His features softened considerably, and a rueful half-smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I can't, and you know why.”
She faced him like an adversary, her breasts expanding with emotion and heat, her cheeks hot from feelings she didn't want to acknowledge.
“Why did you bother with a poetic invitation to dinner?” she asked haughtily. “You already knew Doug would see to it that I went to Hilton Head.”
He spread his arms wide on either side of his body. “You see! That's what I'm talking about. I try to go about seeing you in the conventional way, and you find fault with that too.” He let his arms fall to slap loudly against his thighs.
“Megan,” he said with shriveling patience. “We need that weekend together. Away from this.” He indicated the office with a wave of his hand. “Away from the past. Away from James's ghost.” He stepped closer to her. “We need time to learn about each other, to laugh, love.” His voice had lowered to a husky whisper that entranced her. “I put pressure on Doug this morning because I want you on that island. With me.”
Even as she struggled to shut out his words, they; thrilled her. Her heart threatened to surrender unconditionally. In one last desperate effort, she gathered; her wits and marched to the office door, pulling it open. “Well, thanks to your sneaky blackmailing, I'll be on that cursed island, but not with you, Joshua Bennett.”
He sauntered toward her and, before she could deflect him, captured and held her jaw, tilting her head back. “You're absolutely irresistible when you're mad. Your hair fairly crackles, like fire. And I love the way my full name looks and sounds on your lips.”
She thought he was going to kiss her, but he didn't Instead he stared at her mouth for a long time.
“We're not on the island yet, Megan. Don't make any vows you won't be able to keep,” he warned her. His thumb made a sensuous trail across her lips before he dropped his hand. He brushed past her to the outer office. He'd closed the far door behind him before she noticed a wide-eyed Arlene staring up at her, her hands frozen over her typewriter.
“You wouldn't want to be on an island with him?” she asked in round-eyed disbelief.
“If you think he's so great, why don't you go with him to Hilton Head?”
“He didn't ask me.”
“Ohhh!” Megan ground out and, turning on her heel, slammed back into what had been the sanctuary of her office. She yanked the rosebud out of her buttonhole and crushed it between her fingers, filtering the fragrant remnants into the trash can. “He didn't ask me,” she mimicked her secretary.
Lord, what did women see in the man? He was rude, overbearing, arrogant, and completely without scruples. What other man would kiss his friend's fiancée the night before the wedding?
Yet women adored him. His romantic involvements were legion. He discarded women heartlessly and went on to others and still they were drawn to him like steel shavings to a magnet. His flamboyant romances were often in the headlines of the society pages. The headlines …
Headlines!
What could she do to Josh Bennett that would hurt him the most? Malign his advertising agency? No. It was too reputable. Besides, she couldn't do that without hurting her own business. What would bring public ridicule on a man who had an overabundance of self-confidence? What would be a fitting comeuppance for what he had done to her and James?
She crowed with glee as a plan began to evolve in her mind. Terry Bishop had said media reps would be crawling all over Seascape. Megan Lambert was a nobody, but Josh Bennett wasn't. He'd be noticed. His activities would be chronicled. His new “love” interest would be played up. “Romance Abounds in New H.H. Resort.” Her eyes danced with malicious glee as she envisioned the headlines.
Rushing to her desk, she consulted her calendar. “Two weeks,” she mused aloud. She had two weeks to prepare herself, to buy all the bait she'd need to set a seductive trap.
When she got on that corporate airplane, Josh Bennett wouldn't recognize the purring woman beside him as the same one who had spat nails at him today.
Five
The chic white pants suit gave Megan the confidence she needed to push through the glass door of the private airfield's terminal. She knew how well the slacks fit her compact figure, how the rounded contours of her derriere were defined by their snugness. The jacket, styled like that worn by baseball players, went over a silk shell in bold stripes of green, yellow, and blue. The silk clung to breasts, which were only partially confined by a wispy, lacy bra, the likes of which Megan had never worn before. Like all the garments she had purchased in the past two weeks, she had chosen it to inspire masculine interest.
The rubber soles of her casual shoes made no noise as she walked the length of the deserted hallway. Over one shoulder she carried the two pieces of luggage that matched the lime-colored stripe in her blouse. Bought with her new wardrobe, the soft, zippered travel bags defied the conservatism that would have usually governed her selections. On her other arm she carried a huge white straw bag.
“Mrs. Lambert?” An attendant rushed toward her. She turned to acknowledge him.
“Yes?”
The uniformed man smiled congenially. “You're the last of Mr. Bishop's party to arrive.”
“Oh, I hope I haven't kept them waiting.”
“No,” he said quickly. “T
he plane is still being serviced. Everyone is waiting in the main lobby. Allow me,” he said, reaching for her bags.
About to hand them over to him, she hurriedly changed her mind. “Thank you, but I think I'll hang on to them for a while.”