And she regretted … No! She wouldn't regret not making love to Josh. It was too dangerous to speculate on what it would have been like. The mere thought of it made her shiver.
“Megan, are you all right?”
“Yes, I'm all right.” She rolled her head to the side and opened her eyes. He was sitting in a chair near the bed, looking earnestly at her. She knew she was a mess, that her eyes were red and her cheeks streaked from tears.
It was strange about those tears. Where had they come from? Their source frightened her, but she couldn't think about that now. If she examined it too closely, she might crawl onto Josh's lap and beg him to continue what they had begun. No, don't think about the loss you feel, Megan, she cautioned herself. “I'm sorry,” she said aloud.
His knees were spread wide, where he sat leaning forward in the chair. Elbows on knees, his chin was propped on his fists as he studied her. “So am I.”
She sat up slowly, closing the placket on her slacks as unobtrusively as possible. “I … I didn't know I'd feel that way until …”
When her voice faded away, he said understandingly, “You don't have to justify that feeling to me or to anyone. I know there hasn't been another man since James. I'm glad. From now on I'm going to be the only man in your life.” His softly spoken words and the indulgence with which he was looking at her made her unaccountably angry.
“Well, I hate to disappoint you, Josh,” she said caustically. “I'm old-fashioned and not at all sophisticated when it comes to sex. If you wanted a playmate for afternoon romps, you brought the wrong woman, though I'm sure I can be replaced quickly enough.” She vaulted off the bed and stalked over to the dresser, opened her handbag, and took out a hairbrush. She managed to drag it through her hair several times before it was caught and wrenched from her hand.
He lay the hairbrush aside and placed his hands on her shoulders. “I like the fact that you're principled— I prefer that word to old-fashioned—when it comes to sex.”
“Only because I'm a novelty, compared to what you're used to. I don't know how to play these bedroom —games. As far as I know, James was faithful to me even when he traveled. I was faithful to him. I can't help but feel cheap and dirty and guilty about … about sleeping with someone else.”
“After three years!” he yelled, finally giving vent to his temper. “Megan, for goodness’ sake, you're not cheating on James. You're still very much alive, and you need a man to complement the woman you are.” His hands closed around her neck; his thumbs massaged her collarbone beneath the silk blouse. “You need me.”
When he touched her, she couldn't think. She had no comeback to this ridiculous argument anyway. She had thought it up only a few moments ago. What affected her more than she wanted to acknowledge was his willingness to try to understand her hesitation. Why wasn't he reacting violently to their thwarted love-making, tearing at her clothes in a lust-driven rage, making vile threats to get rough if she didn't come around?
His compassion would squelch her primary goal if she didn't fight it. Throwing off his hands, she cried out, “I loved my husband!” At least the desperation in her voice was genuine.
“I've no doubt you did,” he said with a trace of annoyance. “Anyone who knew James liked him. He was a likable, lovable guy.”
“You make him sound like a teddy bear or a puppy,” she said indignantly. “You don't hold a patent on sex appeal, you know. James was a man, and I loved him as such.”
The ticking muscle in his jaw testified to his suppressed anger. His lips barely moved when he asked, “Did you?”
“Yes.”
“But if we had had more time—if we had met a month before instead of the night before your wedding—he might never have been your husband.”
“Oh!” She clenched her fists at her sides. “You conceited, arrogant ass! One stolen kiss in the moonlight and you think I was ready to sacrifice everything for you. Well, I didn't, did I?”
“You were too stubborn then, just as you are now, to admit that you were making a mistake by marrying James after we had met.”
Her chest hurt with pent-up emotion. His words came too close to the truth, and she dug in all the deeper to defend herself. “I'd had too much champagne.”
He laughed harshly. “So now you've going to place the blame on being drunk.” His voice dropped to a deceptively soft tone. “You kissed me, Megan, and that kiss forever changed how you felt about James, or yourself for that matter. Deny it all you want—to yourself, to me, to the world. You'd like to believe that that kiss didn't mean anything to you, but it damn well did. You know it, and so do I.”
She was too enraged to speak. She stood facing him, her spine and arms rigid, her chin tilted up in defiance.
“Now, despite the rough spots that we have yet to iron out between us, I think you can see the advantages of keeping our problems to ourselves. So get your cute little rear end in that sinfully opulent bathtub and relax with a warm bath or take a cold shower and cool off your abominable temper. I'll pick you up in an hour and a half for our dinner with the Bishops, and you'd better be sparkling with good humor.”
Megan was still seething with impotent fury when he left through the terrace door.
“You fool!” she cursed herself as she heeded his unasked-for advice and stood under the pulsing cold spray of the shower. She'd had the perfect opportunity to play the frightened, insecure female and she'd blown it. She could have had him in the palm of her hand, mistakenly thinking she was his.
If only she'd played up the part about feeling guilty, needing coddling and reassurance, he would have been as malleable as putty. Instead, stubborn and volatile as she was, she had succeeded only in raising his ire.
“I've got to pay more attention to the role I'm playing,” she reminded herself as she applied her evening makeup. “Abominable temper,” she spat, flinging an eyebrow pencil onto the marble dressing table. And how had he known that the bathtub in her suite was sinfully opulent?
As she dressed she reiterated her reasons for despising him, so that they would be clear in her mind. “Submission, Megan, submission. Be feminine. Flirtatious. Unopinionated,” she muttered as she buckled the narrow strap of her sandal around her ankle.
She surveyed herself critically in the mirror. “Not bad,” she commented. Turning sideways, she sighed dispiritedly. “A little more bosom wouldn't hurt.”