Temptation's Kiss (10 page)

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.

“Busy. Bishop's like a kid going off to kindergarten. For my sake as well as his, I'll be glad when Seascape is in full swing.”

His mouth tilted up in a roguish way, and Megan's fingertips tingled with an urge to touch his lips. Her lashes fluttered again, this time involuntarily. “Th$$$ thank you for the Stewart account. Mr. Stewart told me you had highly recommended us on the grounds of our high ratings.”

“You're welcome, but I was only being honest. The ratings taken in May show that your eleven-o'clock newscast is now number one in the market. Stewart's advertising dollar couldn't be spent in a better place.”

This conversation was meaningless, and they both knew it. Megan could barely keep her eyes off him, while his were transmitting messages that pumped adrenaline through her body. To get back on track, she winced and shifted the straps of her luggage to a more comfortable position.

“Here.” He responded immediately, and she couldn't help but he impressed by his manners. “I'm sorry. Let me take that” He reached to relieve her of the luggage, slipping the strap down her arm. Was it her imagination or did his fingers graze the side of her breast? If not, why had her nipples sprung to life beneath their lacy confinement?

“Thank you,” she said, smiling up at him tremulously. Some women might enjoy simpering like witless fools, but to her it was demeaning. She didn't want to be coddled, did she?

“Bishop has provided cold drinks, wine or beer for us. Would you like something?”

“No, thank you … Josh.”

Tearing her eyes from his, she glanced at the cluster of people waiting for the airplane to take off. She recognized representatives from television stations as well as executives from the business and banking worlds and journalists from major newspapers. Among them were several attractive women, including Laura Wray, travel editor for the
Atlanta Constitution.

Megan didn't think Josh was escorting one of these women. He had been alone when she arrived. Still, she needed to put that one worry to rest. She wet her lips nervously and was taken slightly aback to see the sudden flare of interest in Josh's eyes. “Are you … I mean … is anyone … with you?”

Again his lips lifted into a grin. He glanced over his shoulder, and the travel editor raised her wineglass in a silent salute. Josh nodded in acknowledgment and turned back to Megan, his smile wider. “No,” he said.“That is, not until now.”

Letting jealousy have its way, Megan narrowed her gaze speculatively as she assessed the tall, willowy newspaper columnist. “Ms. Wray seems more than a little attentive where you're concerned.” Had she ever heard their names linked together? There had been so many, she couldn't remember if Laura Wray was among Josh's stable of women. “Are you sure she hasn't made plans for you once we get to Hilton Head?” she asked, cocking her head to one side, a gesture that she knew arched her throat attractively.

“She may very well have made plans, but she didn't consult me. And unless her plans are that you and I spend a great deal of time alone together, they don't coincide with mine.” He took a step closer, until she had to lift her chin a notch higher to look up at him. “I'm glad you came, Megan,” he said with soft urgency.

For a moment high emotion prevented her from speaking. “Are you?”

“Yes. More than you can imagine.”

“I'm glad I came, too.”

“Up until the last minute I was afraid you wouldn't. I wanted to call every day but was afraid I'd only pester you into not coming. It's been hell to stay away from you for two weeks, but I thought you needed that time to think about what this trip could mean to us.”

“I wouldn't have missed it.” The intensity with which he looked at her mouth made her motivations for going to Hilton Head nebulous and her thinking unclear. What should have been indelibly imprinted on her brain became blurred. Josh always had that effect on her.

“I think they're ready for us to board,” he said, breaking into her turbulent thoughts. “Come on. Let's get a good seat.”

He hoisted her bags onto his shoulder and, placing his hand in the middle of her back, propelled her toward the tarmac, where the corporate jet whirred in readiness.

Only a few of the other guests had preceded them to the steps going into the airplane. As Megan walked ahead of him, she felt Josh's hand slide from her back to her waist and then for an instant to the curve of her hip. She credited her momentary vertigo to rebellion over his familiar gesture.

Once inside the aircraft, she scanned the seats available. Laura Wray was already settled in one row of seats near the front. “Hello, Josh,” she said in a low drawl.

