“Sweet heaven!” he cried, and backed away from her. For long moments he gulped in air and blinked his eyes as though to rid them of an obscuring veil.
When his reason returned, he grinned down at her with chagrin. “I'm going to grow very old and very gray very fast if we have too many more of these close calls.” He heaved a sigh. “But I don't want to make love to you for the first time on a bed of pine needles. We'd better go back to the bike.” As he took her hand, he mumbled, “It's a long walk back to Seascape. I hope nobody's stolen it.”
Indeed, when they came through the last barrier of trees, a couple was scrutinizing the bicycle. There was no chance of their stealing it, for they were each on one of their own. They were surveying the edge of the woods with concern. When the young man saw Josh and Megan emerging, he said in a friendly fashion, “We found your bike deserted. Everything all right? No one hurt or anything?”
“Naw,” Josh said expansively. “She only had to tinkle and was too scared to go in the woods by herself.”
Megan squealed a protest and kicked him soundly in the shin. The other couple pedaled away, laughing as Josh danced on one foot, holding the other leg, and Megan rattled off all the reasons she thought him diabolical.
As Megan walked into Seascape's Grand Ballroom, she saw mat the chandeliers were subtly lit, so that they barely shimmered above the dozens of tables covered with powder-blue linen cloths. Each table was graced by a centerpiece of spring flowers in varying colors.
No longer covered with suntan lotion, but with expensive imported fragrances, the guests at Seascape's grand opening had discarded their play clothes and swimsuits and donned their finery.
Laura Wray, in vermilion chiffon, looked like an angel only slightly fallen from grace. At Terry's insistence, Jo Hampson had been flown in for this night. She wore a copy of a Valentino blouse that was made solely of white organza ruffles, and a red taffeta tulip skirt. It wasn't an outfit Megan would have chosen for the woman's overripe figure, but Jo couldn't look dowdy if she tried. They greeted each other warmly, and Jo haphazardly filled Megan in on what had happened in the office during her absence. Gayla Bishop trailed yards of beaded gold satin that didn't need the strands of diamonds hung around her neck.
Megan felt like the most stunning woman in the room when she met Josh's ardent gaze. When he had escorted her in, a hush had fallen over the room. “Damn those wolves,” he'd growled. “I wish their eyes would fall out of their heads. Don't you have a scarf or something?” But his querulousness hadn't bothered her.
As with all the new items she'd bought for her wardrobe before leaving on the trip, she'd purchased this dress because of its sexiness. The tight long sleeves and bodice were black crepe. Where it attached to the tulle, it was cut into petal shapes that seemed to have barely climbed up an invisible vine to cling to her breasts. Beneath the sheer tulle, her skin, sun-kissed now, shone warm, and inviting.
She wore black satin high-heeled sandals. Her only jewelry was the diamond studs in her ears. Her hair was pulled to the top of her head in a seemingly careless knot Soft, curling tendrils lay coyly on her neck.
Her flustered hand now reached up to tuck a vagrant strand of hair back into her topknot in a gesture meant to cover her nervousness. She had wanted everyone to notice her and Josh toge
ther, but now that the time was here, she wished they weren't so public a couple.
Apparently Josh did too. Once they had circulated and said their hellos, he chose a table away from the others, near the back of the room, where the lighting was dimmer.
“Dance?” he asked softly, and pulled her slowly into his arms. Once they were absorbed into the mass of other swaying couples, he said into her ear, “I really didn't want to dance, because then I can't look at you. But it was the only way I could think of holding you and getting away with it.”
She was caught up in the magic of the beautiful room, of the music played by a string orchestra, of the night that was softly tropical. Most of all, she was enthralled by Josh.
He was a paragon of masculinity, in his black tuxedo and pleated shirt with onyx studs. He'd been dressed like this the first time she'd seen him, and the sight of him affected her just as strongly now as then. Now she knew that the passionate nature only hinted at beneath the austere clothing was real.
Now she knew the texture of his hair, which was silvered at the temples but carelessly, boyishly styled. She knew the cut of the tuxedo wasn't deceptive, that the broad muscles it intimated were actually here. She knew well the feel of his hard chest as it conformed to her soft shape.
“Move … ah, there that's it. Yes, right there.”
Megan caught her breath sharply. With the merest pressure of his hand on her back he had positioned her to cushion the iron proof of his need.
“Now close your eyes and imagine that we're not here at all, but lying naked on your bed. I'm loving you in time to the music. You're just about to take me inside you. And we move, slowly at first, then faster. We make love, again and again.”
Megan's cheeks flamed and her heart pounded at his audacious words. By the end of the dance she was drunk, inebriated by his masculine essence, intoxicated by the picture he'd painted. He led her back through the maze of tables, his dark scowl discouraging any other man who might consider himself a potential dance partner for her.
Like an industrious spider he continued to spin his web around her throughout the interminable dinner. Because six other people were seated at their table, they had to carry on a conversation, but the others were unaware of the silent communication being exchanged by covert looks and secret touches.
Megan might have planned for tonight to be the culmination of her scheme. Obviously Josh had. He rarely took his eyes off her, and his golden eyes sent a message to her heart that it couldn't fail to decipher.
Finally the house lights were dimmed and everyone's attention was drawn toward the head table, where Terry Bishop began to speak. Josh took advantage of the distraction to lean over and kiss Megan on the mouth. Her lips opened under his as the petals on her dress opened to hold her breasts. Without so much as disturbing the color that tinted her lips, his tongue slipped between them to rub against the tip of hers.
When he pulled away, his voice was rough with emotion. “I love you, Megan. Marry me.”
For a moment both of them were too spellbound to realize that they were once again the center of attention. Terry Bishop had blared Josh's name through the microphone on the podium. “Don't be shy now, Josh,” he said. “Come on up here and let me and the stockholders present you with a token of our appreciation for the fine job you've done in promoting Seascape.”
Everyone was applauding. For the first time in her life, Megan saw Josh ruffled. He looked at her bleakly, shrugged helplessly, straightened his bow tie self-consciously, and stood up. She watched him, still stunned motionless by his unexpected proposal, as he made his way to the head table.
His hand was shaken heartily by Terry and all the stockholders. Gayla kissed him soundly. Photographers snapped his picture. He was presented with a set of gold-and-diamond cuff links. He handled it all with humility and aplomb, then stepped behind the microphone and began to speak in a deep, stirring voice.
All of a sudden Megan had to get away. Without stopping to consider, she slipped out the back door of the ballroom and ran through the compound as fast as her high heels would let her. The truth had dawned on her—no, had struck her like lightning—and she had to be alone.