Temptation's Kiss (16 page)

She rested her cheek against his palm and closed her eyes. “You knew I was getting married when we met. You knew that when you followed me out to the summerhouse.”

“Yes, and maybe at that point I was still only obeying an instinct. The minute I saw you, I felt like I'd been poleaxed right between the eyes, but I couldn't believe it. You … how old were you then? Twenty-five?” At her nod, he went on. “I was a good ten years older. I'd fought my way out of poverty. I was tough, mean, jaded. Falling for a slip of a girl at first sight didn't happen to brutes like me.” His lips brushed hers lightly. “But once I kissed you, I knew that what had happened was real.”

“I should never have let that kiss happen. I belonged to James.”

“I knew that, but I didn't want to accept it. For months I refused to.” He caught a strand of her hair and wound it around his finger. “Then I cursed myself for being a damned fool and started dating and bedding every woman I could.”

He toyed with her T-shirt, seemingly fascinated when each time he pulled the damp cloth away from her breasts and let it go, it molded around them again. “You were like an illness inside me that wouldn't respond to treatment. No matter what I did, who I did it with, I ached from wanting you, Megan.” His thick lashes lifted, and his eyes bore into hers. “I exercised immeasurable restraint in letting you go once. I'm not going to inflict that self-denial on myself again.”

She was powerless to resist as he splayed his hands hard and wide on her back and pulled her even closer. Like a branding iron, his mouth seared hers, burning straight through to her soul. He released her mouth only to trace a scorching trail down her throat with his lips. She let go of his neck and took hold of the ropes. Letting her head fall back wantonly, she leaned backward in open invitation.

His hands coasted knowledgeably over her breasts, and he fondled them with slow, sure motions that ignited a hundred fires in her body. His tongue flicked along her collarbone, then lower. It laved the curving swell over her breasts.

“Josh,” she cried when he gently squeezed a rising nipple between his fingers before covering it with his mouth. Reflexively she arched against him, and knew instantly that he was just as aroused as she was.

“Ahhh,” he groaned. He lay his head in the crook of her shoulder and released deep, shuddering breaths. Physical agony distorted the features of his face as he strove to regain control of his body. At last he sighed and raised his head.

“We've got to get out of here, unless you want to find yourself rolling in the clover,” he said gently.

At that moment she had no qualms about making a bed of the lush undergrowth or a canopy of the oak. It was just as well Josh wasn't as impulsive. He stood up and let her slide slowly down his body until her bare feet met the ground.

“Besides,” he said, bending down to retrieve their shoes, “I have a golf date with Terry.”

An hour later he was standing over the space she had claimed on the beach as her territory. She lay face down on a large towel, which was scattered with the latest best-seller, sunglasses, a bottle of suntan lotion with maximum sunscreen, a small towel, a cooler containing three cans of soft drink, and a transistor radio—in short, everything she needed to spend the day on the beach.

They had returned to their respective rooms, showered, and eaten a breakfast of whole-wheat toast, poached eggs, and fresh fruit with yogurt dressing that Josh had asked to be delivered to his terrace.

Now he asked, “You're sure you don't mind if I leave you to play golf with Terry?”

She minded greatly that he was leaving her alone for the next several hours, but she looked up at him and smiled. “Go putt your little ball around the golf course. This is what I planned to do today anyway.”

He looked terrific, in white slacks, a navy blue knit shirt, and golf cleats. What rankled was mat she knew he looked even better without them in only a thin pair of running shorts. Her blood ran hot through her veins at the thought—and not because of the sun beating down on her back.

Her bikini provided little protection from the sun's burning rays. She had chosen it, hoping to begin a good overall tan. It was made of crocheted cotton yarn. The cinnamon color was almost the same shade as her hair, but without the copper highlights. Only the strategic parts of the bikini were lined with flesh-colored material. Narrow strips on the sides of her hips held the front and back triangles of the bottom piece together. A braided drawstring tied the miniscule cups of the bra between her breasts. Another tied behind her neck.

It would serve Josh right if she turned over and let him see the front, she thought wickedly. He might not be so eager to run off and play golf then.

Instead she shielded her eyes from the glaring sun and asked, “Will you do me a favor before you go?”

“Name it.”

“Without getting sand in your shoes, can you rub some of this sunscreen on my back? If I don't protect against a burn, I won't be able to move for the rest of the weekend.”

Dropping down beside her, he leaned over and growled into her ear. “That's no favor. That's a privilege. One I think most men would kill for.”

His hands smoothed the rich emulsion on her back with strong, massaging strokes. Working his way down from her shoulders, he went beyond the thin string to the small of her back. Under his magic fingers, she relaxed until a heavy languor anchored her to the blanket. The lethargy was banished the instant his fingers slipped beneath the bikini panty.

“Josh!”

“Hmm?”

“You're … you're putting sunscreen in a place that will see no sun.”

“Oh,” he said, his fingers gently kneading her firm flesh. “Well, you can't be too careful.”

That was something she would do well to remember, she reminded herself.

“Legs?” he asked softly.

“Uh, yes, I guess you'd better.”

