Now, more than four years later, lying on the couch of her executive office and recalling that night, she could still vividly remember how effortlessly he'd taken possession of her mouth. His lips had been ardent but tender as they moved over her less-skilled ones. How sweetly his tongue had broken the barrier of her lips and teeth. How wonderfully thorough it had been as it explored her mouth, performing a mating dance with her own tongue.
His hands had cupped her jaw, tilting her head back for a deeper kiss, which had robbed her of conscience and scruples. His tongue left no part of her mouth intact but touched all of it, penetrating even what had until then been virgin territory.
One hand caressed her. With his thumb on one side, and his fingers on the other, he defined the underside of her breast. Lifting it slightly, he found the full nipple worthy of his attention. When his thumb began to slide along it, Megan's head fell back, and a sigh of ecstasy echoed in the night.
As his lips greedily partook of her throat, that talented thumb found the peaking desire of her breast and circled it mesmerizingly.
“Lord, you're sweet. So sweet. I knew you would be. Give me your mouth again.”
Thinking about it now, Megan's fingers clenched in self-loathing as she remembered how docilely she'd offered her mouth for his carnal pleasure. And it hadn't been only his mouth that had kissed her. His body had moved along hers in one tantalizing kiss. His hard chest had pressed against her breasts. His thighs had brushed, lingered, separated, brushed again, stayed. His hand had opened wide on the small of her back and smoothed downward to cradle her hips. Holding her that way, he'd rubbed the rigid flesh in the front of his trousers against her with the same provocative motion of his tongue inside her mouth. Some demonic element in her soul had enticed her to answer with a lifting motion of her own.
“Megan, Megan,” he had whispered. “You don't love James, when you can kiss me like this.”
His words were like an icy deluge on her fired spirit. She swatted at the hand caressing her breast and was ashamed at feeling bereft at its loss. At the same time the heel of her other hand pushed against his chest until he stumbled backward.
“You slimy … Oh, to think I … How could you do this to your friend? How could I … You're disgusting.”
Whirling away in a cloud of sea-green chiffon, she had wiped his kisses off her mouth with the back of her hand and run out into the darkness.
Megan sat up now, feeling all the hatred for the man she had felt that night. He had no sense of propriety, shame, or moral conscience. Selfishly he went after whatever he wanted. Not that he'd wanted her, except maybe for a weekend fling. But he'd proved what he'd set out to, that he could make James Lambert's fiancée melt beneath his practiced kisses and caresses.
“What did it avail you, Mr. Bennett?” she asked now into the empty office. “I despised you then. I despise you now, and with more cause.”
The buzzer on her intercom sounded again. Hauling herself up, suddenly exhausted and lethargic beyond comprehension, she crossed the room to answer it.
“Sorry to bother you, but Mr. Atherton called,” Arlene informed her. “As soon as you return from lunch, he wants to see you. He said it was important.”
“I'll be there,” Megan replied listlessly.
Checking her watch, she saw that she had over an hour to prepare herself for the meeting with the station's general manager. She had a fairly good idea that the important matter he needed to see her about was Joshua Bennett.
Two
Megan's footsteps were silent on the lush hallway carpet. Here there were no constantly ringing telephones, scurrying reporters, clacking typewriters, and squawking police radios, as in the newsroom. Downstairs, engineers, who kept the television station on the air, worked in dim rooms full of whirring computers and lighted dials. Directors and producers used cubicles near the cavernous studios that were cluttered with scripts, storyboards, and timetables.
But this floor, which housed the executive offices of WONE, could have been found in any major corporation building in the country. This quiet hallway didn't even bear resemblance to the one in which Megan and her salespeople were pigeonholed. Her office was nicer than most of the others, because she had decorated it herself, at her own expense, but it wasn't luxurious like the one she now entered through double oak doors.
“Hi,” she greeted Mr. Atherton's secretary. “Is he back from lunch?”
“Back and waiting for you.” The woman smiled. “Go on in.”
Pretending a confidence she didn't feel, Megan crossed the outer office and entered the sanctum where the station manager made all the major decisions regarding the television station.
“Come in, Megan,” he said, making half an effort to stand as she took the deep, plush chair on the other side of his enormous desk. “Coffee?”
“No, thank you, Doug. I just had my daily carton of yogurt for lunch. I'd better let it settle.”
Doug Atherton, balding and paunchy, shuddered. “God, if I ate that stuff, it would never settle.” The most attractive thing about the middle-aged man was his melodious Southern drawl. Even when he was reading the riot act to an unfortunate employee, Doug's voice sounded soothing. He studied his thumbnail as he asked, “How are things in local sales this week?”
“We're above budget, I'm glad to report. I had to call Barnes in on the carpet this morning and give him a pep talk. I think—hope—he'll shape up.”
“You'd better have everyone fired up. I got word that a group of bigwigs from the parent company is coming down in a few weeks. I'm sure they'll want to increase your budget.”
“What else is new?” she asked dryly.
Doug nodded absently. “I'm sure you won't disappoint us. And you certainly won't want to do anything between now and their visit that could cost us an account.” He cleared his throat. “Megan, Josh Bennett came to see me this morning.”
The muscles of her stomach tightened, but she kept her expression impassive. “And?”