“Hi, Megan.”
“Hello, Terry,” she said, extending her hand for him to shake. “It's good to see you again.”
“Likewise. When Josh suggested that he invite you to come view the commercials, I thought it was a terrific idea. As I told you last night, I trust your judgment on when to air them—all that stuff I know nothing about.”
She cast an accusing glance at Josh, whose gold
en eyes were dancing with unconcealed mischief. What did he care if he'd been caught in a he? He'd gotten exactly what he wanted, as always. “We were having a glass of Perrier. Would you like one?” Josh offered.
“No, thank you.”
“Juice, coffee, a mixed drink?”
“No,” she said with more asperity than necessary. “Thank you,” she added for Terry Bishop's benefit.
“Then, let's go into the projection room,” Josh said, not in the least perturbed by her hostility.
They made their way through a labyrinth of hallways. Unlike the serenity of the reception area, the corridors of the office complex were like a honeycomb, riddled with chambers of activity and rushing workers.
The projection room contained eight tiered rows of theatre seats. The back wall had a tiny square through which the filmed commercials would be projected onto the large white screen at the front of the room.
“These films will be dubbed onto video-tape cartridges for the television stations’ use,” Josh said by way of explanation. Seeing her stony expression, he added, “But of course you know that.”
“Of course.”
Instead of being embarrassed, Josh only grinned and chucked her under the chin. Terry, whose back was turned to take his seat, didn't see the playfully affectionate gesture or the way Megan dodged it.
After a brief conference with the projectionist, Josh sat down in the row behind the one where Megan and Terry sat side by side. She was relieved that Josh hadn't chosen to sit next to her, but her relief was short-lived. As soon as the first commercial began to run, he moved to the edge of his seat and leaned forward to whisper comments.
His forearms were crossed on the backs of their seats. Ostensibly his points were made for the benefit of them both, but his lips were often arousingly close to Megan's ear, her cheek, her neck. His nearness sent tremors throughout her body.
“Well, what do you think?” Terry asked her anxiously when the first sixty-second commercial had run.
He peered at her through thick eyeglasses that magnified his eyes, but she wasn't nearly as aware of them as she was of Josh's amber eyes, capped by a scarred eyebrow, which watched her too closely.
Was Josh looking at her mouth? Nervously, she wet her lips with a darting tongue, then hoped to heaven he didn't think she'd done it to entice him. Terry was waiting for her reply. What had he asked her? “The commercial was beautifully done. The production house you hired did a super job. If all the commercials are this good, within a week of their airing Seascape will be booked up for the year.”
Obviously relieved, Terry returned his myopic eyes to the screen, where a couple was walking hand in hand along a deserted beach. They were silhouetted darkly against a vibrant sunrise. Once she looked back at the screen, Megan did a double take. A moment later, she heard Josh's amused drawl.
“No, they're not naked, though they look it, the way they were photographed. We planned it that way, but almost overshot our mark. This commercial borders on being too erotic.”
“I hope no one shows up at Seascape expecting a nude beach. We offer a lot of amenities, but that isn't one of them,” Terry said, laughing.
Megan couldn't voice a reply. Her eyes were riveted on the man and woman, who were now seen in a close-up silhouetted kiss. Their lips melted together, their bodies gravitating toward each other, until two previously distinct forms became one unbroken shadow. Her heart pounding, Megan realized that the features she projected onto the models were those of herself and—
“I'm sure that, if a couple was so inclined, a private stretch of beach where no rules applied could be found.” Josh spoke the words secretly into her ear and she closed her eyes to ward off a wave of dizziness.
She had to get out of here. The darkness was too absolute. The curtained walls of the room made her feel claustrophobic. The presence of the man behind her wreaked havoc on her emotional stability.
But there was no escaping. Terry Bishop was already directing another anxiety-ridden question to her about the commercials. How many were there? Five? A dozen? Megan could only hope that they would soon be finished.
They had seen only about half of the commercials when the receptionist stepped discreetly into the darkened room. “Mr. Bishop? I hate to disturb you, but you have an important call. I've put it through on the telephone in the office across the hallway.”
Terry sighed, and stood up. “Thank you,” he said to the retreating woman. Megan stood up as well, grateful that she'd been rescued, but it wasn't to be. “No, no, please, Mrs. Lambert. Watch the rest of them. I'll be back as soon as I can.”
He inched out of the row of seats and opened the door only wide enough to slip out. The wedge of light decreased with the closing door, until the room was once again plunged into darkness. Megan sat frozen in her chair, afraid to move, afraid to breathe.
In the velvet darkness that surrounded them, she felt Josh move. His arms came around to enclose her. His hands linked across her breasts. “If you had as rough a night as I did, you have no right to look as gorgeous as you do.”