They were so lost within their embrace that, when the voice boomed out at them from the overhead speakers, they separated in startled disbelief. Megan stared at Josh with wide, unblinking eyes as her chest heaved like a bellows.
“Will that be all, Mr. Bennett?” the projectionist asked again, apparently unaware of what he'd interrupted.
Megan looked blindly toward the blank screen at the front of the room. The commercials had finished, yet she hadn't viewed one since Terry had left the room. Jolted back into reality, she covered her tingling lips with a shaky hand.
In extreme exasperation, Josh raked his fingers through his hair. “Yes. Thank you, Tad.”
The microphone clicked off, and they were left alone in the dark, silent room. “Megan—”
“No,” she said shortly, backing away from him. “I don't know what … what happens to me when you … Consider the debt paid. I think the insults I've suffered from you are more than enough recompense. From now on we're even, Mr. Bennett.”
She pivoted on her heels, grabbed up her purse a second time, and groped her way out the aisle to the door. She flung it open, escape uppermost in her mind.
“Megan,” Josh shouted from behind her. The name reverberated off the walls of the projection room and was still echoing when she all but collided into a startled Terry Bishop, who was reaching for the doorknob from the other side.
Megan didn't know who was the most dumbfounded. Terry took in her tear-streaked face, her well-kissed swollen lips, the frantic look in her eyes. She followed his gaze to Josh, whose shirttail was half in, half out, his loosened tie lying at a sharp angle on his chest.
“I'm … uh … excuse me,” Terry stuttered apologetically. “That was—was Gayla, my wife. She, uh, wanted me to get your address so she can send you a formal invitation to the grand opening of Seascape, on June first. You're both coming, aren't you?”
Four
Megan could feel how imbecilic the expression on her face was. Absently she reached up to smooth her hair. No doubt the professional respect Terry had for her was disappearing rapidly as she stood there, dully trying to comprehend what he had said and provide some reasonably intelligent response. Her dominant thought was that her escape from Josh had been blocked.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Josh nonchalantly tucking in his shirttail and straightening his necktie. He seemed not at all upset by their having been caught like misbehaving children. Had she the ability to control the muscles of her face, her lips would have curled into the frown of contempt she felt inside. Why should his insouciance surprise her? This kind of thing must happen to him all the time.
Indeed, his voice was breezily unaffected when he said, “I wouldn't think of missing the gala opening of the resort, Terry. Thank you.”
“It wouldn't be nearly the event it's going to be if we hadn't had your help, Josh,” the developer said to him with a respect that nauseated Megan. He turned to her. “Megan, can you make that weekend with us?”
“I—I don't know,” she said. If Josh Bennett was going to be there, she certainly wouldn't attend. She'd think up a reasonable excuse later. Now she only wanted to leave. “I'll have to check it out with the station's management. You can send my invitation to the office. Now if you two gentlemen”—she shot a disparaging look in Josh's direction—“will excuse me, I'm meeting another client for dinner.” It was another lie, and Josh's arched eyebrow told her he knew it. “Good night,” she said, sailing out of the projection room with what modicum of dignity was left her.
She hurried down the hallways, deserted now save for a few diehards—like James had been. Go home to your wife, your husband, your family. Don't give that man the best of yourself. He's not worth it, she wanted to shout to them. She raced across the elegant lobby as though escaping a torture chamber.
Later, she didn't even remember the trip home. For once impervious to the traffic, she had driven automatically, her mind cemented oh the minutes she had spent alone with Josh. The moment she stepped into her house, she felt the emptiness like a tangible presence, like a shroud blanketing her, smothering her.
“It's his fault that I'm alone,” she said aloud in fury and defeat. Were it not for Josh Bennett, she'd still have a husband, maybe even a baby or two by now. She had him to thank for the loneliness in her life. Still he fed on her like a scavenger. When would he consider her picked clean?
He had stolen her husband from her even before his death. James had never belonged to her the way he had belonged to the Bennett Agency. Josh had taken away her dignity by obtaining her job for her. That she'd been unaware of his machinations didn't matter. How many people knew that Josh had secured her job for her? Was she laughed at behind her back? Did everyone think she'd asked for his help? And what did they think she'd done to get it? She shivered as she undressed in the air-conditioned bedroom—but not because she was cold.
Now Josh Bennett was robbing her of self-respect. Each time he touched her, she became like warm, malleable clay molded to his will. Shame washed over her as she recalled how she had arched her body up to his, how her mouth had opened to him.
“I hate him, despise him,” she sobbed, gathering her pillow close and bending her knees to her chest in an attitude of self-protection. The pillow blotted salty tears from her cheek.
Don't cry. Megan, don't cry.
“No, no.” She protested the memory of his compassionate words. She didn't want to remember the gentleness with which he'd pressed her against him, the tenderness of his hands, the sweetness of his lips. Trying to conjure up an image of a hard, calculating man, she failed. The only picture that came to mind was Josh's concerned expression as he cradled her cheeks and lifted her mouth to his.
“No,” she repeated, deeply anguished.
She hated him more than ever, yet only now would she admit to herself the true reason. Since the night they'd met, she had never been able to banish him from her mind. Tenaciously he remained. And he wouldn't be exiled now.
For two days Megan didn't communicate with either Josh or Terry Bishop. She received only a brief report from Jo Hampson. “Terry said you liked the commercials. That poor man's so uptight. If Seascape doesn't open soon, he's going to have heart failure. Thanks for filling in for me the other day.”
“Glad to do it,” Megan said with what she hoped was a sincere smile. “What kind of schedule did you work out for those convenience-store spots?”
With Seascape momentarily off her hands, she concentrated on wading through the mountain of work that had accumulated on her desk for the past several days. She made overdue telephone calls, answered correspondence, and held a sales meeting for her staff. By the third day, her self-confidence restored, she was feeling a sense of accomplishment. Coming back from a quick yogurt lunch in the basement commissary, her walk was almost jaunty.
Her buoyancy deflated like a punctured balloon when she opened the door to her office and saw Josh sitting on the couch. Her eyes collided with his, and for an intense moment neither of them moved. Then slowly he unfolded his length from the deep cushions and stood up.