by Sandra Brown
“You handled it just great.”
“Do you think so, Josh?” She didn't examine why his opinion meant so much to her.
He turned her around to face him. “You were wonderful, brilliant,” he whispered, smoothing one hand down her hair while the other propped up her chin. “If I were young Barnes, I'd get my tail in gear and try to get on your better side.”
She smiled skeptically back at him. “That remains to be seen.”
“I'm so damn proud of you. I knew you were tough. I'd heard reports that you were sharper than a tack. But I didn't expect you to be quite so terrific.”
“The occasion called for being tough. I had to shake him up.”
“That's what makes you a good sales manager.”
“But at the same time I hated to come down on him so hard.”
“That's what makes you a woman.”
She had almost convinced herself that she wore an armor of anger to protect herself from him, but his softly spoken words pierced right through it like the cleanest stroke of a rapier and plunged straight into her heart. Headlong she dived into the depths of the eyes that looked down at her, and she begged to be drowned in them. His hands slid down her arms to clasp her hands. With no other part of their bodies touching, he leaned forward and sealed her mouth with his.
The sweet taste of his lips and the slow, evocative marauding of his tongue inside her mouth held her captive as strong arms couldn't have. At some silently given command, their heads rotated and switched sides to enjoy each other further. He sipped at her lips deliciously before pulling slightly away.
“Have dinner with me.”
“I—”
He kissed her again, drawing her breath into his own body.
“Please. Dinner only, Megan. I swear it. Just let me be with you.”
“Josh,” she whispered. This was insanity, and she well knew it, but she couldn't resist his seductive kisses. Her will, her reason, her grim resolutions scattered like petals in the wind whenever he touched her. She recognized now, if never before, that she feared what became of her when she was with Joshua Bennett. Could she be held accountable for mistakes made when he robbed her of the ability to think?
“Dinner and dancing. Nothing else, if you say so.”
Would one night hurt? One harmless dinner? A little dancing? He tasted so good. Salty. He'd had time for some form of exercise before receiving the call at the gym and coming to her. The musky smell of him made her light-headed. She longed to touch the coarse mat of hair on his chest, to trace its origins just below his collarbone, to chart the pattern of its growth down his torso, coming eventually to the root of his masculinity. She swallowed with difficulty.
“Please, Megan, end this punishment. Say yes.” He pressed his lips sweetly against hers and caressed them lovingly.
“Oh, Josh, ye—”
They heard the shuffling footsteps a split second before there was a sharp tap on the door and it was pushed open. “Megan?”
They sprang apart as Doug Atherton and Terry Bishop entered.
“There are you,” Doug said heartily. “Your secretary's not back from lunch yet, and I couldn't find you anywhere else in the building.” He seemed not to notice Megan's stricken expression. “I called your office, Josh. They said you were coming here. Did you jog over?” He laughed.
“No,” Josh said. “Something urgent came up that I thought Megan should know about. I rushed over before my workout was finished.”
“Nothing critical, I hope.” Atherton's brow wrinkled with instant alertness.
“No, I don't think so,” Josh said easily. “Megan managed to iron it out.”
“Ah, good, good. Nice flowers,” he added offhandedly, indicating the vase of roses. “Megan, Terry told me you'd seen the commercials, but he wanted to talk to you about them.”
The man had barely looked at her. He was too smart not to put two and two together, after having caught her and Josh alone twice in recent days. Both times they'd looked startled and guilty. “Hi, Terry,” she said cordially for Doug's benefit. “Let's all sit down, shall we?”
She returned to her desk, grateful that she could place it between her and the three men. Suddenly she felt vulnerable and defenseless. “What can I do for you, Terry?”
“Well,” he said, wetting his lips nervously, “I was worried about the placement of the commercials. You know, about which one should air when. Do you have any ideas along that line?”
