and colorful tourist guides. A wooden valet sat next to it,
draped with Derek's jeans and sweatshirt, white socks balled on the floor. Janine stared, struck by the innocent intimacy of
those socks.
Past the door, a padded straight-back chair sat mocking her with its stiffness. Next came a fat, curvy dresser with a mirror,
which, to her chagrin, reflected Derek's partially nude figure reclining in the comfy-looking bed. Sprawled amongst the sheets,
he seemed even larger than when standing. He looked absurdly out of place, broad shoulders and long limbs against the ornate
headboard, his feet practically hanging over the end of the mattress.
Despite his massive form, the other side of the bed appeared plenty large enough for her. Perhaps if she slept on top of the
covers and put some kind of divider between
because he knew what lay beneath it. Her arms were crossed, and with her blond hair falling in her eyes, she looked like a
cross between Rapunzel and Columbo.
He closed his eyes again to summon enough strength to speak. "Yes."
He'd nearly drifted off to sleep when she broke in again. "And are they sending one up?"
Sigh. "No."
"Why not?"
She was like a pesky fly, and he was too tired to flick his tail. "They were out," he mumbled. The haze of sleep was claiming
him again. "Okay, you can get up."
He jerked awake and cast his weary gaze in her direction. "Excuse me?"
"I said you can get up."
He scoffed—a tremendous feat—and shook his head.
"I'm not about to share this bed with you," she said, her voice laced with indignance.
"Relax, Pinky," he muttered, then yawned. "Even if you were my type, which you're not, I'm too tired to take advantage of
you."
"If … think … sleeping … you … another think coming."
He squinted at her because her voice faded in and out. "Suit yourself." It was her fault he was in this worsening mess, her
fault he was in Atlanta, period. Hers and his brother's, dammit. At the moment, he wasn't sure which of them he resented more.
He would sleep on it, Derek decided.
* * *
Janine wasn't certain he'd fallen asleep until one of his pectoral muscles twitched, causing her to jump. She pressed her lips
together in anger. Surely the man didn't expect her to crawl into bed with him. She swallowed. Again. As if he'd sensed her
thoughts, he groaned in his sleep and rolled on his side to face her, hugging the pillow under his head with a bent arm. The
cream-colored towel around his waist parted slightly, revealing corded thighs covered with dark hair and the faintest almost-
maybe-could-be glimpse of his sex. A pang of desire struck her low—or had her corset simply ruptured? Feeling like the most
naughty of little girls, she strained for a better look, but when he shifted again and the towel fell away completely, she squeezed
her eyes shut and whirled to face the wall.
Yesterday she was a yearning bride-to-be, and today she was peeping at sleeping naked men. She was going to hell, she just
knew it.
Bone-deep weariness claimed her and she scanned the room for another place to lie down. She hadn't realized how opulent
the room was, and now she crinkled her nose at the decor, designed more for southern aesthetics than functionality. Being on
the top floor, the room boasted a cathedral ceiling and a garish chandelier with fringed minishades over the lights. Several
bouquets of flowers were situated around the room, emitting a cloying sweetness. The walls were a deep burgundy with a
nondescript tone-on-tone design, broken up with a jutting off-white chair rail. To her left, a large pale-painted writing desk
with curlicued legs and gilded accents sat at an angle. She walked over and tested it for strength, but didn't like the looks of the
distance to the hard parquet floor, at least not the way her luck had been running.
A bulky armoire in the same gaudy style contained a television and colorful tourist guides. A wooden valet sat next to it,
draped with Derek's jeans and sweatshirt, white socks balled on the floor. Janine stared, struck by the innocent intimacy of
those socks.
Past the door, a padded straight-back chair sat mocking her with its stiffness. Next came a fat, curvy dresser with a mirror,
which, to her chagrin, reflected Derek's partially nude figure reclining in the comfy-looking bed. Sprawled amongst the sheets,
he seemed even larger than when standing. He looked absurdly out of place, broad shoulders and long limbs against the ornate
headboard, his feet practically hanging over the end of the mattress.
Despite his massive form, the other side of the bed appeared plenty large enough for her. Perhaps if she slept on top of the
covers and put some kind of divider between
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