Temptation's Kiss (11 page)

He sighed, smiling ruefully. “Considering the social restrictions of our surroundings, perhaps it would.”

But he continued to hold her hand. Even when several other passengers converged on them for a clamorous discussion of the long weekend ahead, he didn't release it. She looked down at their two hands clasped together on the armrest. His was dusted with dark hair, hers smooth. His was long and strong, hers frail by comparison. His connoted protectiveness; hers looked in need of protection. For the life of her, she couldn't think of a good reason to withdraw her hand from his.

Their descent and disembarkation were carried off without a hitch. A line of limousines waited in front of the Hilton Head Airport to whisk away Seascape's invited guests, who would be arriving throughout the day. Terry was there to greet them personally.

After shaking hands with Josh, he pecked Megan's cheek: “I want you to meet my wife,” he said hastily, and it was all Megan could do to keep from laughing at his anxious but endearing manner. Josh, too, if his cocked eyebrow was any indication, was constraining his laughter. Terry designated a limousine for them and said, “I'll ride with you, if that's all right,” before turning to greet another guest.

Josh handed the driver Megan's bags as well as his own, which he had picked up as they were shuttled from the plane to the terminal. No sooner had he ducked into the back seat, where she was already seated, than he took her in his arms and pulled her against him.

“Josh—” was the only startled word allowed past her lips before he trapped them with his mouth. His lips opened over hers in a kiss as erotic, as thorough, and as mind-stealing as its predecessors. Megan wasn't even aware of the driver's closing the trunk of the car and assuming his place behind the steering wheel. She couldn't think past the splendor of being held firmly against Josh's body or the exquisite texture of his tongue as it rubbed against hers in a mating rhythm.

Only when she heard Terry's shoes tapping on the concrete sidewalk did she murmur a protest. Josh, too, must have been aware that they were soon to have company. He pulled away, only to kiss her hard and quick again, saying under his breath, “There's a smudge of lipstick on your chin.”

She was still blotting at it when Terry opened the door and moved in beside her. “Whew, what a day.”

As the car glided through the avenues of the recently developed island, he recounted everything that had happened since he'd last seen them.

“Have you been to Hilton Head before, Megan?” he asked excitedly. She could see his pride not only in his own resort, but also in the beautiful island itself.

“Yes, once my—” She looked swiftly at Josh. “My husband, James, and I came here for a long weekend. I loved it.” She glanced through the tinted windows at the deep forest that had been saved from destruction. “I love the South in general, with its moss-draped live oaks and pine trees. I also love the coast and beach. Hilton Head is the one place I've seen that combines both.”

“Well put,” Josh exclaimed. If her mentioning James had bothered him, he didn't show it. “Maybe I should hire you to write copy for commercials and print ads.” They all laughed.

“The original developers were unique, in that they wanted to preserve as much of the natural flavor of the island as possible,” Terry explained. “Did you know that at one time a huge cotton plantation stood on the island, even before it became a game preserve?”

“Yes. And wasn't there a significant Civil War battle fought here?” Megan asked.

Terry glanced at Josh and winked. “She's not only pretty, Josh, she's smart, too.”

Josh's leonine eyes scanned her face possessively, proudly. “I noticed that a long time ago.”

Only the sight of the impressive gates as they entered Seascape could have unlocked her gaze from his. Flanked by beds of flowers blooming in profusion, the raw-wood entrance branded with the distinctive yet unobtrusive logo for Seascape led into a lane bordered with live oaks dripping with moss. Their massive branches made a shady canopy over the narrow road.

“Oh, Terry,” Megan exclaimed, but it was Josh's thigh her hand found and squeezed hard in her excitement. “It's like something out of
Gone With the Wind.
”

Terry beamed, evidently pleased with her delight. On either side of the road behind the trees stretched acres of emerald golf greens. Bridle paths ribboned the otherwise untouched woods beyond. Megan felt overwhelmed, trying to take it all in. Seascape's main building was another delightful surprise. The sprawling complex was built almost exclusively of glass and wood, and it blended harmoniously with is woodland setting.