She felt a moment of panic. How many of them had she seen? Two? three? She didn't remember any that had run after Terry left the room. The only one that had left a lasting impression was the one with the couple in silhouette. Remembering it now, she grew excessively warm and glanced at Josh. The agate eyes watching her closely told her he knew all too well what she was thinking. She'd have to fake her way through this.
“Well, I think the one with the couple on the beach should air late at night,” she quipped. Her ploy worked. Terry and Josh laughed. After a hasty explanation from Josh, Doug joined them.
“As for the others, let's see.” She pursed her lips as though trying to remember, praying that something would come to her blank mind.
“Megan and I talked this over while you were on the telephone, Terry,” Josh said. Her eyes widened in surprise at his lie, but fortunately he held the attention of the other two men and they didn't notice her dismay. “She and I both feel that the commercials relating to the shopping areas and the other amenities appealing to women should run during the daytime, when the lady of the house is watching soap operas or quiz shows.”
“Exactly,” Megan said quickly, wanting to contribute something and not appear the idiot she felt herself to be.
“The commercials showing the golf courses, tennis courts, and fishing charters, should run in the evening, when the man of the house is at home, and during televised sports events. As for the ones showing the children on bicycles and romping on the beach, the choice is clear—afternoons and Saturday mornings. Isn't that what we decided, Megan?”
“Y-yes, absolutely,” she said. Her hands were locked together tightly on her desk top. She hoped no one noticed her white knuckles. “That way a particular commercial reaches the audience that would have the most interest in it.” The words were trite, even lame, but better than nothing. Was Doug eyeing her strangely? Terry, at least, seemed pleased.
“Well,” he said, slapping his thighs and standing up, “you've reassured me once again. I'm sorry to have taken up your time. When do the commercials begin airing?”
“Tomorrow,” Megan answered promptly, grateful that she and Jo had discussed the starting schedule only that morning.
Terry reached across her desk to shake her hand. “Then I probably won't be seeing you until the opening on Hilton Head.”
“But … I won't be able to attend. I'm sorry, but—”
“She'll be there, Terry,” Doug said expansively. He turned to where she stood behind the false security of her desk. “Josh called me this morning. He told me about your reluctance to go to Hilton Head for the opening of Seascape because of your work load here. Much as we like having you around,” he said like an affectionate, indulgent parent, “I think we can spare you for a few days.”
The seconds ticked by while she stared slack-jawed at Doug. Then she turned to glare at Josh. “Mr. Bennett called on my behalf?” She tried to keep her voice coquettish and light, but she felt like snarling.
Doug chuckled. “Yes. He lit into me good and proper because I wasn't letting you go. I finally convinced him that I didn't even know about the grand-opening festivities and that, of course, you'd go.”
She swallowed the hot anger that threatened to choke her. “Isn't it usually the national sales manager's privilege to attend functions if they relate to accounts out of the state?” she asked with a sweet innocence that was contrary to the rage boiling inside, her.
“Yes, but he's going to be in New York that first week of June for an NBA convention.” He turned t
o Terry. “National Broadcasters Association.” The developer nodded. “Anyway, he's not nearly as familiar with this account as you are.”
“Then you should go.” She hoped the desperation in her voice would be taken for enthusiastic generosity.
“Wish I could, wish I could, but I'm working on that deal in Savannah to buy that radio station. You go and have a good time. Right, Terry? You're not asking her in order to make her work all the time she's there, are you?”
“Of course not,” Terry replied hastily. “We want everyone to have a good time.”
“Then, it's settled,” Doug said with satisfaction, patting his rounded belly. “Terry's invited you to fly on his corporate jet. Josh can fill you in on the specifics. Ready, Terry?” Without waiting for an answer, Doug opened the door. Terry followed. “Josh?” Doug queried as he held the door for him.
“Not just yet. Megan and I still have some items to discuss.”
“See you both later, then.”
Her boss bustled out, and Megan was left alone with the man who was chiseling away at the foundation of her life. No sooner had the door clicked shut than she rounded on him.