“Laura,” he said from behind Megan. “It's nice to see you. Do you know Mrs. Lambert?”

Appraising, but not hostile, blue eyes slid to Megan.“Mrs. Lambert. Laura Wray,
Atlanta Constitution
.”

Megan shook the slender hand extended to her.“Megan, please. I'm with WONE.”

“You're not on the air?”

“No, I'm local sales manager.”

“It's a pleasure to meet you.”

It was difficult to determine the nature of the woman's smile, but Megan categorized it somewhere between sad and wistful.

“I don't think those seats across the aisle are taken,” she said. Again Megan noted a hopefulness in her throaty voice.

“No,” Josh said, vetoing the idea before Megan could voice an opinion. “The sun will be on that side once we take off. I've already sighted some seats back here.” Gently but firmly he pushed Megan along the narrow aisle. “See you later, Laura,” he said dismissively.

“Yes. See you later.” Her voice trailed off.

Megan sat in the window seat Josh indicated. He placed her bags in a tiny closet at the rear of the plane, then came back to sit beside her. “Comfortable?”

“Yes, but I can't get the seat belt out. It's wedged between the seat and the wall.”

He leaned over her to examine the problem. “I think I can.” Reaching across her lap, he grasped the nylon strap and tugged hard. His elbow bumped into her breast, not painfully, but with enough vigor to freeze them both for stunned seconds.

His eyes swept down to survey any damage. “I'm sorry,” he said gruffly, staring at her breasts. “Did I hurt you?”

Not trusting herself to answer, she only shook her head. With another, more careful tug, the strap came free and Josh buckled it around her, taking an inordinate amount of time adjusting its length. His hands lingered unnecessarily on her abdomen after the metal had already clicked shut. He adjusted his own seat belt with far less ceremony.

As Terry Bishop's other invited guests took their seats, they stopped to speak to Megan and Josh. Those she didn't already know, he introduced her to. She saw the envy in the eyes of the women and knowing speculation in those of the men.

It rankled that everyone automatically assumed she was Josh's latest conquest and traveling companion, but that was the price she was going to have to pay for victory. If all went according to her plan, by the end of the weekend, portable typewriters and telephone wires back to Atlanta would be humming with the news that the local sales manager of WONE and Josh Bennett were an “item.” That her late husband had been Josh's employee would only make the story juicier.

“How's Barnes?” Josh asked her over the purr of the jet engines once they were airborne.

She turned to him slightly, and when her knee nudged against his in the narrow space, she allowed it to rest there. “Maybe I should be asking you. Have you had any more complaints?”

“Not even a whiff of one. I think you scared the hell out of him.” His teeth were a startling white against his tanned, ruggedly handsome face. The sun on Hilton Head's beach would only enhance the richly bronzed color of his skin.

“I'm keeping close tabs on him,” Megan said. “The parent-company bigwigs were down this week. They've increased my budget. I can't afford any costly mistakes. But besides that, I'd hate to let Barnes go. He's a super salesman when he applies himself.”

“You're rare, Megan.” The intimate pitch of Josh's voice brought her eyes up to his. “You combine professionalism with pure femininity.”

The tightening muscles in her throat made talking difficult, but she said, “That's not so rare these days. Many women serve in the capacities usually reserved for men and do admirably well.”

He considered the idea for a moment, then said, “Yes, but many women would love to cut a man down to size just for the hell of it, to justify her holding that position, to elevate her own ego. You, on the other hand,” he said, leaning nearer, “didn't enjoy it. You hated lighting into poor Barnes. That's the difference I was talking about. Even though you hold what is typically a man's job, make executive decisions daily, you never for one moment forget that you're a woman.” He was precariously close now. “Nor does anyone else.”

Josh's words made her stiffen with guilt. Wasn't she secretly planning to do exactly what he'd just praised her for
not
doing—cutting a man down to size just to elevate her own ego? Where once revenge had seemed so sweet, it now tasted foul in her mouth. Was there any honor in cutting a man down and reveling in doing it? Her motives were justifiable, but would other people see her as a grasping, clawing, vicious female who'd been scorned?

