“How can you defend him? What he did to you only points up what an arrogant, selfish man he is.”
Laura Wray studied her for a long moment, and Megan realized she had been too disapproving. “Arrogant?” Laura said musingly. “Yes, I suppose he is. But he's also kind. It caused him considerable anguish to come to me and tell me he wanted to break his commitment. He took all the blame on himself.”
She smiled sadly. “As a matter of fact, by the end of the scene I was comforting him. And selfish? Yes, he is, but not only for himself. He's selfish for everyone he cares about. He had it very tough as a kid. What he has now he got through hard work. He'll never forget what it was like to be without. Still, he's generous to a fault—with material things and with himself.”
Megan couldn't believe they were talking about the same man. Josh had always gone after what he wanted and damned the people who got in his way. She couldn't remember when he'd ever been denied anything. Everything he'd ever wanted…
No. There was one thing he'd wanted and hadn't obtained—her.
But surely Laura Wray's estimation was colored by her feelings for him. “You're still in love with him, aren't you?” Megan hadn't intended to ask the question; it had just popped out To Megan's relief, Laura didn't seem to take offense.
“Yes,” she said quietly as she stared at the horizon.
Megan traced a pattern in the condensation on her cold drink can. “Maybe there's hope that the two of you will get back together.” The thought brought a crushing pain to her chest that she didn't want to analyze. Visions of Josh holding, touching, kissing Laura Wray—or any woman—with the same passion as he did her filled her with hatred. Why?
Laura shook her head and turned back to Megan. Her smile was gentle, reconciled. “No. Never. I have to be content to be his good friend.” She stood up and dusted sand off
the blanket where she'd been sitting. “I knew all along that Josh was in love with someone else. A married woman. In the end he admitted it to me. I think he'll always be in love with her.”
Megan's heart plummeted, and her tongue became glued to the roof of her mouth. When Laura asked, “Will you be at the cookout tonight?” she could only nod “I'll see you then.” Laura started walking back in the direction of the central compound, a tall, graceful, lonely figure.
Megan sat motionless, staring at the rolling waves. They brought to shore so much promise, rushing forward so eagerly, the magnificent strength of the ocean behind them. But they touched land only briefly, sparkling with lacy foam for only an infinitesimal moment, then receding, leaving nothing but debris in their wake. Was that the pattern of all life forms, a ceaseless, futile struggle for meaning?
What was she doing here? Why was she bent on carrying out a childish scheme for revenge? When it came right down to it, what was she seeking to accomplish? Who would get hurt the most? She had the unpleasant intuition that it would be she.
She jumped, startled, when a low, rumbling voice asked directly in her ear. “Can anyone join this party?”
Flattening a hand against her chest to still her wildly beating heart, she whipped her head around and bumped noses with Josh. “Ouch,” he said before kissing her loudly. Instead of golf clothes, he was wearing a pair of maroon swim trunks. “Whatcha doin’?”
“Enjoying the peace and quiet.”
He dropped down beside her and hooked his arm around her neck, tilting her head back with his other fist. “If that's a veiled hint that I should leave you alone, you're out of luck. I ran their tails all over that golf course to get back to you as quickly as possible.” His lips formed an unbreakable adhesion with hers. He milked her mouth with gentle suction, as though to draw all her sweetness into himself.
“You didn't play well?” she asked with what little breath he left her.
“Hell, I won! I always play to win, or it's not worth the game.”
His words alarmed her, terrified her, but she had no chance to evaluate them as he drew her into another soul-splintering kiss. Gradually he lowered them to the blanket, until they were reclining, their arms and legs entwined.
“How's your back?” he whispered against her breast.
“A little pink, but it doesn't sting.” He certainly had no problem with sunburn. His body was toasted a dark bronze all over. His chest hair grew in a whorling pattern that intrigued her. She traced it tentatively with her fingers. The crinkly mat spread wide at the top of his chest and tapered down his torso to a darker, smoother line that disappeared into his trunks. His navel nested in that line, but when her exploring fingers reached it, she couldn't bring herself to touch him.
“It doesn't bite,” he murmured. Taking her hand under his, he guided it over the deep dimple on his abdomen. “You have an open invitation to touch me at any time, in any way, any place you want. I give you carte blanche of my body.”
The words made her dizzy with erotic thoughts, and she buried her face in the hollow of his shoulder. Her curious fingers threaded through his dark satiny hair and investigated the small indentation until his breath caught.
“Lie down,” he instructed.
She complied. Rampant desire had made her weak. Her eyes closed against it. She let her body relax. She preferred not to think of it as surrender.
Taking up the bottle of suntan lotion, Josh said, “I'd never forgive myself if I neglected to protect your front as well as your back.” The deep, rolling sound of his voice beckoned her into a deeper lassitude.
His hands were those of a gifted sculptor as they glided over her stomach and abdomen, applying a generous amount of lotion. Fingers that were strong and evocative massaged along the line of her bikini panties. She was disappointed when he didn't take the expedition farther—until she felt the drawstring of her top give way to his quick tug.
Her eyes flew wide as he moved aside the wisp of fabric and bared her to the sky. He was leaning close, gazing down into her eyes, “Shhh,” he said soothingly. Tenderly his mouth kissed hers before he rose. She closed her eyes again, in time to hear a blasphemous whisper that was somehow reverent.
“My God, Megan, you're beautiful. I've envisioned you a thousand times, but you … you're … exquisitely made.”