Raising both palms placatingly, he said quickly, “It's not what you think.”
“The hell it's not,” she snapped.
“Left on your own, you would have declined the invitation.”
“Damn right.”
“I wasn't going to stand idly by and see that happen.
“What business is it of yours?” she shouted.
“You are my business, damn it. I made you my business the first night I saw you.”
Seething, she stepped around the corner of her desk and paced between it and the door. “For three years you left me in blessed peace. Now, in one week's time, you've bulldozed your way into my life, manipulating it, manipulating me. Why? Why now? Why not as soon as James's body was cold?”
He cursed under his breath. “For three years I let you stew in your own bitter juices. Do you think I'm stupid? I knew you didn't want to be seen, touched, or spoken to by me. When I saw this chance with Seascape as a means of getting to you, then, by God, yes, I took it. I doubt it you'd have accepted a date with me if I'd called you up and simply asked as any decent guy would.”
“Right again!”
“So,” he continued as though she hadn't spoken, “I used whatever devices I could. Manipulation, you say? All right, yes. But what choices did you leave me?”
“No choices! You weren't entitled to any. You should have taken my hints and given up entirely. The message was, is, clear. I don't want anything to do with you, Joshua Bennett. Once and for all, let that sink in and leave me alone.”
His features softened considerably, and a rueful half-smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I can't, and you know why.”
She faced him like an adversary, her breasts expanding with emotion and heat, her cheeks hot from feelings she didn't want to acknowledge.
“Why did you bother with a poetic invitation to dinner?” she asked haughtily. “You already knew Doug would see to it that I went to Hilton Head.”
He spread his arms wide on either side of his body. “You see! That's what I'm talking about. I try to go about seeing you in the conventional way, and you find fault with that too.” He let his arms fall to slap loudly against his thighs.
“Megan,” he said with shriveling patience. “We need that weekend together. Away from this.” He indicated the office with a wave of his hand. “Away from the past. Away from James's ghost.” He stepped closer to her. “We need time to learn about each other, to laugh, love.” His voice had lowered to a husky whisper that entranced her. “I put pressure on Doug this morning because I want you on that island. With me.”
Even as she struggled to shut out his words, they; thrilled her. Her heart threatened to surrender unconditionally. In one last desperate effort, she gathered; her wits and marched to the office door, pulling it open. “Well, thanks to your sneaky blackmailing, I'll be on that cursed island, but not with you, Joshua Bennett.”
He sauntered toward her and, before she could deflect him, captured and held her jaw, tilting her head back. “You're absolutely irresistible when you're mad. Your hair fairly crackles, like fire. And I love the way my full name looks and sounds on your lips.”
She thought he was going to kiss her, but he didn't Instead he stared at her mouth for a long time.
“We're not on the island yet, Megan. Don't make any vows you won't be able to keep,” he warned her. His thumb made a sensuous trail across her lips before he dropped his hand. He brushed past her to the outer office. He'd closed the far door behind him before she noticed a wide-eyed Arlene staring up at her, her hands frozen over her typewriter.
“You wouldn't want to be on an island with him?” she asked in round-eyed disbelief.
“If you think he's so great, why don't you go with him to Hilton Head?”
“He didn't ask me.”
“Ohhh!” Megan ground out and, turning on her heel, slammed back into what had been the sanctuary of her office. She yanked the rosebud out of her buttonhole and crushed it between her fingers, filtering the fragrant remnants into the trash can. “He didn't ask me,” she mimicked her secretary.
Lord, what did women see in the man? He was rude, overbearing, arrogant, and completely without scruples. What other man would kiss his friend's fiancée the night before the wedding?
Yet women adored him. His romantic involvements were legion. He discarded women heartlessly and went on to others and still they were drawn to him like steel shavings to a magnet. His flamboyant romances were often in the headlines of the society pages. The headlines …
Headlines!
