“Yes,” she hissed. “Why shouldn't I avoid you after the despicable thing you did to me and to your friend, James?”
He leaned over her until his mouth was mere inches from hers. His warm breath was a fragrant, moisture-laden vapor that taunted her lips. “You're not angry with me because I kissed you. You're angry because you liked it so much.”
Blinding rage stunned her into immobility. For ponderous seconds she only stared mutely up at him. Then the import of his words registered with full force, and she yanked her arm free of his strong fingers and shoved herself away.
“Get out of my office, Mr. Bennett. Get out of my life.” Her chest was heaving, and, to her further outrage, he seemed fascinated by the movement of her breasts beneath the fragile cloth covering them.
When at last he dragged his eyes to her face, he said, “I'll go. For now. But be honest with yourself, Megan, and admit that I'm right. You've been nursing this insane anger for years. You'd better be careful of it. Since it's self-directed, it could also be self-destructive.”
Long, unhurried strides carried him to the door. With one hand on the knob, he turned back. She stood rigid, her fists balled at her sides, her spine as stiff and straight as a crowbar. “I'll be in touch,” he said, and he stepped out the door, closing it quietly behind him.
When Megan relaxed her rigidly held muscles long minutes later, she had to catch herself to keep from crumpling onto the floor. She staggered toward her desk and, propping herself over it with one arm, fumbled with the buttons on the intercom with the other trembling hand. “Arlene, please hold my calls. I … headache. I'm going to rest for a while.”
“Are you all right?” Arlene asked with immediate concern.
“Yes, yes,” Megan hurried to assure her. She didn't want anyone to know how much Josh's visit had upset her. “I'm going to take an aspirin. I'll be fine.”
“That's the first time you've met Mr. Bennett, isn't it?”
“No,” she said slowly, after considering telling a lie. “My husband worked for him.”
“I didn't know that. He's something, isn't he?” Arlene asked breathlessly.
&
nbsp; Megan's lips hardened bitterly. “Yes, he's something.”
Her knees felt rubbery as she walked toward the long sofa that took up a portion of the wall opposite her desk. Slipping off her sandals, she lay down on the nubby, oatmeal-colored upholstery and closed her eyes, trying to block out the image of Josh's face and everything he'd said.
Her thoughts were random and nebulous, but eventually they merged and came into sharp focus around the night she wished could be erased from her life—the night before she married James Lambert.
Her mother and stepfather had rented a large room at the country club for the party in honor of their daughter's marriage to James, a young advertising agent she had met while selling commercial time for a local radio station. He worked for the Bennett Agency, and the future looked bright for the young couple, who happily greeted their guests between turns around the dance floor and trips to the champagne fountain.
Megan would always remember her dress. She'd never worn it again but had hung it in the corner of a closet in her mother's house. She'd never wanted to see it after that night, though it had been beautiful. The sea-green color reflected her green eyes. The soft fabric clung alluringly to the gentle curves of her petite figure, hanging straight from a halter neckline. Jeweled combs had held her hair in a soft topknot, and she'd worn her diamond engagement ring on the third finger of her left hand.
“James, for heaven's sake calm down,” she chided laughingly as he paced the room before the party began, checking this and that, pestering the hired help by constantly getting in their way.
He hugged her enthusiastically. “How can I calm down? Tomorrow I'm going to marry the most beautiful girl in the world.” She smiled, pleased, but her grin collapsed when he added, “Besides, I haven't had a cigarette in three days.”
“Oh, James, you're doing so well,” she said encouragingly. “And you promised to quit.”
“I know, I know,” he said, kissing her quickly. “I will. But if I find a smoker here tonight, I may stand beside him and breathe in real deep.”
She had tolerated his hyperactivity that night. He drank too many glasses of champagne, but she didn't scold him, knowing he was drinking to compensate for not smoking. She loved his smiling face, his exuberance, his unflagging enthusiasm for life, his boundless energy, his ambition.
She had thought the tributes he paid to the owner of the Bennett Agency a trifle overblown, but when Joshua Bennett walked into the flower-bedecked room, Megan had to admit that James's acclaim wasn't unwarranted. The man certainly made a startling first impression. Tall, slender, and distinguished in his tuxedo, he exuded confidence and charm.
She felt the first tinglings of sensation when, at James's introduction, Josh Bennett's amber eyes subjected her to a thorough appraisal. But those tinglings were only harbingers of the currents that sizzled along her nerves when he took her hand and pressed her fingers lightly. She all but jerked her hand out of his electrifying clasp.
“I'm pleased to meet you, Mr. Bennett. James has told me so much about you.” Somehow she had squeezed the words past her constricting throat.
“Not nearly as much as he's told me about you,” he said in a confidential whisper. “And my name's Josh.”
If voices could have color, his would be whiskey-colored, like his eyes. His voice was husky, mellow, and rich, like the finest bourbon.
Lulled by the sound and drawn into the maelstrom of his eyes, she all but forgot James, who was boisterously greeting a group of his former fraternity brothers.
“Say, Josh, will you dance with my girl while I show these degenerates where the real booze is kept?” James asked his employer.