“It's wonderful, Terry,” she said, stepping out of the limousine, which had come to a stop in front of wide glass doors. “Absolutely perfect. I don't know what I expected, but this surpasses it.”

“Come inside.”

Well-trained bellmen, athletic men for the most part, scurried to get people checked into their bungalows with the least inconvenience. Most guests were conveyed to their cottages in golf carts.

“I've already assigned you to a building, so I'll just get the keys and send you on your way,” Terry said hospitably.

Megan nodded absently. She was gaping at the lobby like a country bumpkin in the city for the first time. What impressed her most was that none of the decor was gaudy or inhibiting. Even amidst the luxury, she sensed a homey, comfortable atmosphere.

“Look, Josh.” Unthinkingly she took his hand and turned him in the direction of an indoor waterfall, which tumbled over carefully arranged railroad ties and natural stone into a sparkling fountain. Flowers of every species and color surrounded it like a blooming picture frame.

He put an arm around her shoulders and drew her close to his side. “Glad you came?” he asked into her hair.

Forgetting all about her devious plans, past heartaches, and hopes for retribution, she looked up at him with undisguised pleasure and answered honestly, “Yes.”

“This is Greg,” Terry said from behind them. They turned to face a college-aged young man with American good looks who was smiling in a friendly fashion. “He'll take care of you. May Gayla and I count on the two of you to join us for dinner?”

Josh consulted Megan by raising a questioning eyebrow. She nodded imperceptibly. “Yes, thank you. We'll look forward to it,” he said for both of them.

Terry was summoned to the check-in desk, which was swarming with arriving guests and hustling employees. He waved them off, entrusting them to Greg's good care. Greg drove them through the paved paths of the complex toward the bungalow where they bad been assigned rooms. Once away from the busy main building, Megan could only appreciate the serenity of the resort. As they cruised along tree-shrouded paths, the placidity was broken only by Greg's livery chatter.

“The swimming pools are through there. One is heated, the other isn't. That building houses the health club. There are exercise rooms for both men and women, showers, steam rooms, saunas, you name it. To get to the tennis courts, take the sidewalks marked with signs showing little tennis rackets.”

“I don't know if I'll ever find my way around, but I'll have fun trying,” Megan said. She was becoming uncomfortably aware that they were getting farther and farther from the central group of buildings. “How many rooms make up a bungalow?” she asked casually, hoping that her weak voice didn't give her uneasiness away. She could feel Josh's eyes roving over her face.

“Four,” Greg said.

“Four,” she repeated as though mulling over a vital piece of information.

“Yeah, but only the two you're in will be occupied this weekend.”

Megan's mouth went dry. She dared not look at Josh.

Greg pulled to a stop outside the bungalow, which Megan decided was misnamed. “Cottage” couldn't begin to describe the enchanting quadraplex of apartments.

“Mrs. Lambert,” Greg said, opening one door with a key and a flourish before standing aside. She went into the suite, which was decorated in blue, beige, and peach. From the bathroom, with its sunken tub, to the bedroom, with the king-sized bed and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Atlantic, no detail had been overlooked. As soon as Greg had pointed out some of the more unique amenities and deposited her two bags in the dressing room, he left to show Josh to his adjacent apartment.

Left alone, Megan walked to the wide windows and opened the sheer curtains. A broad expanse of lawn extended from a private terrace outfitted with comfortable patio furniture. The grass was strewn with pine needles, which had fallen from the trees that separated her “yard” from the white beach.

It was a place made for lovers, a setting to appeal to all the senses, and she knew that if she weren't careful she would be doomed by this scheme of her own making.

As though her mind had conjured up his image, Josh was suddenly standing on her terrace, having walked around the wall separating it from his. Without thinking, she unlocked the sliding glass door, and he stepped inside.

“Forgive me for using the back door,” he said. He didn't smile. His eyes were busy cataloging each feature of her face.

“That's all right. How's your room?” she asked on a thread of breath.

“Empty.”

They came together in a sudden rush of movement. His mouth clamped over hers, while his hands scaled her back. A rowdy tongue destroyed her logic as it investigated her mouth with undeterred purpose.