She felt the need to defend herself. “That's why I must constantly be on my guard, to make sure that no one takes advantage of me because of my sex.” He couldn't misinterpret the accusation in her voice.

“I've never taken advantage of that, Megan.”

“Haven't you?”

“I've used my position in the advertising field to benefit you. Granted, I wanted you to come on this trip for selfish reasons, but I also thought you needed a break from office pressures. To my knowledge I've never done anything that was detrimental or harmful to you, as a woman or as a professional.”

“That's a matter of opinion, isn't it?” Her tone was stinging.

“Name one time I did something to hurt you. I'm ignorant of it.”

She opened her mouth, but no words came. What could she blame him for? That she held a prestigious, well-paying job because of his intervention? That WONE never wanted for new advertisers because he directed them to her? That only two weeks ago he had prevented disaster by enlightening her on the Dixieland food-store chain's intentions? What crime could she hang him for?

The original one.

“You kissed me the night before I was to marry your friend.”

“A lot of men kissed you that night.”

“Not like you did!” she retorted in a harsh whisper.

His eyebrows shot up. “So you're finally admitting that my kiss affected you differently from any other?”

“No!”

“Liar.”

By now her agitation was plain. She breathed in quick, rapid pants that stirred the silk over her breasts. She clenched her hands to keep them from slapping him, or caressing him, or from covering the puckering crests of her breasts. She whipped her head around to stare out the window.

Employing feminine wiles had never been necessary for her to attract men. She'd always had plenty of dates, yet she'd gone to her marriage bed a virgin. Except for those tumultuous minutes in the gazebo with Josh, she was innocent of sexual indiscretion. She didn't know how one went about such things, and now she would be feeling her way along with each step. But she did know a woman didn't bring a man to a lathered, heated, leash-straining state by bristling at him every time he became intimate.

She allowed her features to mellow before facing him again. “I'm sorry, Josh.” She saw his hand, only inches from hers on the armrest and, swallowing the last of her pride and hesitation, covered it with her own. “I don't want to fight with you any more.”

His hand turned over and gripped hers tightly. “Damn it, I wish you'd chosen a less public place to tell me that,” he rasped.

“Why?” She raised inquiring eyes to his, and her breath was choking off when she saw desire like hot coals smoldering in his gaze. The gold flecks leaped and danced like tongues of flames.

“I want to kiss you, that's why. I want to celebrate the fact that you no longer see me as a monster, at best the enemy. I've waited three years to hear you say the fight between us is over.”

He squeezed her hand tighter. “Megan, did you think I was proud of what I did that night? I didn't walk into that party planning to sweep James's bride into my arms, kiss her as I did, and wish to God she were mine instead of his.” He shook his head, and the sunglasses became dislodged. He took them off and stared at his own reflection in the lenses as he continued. “I've done a lot of things I'm ashamed of, but please believe me when I say the last thing I wanted was to make you unhappy or guilty by kissing you.”

“I was. The next night when I went to bed with James, I felt very guilty. And for a long time after that.”

“I know,” he said on a long sigh. “I would have wished only joy for you, yet it seems as if, since I first met you, I've brought you nothing but grief. But then”—his eyes bore into hers—“I could no more have stopped myself from kissing you that night than I could have stopped myself from breathing and gone on living. It was something I
had
to do.” Her lips quivered at his words. “Lord, I want to hold you right now.”

She lowered her eyes and squeezed them shut in an effort to stabilize senses that had gone haywire. Her world had slipped off its axis and was spinning chaotically in a universe of conflicting emotions.

“Are you too warm? Do you want to take off your jacket?” he asked, seemingly out of context.

Looking back up at him, she shook her head. “No. Why?”

His mouth came down to within scant inches of her ear. “Because I want to see why the stripes on your blouse dip and swell so beguilingly.” His voice dropped another decibel. “I want to look at your breasts and fantasize about the way they look and feel.”

The warm color that flooded her cheeks couldn't have been faked, and she stared at him speechlessly. After a brief trip into eternity, she regained the use of her vocal cords. “Then, I think it would be best if I left my jacket on.”