Not only his appearance but also his clothing left her speechless. He was dressed in a black-and-gold sweat suit and running shoes. His hair was wind-blown, his color hig
h. Had he jogged over?
“Forgive the way I'm dressed.”
“What are you doing here?” She closed the door behind her and immediately regretted having done so. To open it now would be an admission that she felt completely undone at having found him here. Stiffly she stood just inside the door, trying vainly not to look at the deep wedge of dark curling hair in the V of the sweat shirt, zipped only halfway up. If that weren't enough, the way the matching pants fit his slim hips was most disconcerting.
“Your secretary was still at lunch,” he said, not answering her question. “I decided to wait for you to get back. Do you mind my being here?”
“Does it matter?” she asked acidly.
“Yes.” That simple unequivocal statement was more injurious than derision would have been, and she averted her eyes from his as she crossed the room briskly and stowed her purse in a bottom drawer of her desk.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Bennett?” she asked curtly as she assumed her seat.
“You can forgive my behavior the other day.” Her eyes flew back to his as her lips rounded into a small O of surprise. “You were right. I took advantage of a business meeting. When I kiss you again, and I will”—his voice lowered significantly—“I promise that the circumstances will be more conducive to romance.”
“There won't—”
“Yes, there will be. I'll see to it that there are many such occasions.” He looked toward the credenza, where the roses were now opened to their full glory.
Why hadn't she thrown them out? The morning after her encounter with him in the projection room she had closed her hands around the heavy vase with every intention of emptying the blossoms into the large trash receptacle at the end of the hall. But she hadn't been able to bring herself to do so. Why?
Josh walked over and pinched off one of the blossoms, then stepped behind her desk, stopping just inches from her chair. “An olive branch?”
Her heart skidded to a halt, and air felt trapped in her lungs as he extended his hand to her breast. Taking infinite care not to touch her, he slipped the rosebud into the first buttonhole of her blouse. His fingers were slow to withdraw. As they dangled there, a mere inch away, they radiated a longing to caress her so strong that her body responded as if they had indeed touched her. Her breasts swelled with desire, and the nipples tightened and peaked, beckoning to him.
She felt his eyes on the crown of her head. His breathing was rough and labored. Directly in front of her his thighs flexed spasmodically and his stiff fingers closed into fists. She curbed a mad impulse to lift one of those fists, open it, kiss it, and lay it against an aching breast.
“In answer to your question,” he said softly, “I've never lured a woman into my place of business for the purpose of seduction. I never mix business with pleasure. You, Megan, are the only woman who ever tempted me to break my own rule. Since I met you, you've been the exception to every rule.”
Still she couldn't speak. Why wasn't she casting aspersions on him? She should be lambasting him with every insult her mind could compose.
Instead she sat flustered and mute as he backed slowly away from her and sat down on the sofa once again.
“That's the main reason I wanted to see you today. To apologize. I'm here like this”—he indicated his clothing—“because one of my agents called me while I was at the gym. I thought you should know what he told me right away.”
The portentousness in his voice alarmed her. She hadn't heard such grave tones since the day he had called her at home and told her to come to the hospital right away. Her husband was in the emergency room fighting for his life.
“What is it, Josh?” Unconsciously she spoke his name with the intimacy of a valued friend, a … lover.
“As you know, one of our major accounts is the Dixieland food-store chain.” She nodded. “They're threatening to pull all their advertising off your station and divide it up between your competitors.”
“What?” She gasped, knowing immediately the importance of what Josh had told her. Dixieland grocery stores ran television commercials throughout the day and night. Losing their advertising dollars would cause a vacuum in the budget that would be difficult, if not impossible, to fill. “Why?”
“Barnes,” he said tersely. “Megan, I wouldn't trouble you with this if I thought their complaints were petty. Were this an isolated case, I'd take Dixieland's promotion man to dinner and convince him that pulling their commercials off WONE would be a stupid move. You'd never have to know about it.” He stopped suddenly, as if realizing he'd revealed more than he'd intended.
“You've done that before, haven't you?” she demanded, her face paling. “Run interference to protect me?”
“I … it—”
“Haven't you?” she asked again, impatiently.
“Yes,” he admitted reluctantly. “But that's no more than I do for every sales manager of every television station all over the South. I smooth ruffled feathers all day. That comes with my territory. So don't go all defensive on me, okay? I've done for you what I've done for many others.”
Her back was still ramrod-straight and her chin still at a haughty angle, but she said, “Go on.”
He studied her for a long time. If she hadn't known him so well, known the kind of man he was, she might have thought his expression was wistful. His eyes scanned her hair, her face, her throat. He looked at the rosebud ensconced between her breasts for long moments. Finally he raised his eyes to hers again, and cleared his throat.