Squeezing the tube, he drew long white worms of suntan lotion down the back of her legs. Both hands closed around her calves to rub in the lotion. A warm, secure sensation wrapped around her heart. But when he knelt between her ankles and leaned forward to rub the cream into her thighs, the erratic drumbeat of her heart began again. Its pounding echoed off the hard-packed sand beneath her, making her acknowledge and absorb her own agitation.

His fingers climbed upward, his thumbs pressing into the soft skin between her thighs. Like heat-seeking devices, they moved ever closer to the very center of her which throbbed achingly. Her skin emanated heat. Her nipples knotted with tingling desire. When he slowly withdrew his hand, she was left with an excruciating longing that begged to be assuaged.

“All done.” The unsteadiness of his voice matched her own uneven breathing.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Are you sure you'll be all right? We're a distance from the main building. Why don't you go to the pool? There'll be people around there.”

“I'm a big girl,” she said, propping herself up on her elbows before she realized how the position emphasized her breasts in the small bikini top.

“I can see that,” Josh murmured, his eyes feasting on the provocative display. He cleared his throat and looked abruptly away. “I'll be back as soon as I can. Save me a place on the blanket. And for my peace of mind, if you should go to the pool, please change swimsuits first.”

“Tell Terry hello for me, and have a good time.” She smiled brilliantly, but she was swamped with disappointment as she watched him stalk across the sand and over the lawn toward their quadraplex to pick up his golf bag.

Dismayed by her momentary sense of loneliness, she stared blindly out to sea. Then the sapping heat of the sun, the sound of the surf, and the gently caressing breeze lulled her to sleep.

“Am I disturbing you?”

Megan pried her eyelids apart and allowed a slice of bright sunlight to penetrate. “What?” she asked, rolling over and sitting up, groggy and disoriented.

“Were you asleep? I'm sorry,” the voice said.

As her eyes became accustomed to the glare of sunlight, the blurred image of Laura Wray came into focus. “Oh, hi, Laura,” Megan said self-consciously. She adjusted the straps of her bikini to provide herself with the maximum coverage. “I guess I dozed off, but I'm glad you awakened me.” She glanced at her shoulders and saw the unmistakable pink that could herald a sunburn. “If I'm exposed too long, I burn.”

“That's why I'm swathed in gauze like a mummy,” Laura replied, smiling from behind fashionably large sunglasses and the hood of a turquoise, ankle-length, long-sleeved beach coat. “Do you mind if I sit down?”

“Of course not,” Megan exclaimed, embarrassed by her lack of manners. She moved aside the articles littering the blanket, and Laura lowered herself gracefully down on it. “Would you like something to drink?” Megan offered, pulling the styrofoam cooler toward her. Terry had been foresighted to provided each room with one. “A cola?”

“Yes. I walked quite a distance down here.”

After handing Laura one of the canned drinks and opening one for herself, Megan gazed down the stretch of beach. No one else was in sight. “Did you come looking for me?”

Laura sipped the drink and shook her head. “No. I was merely strolling along the beach. When I saw you by yourself, I thought this was a good time for us to get to know each other better. I admire you for the position you hold. Ever since we arrived, I've heard people talking about the outstanding job you're doing at WONE.”

“Thank you, but I feel humbled by your saying that. I admire your writing immensely. It must be fabulous to travel all over the world and get paid for doing it.”

Laura shrugged and took another drink. “Yes, it is,” she said thoughtfully. “Especially if you don't have anything else to do—husband, children, that sort of thing. You're here with Josh.” She glanced up at the bungalow tucked among the pines.

Taken out of context, the two thoughts could seem unrelated, but, knowing Laura's history with Josh, Megan knew they were not. Why did she suddenly feel like the fallen woman confronting the saint? She had an impulse to cover herself, as though her near nakedness were obscene.

“N-not really
with
him. I'm overseeing Seascape's television advertising. Josh is their advertising agent.” Megan found Laura's steady stare disconcerting. For good measure she added, “I've known Josh for years.”

“Yes, I know,” Laura replied in a tone that indicated she didn't believe for one minute that their joint interest in Seascape and the length of their acquaintance were the only reasons behind their being together. “Your late husband worked for him. Josh often spoke of you when we—”

She broke off in mid-sentence, and Megan finished it for her. “When you were engaged to him?”

Laura became visibly upset. “How did you know about that? Did Josh tell you?”

Megan understood her alarm. Like any woman, she wouldn't want her past failures exposed to what she considered to be the competition. “No, no,” Megan said quickly. “Gayla Bishop mentioned it. I didn't know about it until last night.”

Laura looked relieved, but she laughed mirthlessly. “Few people did. We broke off before it was announced. Josh”—she paused to lick her lips, and Megan panicked, afraid that she was about to cry— “Josh had a change of heart.”

“That was beastly of him,” Megan said with more hostility than she had intended.

Laura's reaction surprised her. “Oh, no. No, it wasn't. I appreciated his honesty. If he hadn't been forthright with me, we would have married, become increasingly unhappy, and then divorced with far more folderol than a broken engagement caused.”

“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?