What could she do to Josh Bennett that would hurt him the most? Malign his advertising agency? No. It was too reputable. Besides, she couldn't do that without hurting her own business. What would bring public ridicule on a man who had an overabundance of self-confidence? What would be a fitting comeuppance for what he had done to her and James?
She crowed with glee as a plan began to evolve in her mind. Terry Bishop had said media reps would be crawling all over Seascape. Megan Lambert was a nobody, but Josh Bennett wasn't. He'd be noticed. His activities would be chronicled. His new “love” interest would be played up. “Romance Abounds in New H.H. Resort.” Her eyes danced with malicious glee as she envisioned the headlines.
Rushing to her desk, she consulted her calendar. “Two weeks,” she mused aloud. She had two weeks to prepare herself, to buy all the bait she'd need to set a seductive trap.
When she got on that corporate airplane, Josh Bennett wouldn't recognize the purring woman beside him as the same one who had spat nails at him today.
Five
The chic white pants suit gave Megan the confidence she needed to push through the glass door of the private airfield's terminal. She knew how well the slacks fit her compact figure, how the rounded contours of her derriere were defined by their snugness. The jacket, styled like that worn by baseball players, went over a silk shell in bold stripes of green, yellow, and blue. The silk clung to breasts, which were only partially confined by a wispy, lacy bra, the likes of which Megan had never worn before. Like all the garments she had purchased in the past two weeks, she had chosen it to inspire masculine interest.
The rubber soles of her casual shoes made no noise as she walked the length of the deserted hallway. Over one shoulder she carried the two pieces of luggage that matched the lime-colored stripe in her blouse. Bought with her new wardrobe, the soft, zippered travel bags defied the conservatism that would have usually governed her selections. On her other arm she carried a huge white straw bag.
“Mrs. Lambert?” An attendant rushed toward her. She turned to acknowledge him.
“Yes?”
The uniformed man smiled congenially. “You're the last of Mr. Bishop's party to arrive.”
“Oh, I hope I haven't kept them waiting.”
“No,” he said quickly. “T
he plane is still being serviced. Everyone is waiting in the main lobby. Allow me,” he said, reaching for her bags.
About to hand them over to him, she hurriedly changed her mind. “Thank you, but I think I'll hang on to them for a while.”
“Okay. This way.”
He indicated the end of the hallway, which Megan could see opened into a large waiting area, where she knew Josh would be. She drew in a deep, shuddering breath. Could she pull this off? Would he fall for her ploy? For all she knew, he could have given up on her and invited another woman to go with him to Hilton Head. They hadn't communicated since he had left her office with that challenge ringing in her ears: “We're not on the island yet, Megan. Don't make any vows you won't be able to keep.”
She recalled that taunt now as she squared her shoulders and entered the wide lobby. He was pacing back and forth in front of the plate-glass window overlooking the runway, looking like an expectant father.
The moment he saw her, the tension in his face relaxed into a broad smile, and he came striding toward her. His casual tan slacks were too well tailored not to call attention to the length and muscular perfection of his legs. Nor could anyone be impervious to the breadth and strength of his chest and shoulders beneath the soft yellow polo shirt. The sunglasses perched atop his head mussed his hair and gave him a rakish aspect, as did the crooked eyebrow, which arched now as he smiled winningly.
“Hello, Megan.” The nervous gladness in his greeting, which came out in a rush, made him sound relieved. Hadn't he been expecting her?
She smiled, convincing herself that the sudden pounding of her heart was due, not to his speaking her name in that invariably intimate way, but to her nervousness over the plan that she must now enact. “Hi, Josh.” Her lashes curtained her eyes only briefly before she lifted them in what she hoped was a flirtatious manner.
If his penetrating stare was any indication, he was captivated, if not stunned, by her uncharacteristic warmth. “How have you been?” he asked.
“Well. You?” she replied, looking openly into the eyes that poured like golden honey over her upturned face.