“That's a matter of opinion, isn't it?” Her tone was stinging.
“Name one time I did something to hurt you. I'm ignorant of it.”
She opened her mouth, but no words came. What could she blame him for? That she held a prestigious, well-paying job because of his intervention? That WONE never wanted for new advertisers because he directed them to her? That only two weeks ago he had prevented disaster by enlightening her on the Dixieland food-store chain's intentions? What crime could she hang him for?
The original one.
“You kissed me the night before I was to marry your friend.”
“A lot of men kissed you that night.”
“Not like you did!” she retorted in a harsh whisper.
His eyebrows shot up. “So you're finally admitting that my kiss affected you differently from any other?”
“No!”
“Liar.”
By now her agitation was plain. She breathed in quick, rapid pants that stirred the silk over her breasts. She clenched her hands to keep them from slapping him, or caressing him, or from covering the puckering crests of her breasts. She whipped her head around to stare out the window.
Employing feminine wiles had never been necessary for her to attract men. She'd always had plenty of dates, yet she'd gone to her marriage bed a virgin. Except for those tumultuous minutes in the gazebo with Josh, she was innocent of sexual indiscretion. She didn't know how one went about such things, and now she would be feeling her way along with each step. But she did know a woman didn't bring a man to a lathered, heated, leash-straining state by bristling at him every time he became intimate.
She allowed her features to mellow before facing him again. “I'm sorry, Josh.” She saw his hand, only inches from hers on the armrest and, swallowing the last of her pride and hesitation, covered it with her own. “I don't want to fight with you any more.”
His hand turned over and gripped hers tightly. “Damn it, I wish you'd chosen a less public place to tell me that,” he rasped.
“Why?” She raised inquiring eyes to his, and her breath was choking off when she saw desire like hot coals smoldering in his gaze. The gold flecks leaped and danced like tongues of flames.
“I want to kiss you, that's why. I want to celebrate the fact that you no longer see me as a monster, at best the enemy. I've waited three years to hear you say the fight between us is over.”
He squeezed her hand tighter. “Megan, did you think I was proud of what I did that night? I didn't walk into that party planning to sweep James's bride into my arms, kiss her as I did, and wish to God she were mine instead of his.” He shook his head, and the sunglasses became dislodged. He took them off and stared at his own reflection in the lenses as he continued. “I've done a lot of things I'm ashamed of, but please believe me when I say the last thing I wanted was to make you unhappy or guilty by kissing you.”
“I was. The next night when I went to bed with James, I felt very guilty. And for a long time after that.”
“I know,” he said on a long sigh. “I would have wished only joy for you, yet it seems as if, since I first met you, I've brought you nothing but grief. But then”—his eyes bore into hers—“I could no more have stopped myself from kissing you that night than I could have stopped myself from breathing and gone on living. It was something I had to do.” Her lips quivered at his words. “Lord, I want to hold you right now.”
She lowered her eyes and squeezed them shut in an effort to stabilize senses that had gone haywire. Her world had slipped off its axis and was spinning chaotically in a universe of conflicting emotions.
“Are you too warm? Do you want to take off your jacket?” he asked, seemingly out of context.
Looking back up at him, she shook her head. “No. Why?”
His mouth came down to within scant inches of her ear. “Because I want to see why the stripes on your blouse dip and swell so beguilingly.” His voice dropped another decibel. “I want to look at your breasts and fantasize about the way they look and feel.”
The warm color that flooded her cheeks couldn't have been faked, and she stared at him speechlessly. After a brief trip into eternity, she regained the use of her vocal cords. “Then, I think it would be best if I left my jacket on.”
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.