“For once we're alone in a private place. There's no one to interfere. I don't want anything between us,” he breathed against her neck as he divested her of the white jacket.

With no resistance from her, he walked them toward the bed. When they fell upon the quilted spread, her arms were looped around his neck, her hands in his hair as grasping and eager as his. He covered her only partially, giving himself space to explore.

With more discipline than she could credit herself with at the moment, he pulled the silk shell from the waistband of her slacks. The skin of his palm sliding over her ribs set every nerve in her body into bedlam. When his hand closed over her breast, she arched her back and cried his name softly against his lips.

“I've never forgotten how you feel.” He took pleasure in her full breasts, which swelled over the lacy cup of her bra. His hand rotated over her slowly until her budding desire was cupped in the center of his palm. “Megan,” he said hoarsely, “unbutton my shirt Touch me before I die.”

Her willing, anxious, eager fingers complied. She combed through the fine hair spread over the hard muscles and ribs. His breath stilled, then was expelled on an anguished moan. “Yes, yes,” he growled before welding his lips to hers again.

The front clasp of her bra fell away. Like a blind man, he educated his fingers to the feel of her. The softly rising mounds, smooth flesh, and delicate peaks were stroked, petted, smoothed, teased by his curious fingers, which demanded to know all of her. He enticed her nipples to heightened passion with his skillful thumb.

“Josh, Josh,” she whispered.

His other hand fumbled with the button and zipper of her slacks. As if ready to do his bidding, they came undone. The swathe of lace in the shape of panties provided little barrier to his sweet exploration. And then he was there, touching her, exciting her, arousing her with an undaunted intimacy that she knew should be forbidden, but which she couldn't deny him or herself.

It wasn't until he began to grapple with the zipper of his trousers and she felt the weight of his body lowering onto hers that she realized with stark clarity what would happen next.

She panicked.

It wasn't time. She hadn't set her ruse up properly. She had never meant it to go this far.

She began to struggle, and he ceased his movements immediately. “Megan?” he asked tenderly. “Megan, what is it? What's the matter?”

She groped for a plausible excuse why they couldn't make love right then. She said the first thing that popped into her mind. “James. I … we're betraying James.”

Six

T
here was only a heartbeat between the gentle kisses he had been planting on her forehead and the abrupt rising of his head. She had succeeded in jarring him out of his passionate daze. That it was taxing his willpower in the extreme was evidenced by his rapid, ragged breathing.

She knew he was looking at her, willing her to open her eyes, but she couldn't risk letting him see the truth—that she regretted calling a halt as much as he did. Instead she squeezed her eyes shut, until twin tears eked out from beneath her has and rolled down her cheeks.

He raised himself off her and left the bed. The quiet rasp of his zipper being refastened in the silent room was as obnoxious as fingernails raking down a blackboard.

For a long while Megan lay perfectly still on her back, with her eyes closed. She wished he would just leave without saying anything. Her greatest desire was to curl into a ball, to bury herself, to wallow in regret. She regretted ever having met him, danced with him, kissed him the night before she got married.

She regretted ever having consented to come here. If she'd been more adamant, Doug wouldn't have forced her to come. He knew how stubborn she could be. She could have worn him down by insisting she simply had too much work to do.

And she regretted … No! She wouldn't regret not making love to Josh. It was too dangerous to speculate on what it would have been like. The mere thought of it made her shiver.

“Megan, are you all right?”

“Yes, I'm all right.” She rolled her head to the side and opened her eyes. He was sitting in a chair near the bed, looking earnestly at her. She knew she was a mess, that her eyes were red and her cheeks streaked from tears.

It was strange about those tears. Where had they come from? Their source frightened her, but she couldn't think about that now. If she examined it too closely, she might crawl onto Josh's lap and beg him to continue what they had begun. No, don't think about the loss you feel, Megan, she cautioned herself. “I'm sorry,” she said aloud.

His knees were spread wide, where he sat leaning forward in the chair. Elbows on knees, his chin was propped on his fists as he studied her. “So am I.”