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Authors: Sandra Brown
Tags: FIC027020
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insouciance surprise her? This kind of thing must happen to him all the time.
Indeed, his voice was breezily unaffected when he said, “I wouldn't think of missing the gala opening of the resort, Terry. Thank you.”
“It wouldn't be nearly the event it's going to be if we hadn't had your help, Josh,” the developer said to him with a respect that nauseated Megan. He turned to her. “Megan, can you make that weekend with us?”
“I—I don't know,” she said. If Josh Bennett was going to be there, she certainly wouldn't attend. She'd think up a reasonable excuse later. Now she only wanted to leave. “I'll have to check it out with the station's management. You can send my invitation to the office. Now if you two gentlemen”—she shot a disparaging look in Josh's direction—“will excuse me, I'm meeting another client for dinner.” It was another lie, and Josh's arched eyebrow told her he knew it. “Good night,” she said, sailing out of the projection room with what modicum of dignity was left her.
She hurried down the hallways, deserted now save for a few diehards—like James had been.
Go home to your wife, your husband, your family. Don't give that man the best of yourself. He's not worth it,
she wanted to shout to them. She raced across the elegant lobby as though escaping a torture chamber.
Later, she didn't even remember the trip home. For once impervious to the traffic, she had driven automatically, her mind cemented oh the minutes she had spent alone with Josh. The moment she stepped into her house, she felt the emptiness like a tangible presence, like a shroud blanketing her, smothering her.
“It's his fault that I'm alone,” she said aloud in fury and defeat. Were it not for Josh Bennett, she'd still have a husband, maybe even a baby or two by now. She had him to thank for the loneliness in her life. Still he fed on her like a scavenger. When would he consider her picked clean?
He had stolen her husband from her even before his death. James had never belonged to her the way he had belonged to the Bennett Agency. Josh had taken away her dignity by obtaining her job for her. That she'd been unaware of his machinations didn't matter. How many people knew that Josh had secured her job for her? Was she laughed at behind her back? Did everyone think she'd asked for his help? And what did they think she'd done to get it? She shivered as she undressed in the air-conditioned bedroom—but not because she was cold.
Now Josh Bennett was robbing her of self-respect. Each time he touched her, she became like warm, malleable clay molded to his will. Shame washed over her as she recalled how she had arched her body up to his, how her mouth had opened to him.
“I hate him, despise him,” she sobbed, gathering her pillow close and bending her knees to her chest in an attitude of self-protection. The pillow blotted salty tears from her cheek.
Don't cry. Megan, don't cry.
“No, no.” She protested the memory of his compassionate words. She didn't want to remember the gentleness with which he'd pressed her against him, the tenderness of his hands, the sweetness of his lips. Trying to conjure up an image of a hard, calculating man, she failed. The only picture that came to mind was Josh's concerned expression as he cradled her cheeks and lifted her mouth to his.
“No,” she repeated, deeply anguished.
She hated him more than ever, yet only now would she admit to herself the true reason. Since the night they'd met, she had never been able to banish him from her mind. Tenaciously he remained. And he wouldn't be exiled now.
For two days Megan didn't communicate with either Josh or Terry Bishop. She received only a brief report from Jo Hampson. “Terry said you liked the commercials. That poor man's so uptight. If Seascape doesn't open soon, he's going to have heart failure. Thanks for filling in for me the other day.”
“Glad to do it,” Megan said with what she hoped was a sincere smile. “What
Indeed, his voice was breezily unaffected when he said, “I wouldn't think of missing the gala opening of the resort, Terry. Thank you.”
“It wouldn't be nearly the event it's going to be if we hadn't had your help, Josh,” the developer said to him with a respect that nauseated Megan. He turned to her. “Megan, can you make that weekend with us?”
“I—I don't know,” she said. If Josh Bennett was going to be there, she certainly wouldn't attend. She'd think up a reasonable excuse later. Now she only wanted to leave. “I'll have to check it out with the station's management. You can send my invitation to the office. Now if you two gentlemen”—she shot a disparaging look in Josh's direction—“will excuse me, I'm meeting another client for dinner.” It was another lie, and Josh's arched eyebrow told her he knew it. “Good night,” she said, sailing out of the projection room with what modicum of dignity was left her.
She hurried down the hallways, deserted now save for a few diehards—like James had been.
Go home to your wife, your husband, your family. Don't give that man the best of yourself. He's not worth it,
she wanted to shout to them. She raced across the elegant lobby as though escaping a torture chamber.
Later, she didn't even remember the trip home. For once impervious to the traffic, she had driven automatically, her mind cemented oh the minutes she had spent alone with Josh. The moment she stepped into her house, she felt the emptiness like a tangible presence, like a shroud blanketing her, smothering her.
“It's his fault that I'm alone,” she said aloud in fury and defeat. Were it not for Josh Bennett, she'd still have a husband, maybe even a baby or two by now. She had him to thank for the loneliness in her life. Still he fed on her like a scavenger. When would he consider her picked clean?
He had stolen her husband from her even before his death. James had never belonged to her the way he had belonged to the Bennett Agency. Josh had taken away her dignity by obtaining her job for her. That she'd been unaware of his machinations didn't matter. How many people knew that Josh had secured her job for her? Was she laughed at behind her back? Did everyone think she'd asked for his help? And what did they think she'd done to get it? She shivered as she undressed in the air-conditioned bedroom—but not because she was cold.
Now Josh Bennett was robbing her of self-respect. Each time he touched her, she became like warm, malleable clay molded to his will. Shame washed over her as she recalled how she had arched her body up to his, how her mouth had opened to him.
“I hate him, despise him,” she sobbed, gathering her pillow close and bending her knees to her chest in an attitude of self-protection. The pillow blotted salty tears from her cheek.
Don't cry. Megan, don't cry.
“No, no.” She protested the memory of his compassionate words. She didn't want to remember the gentleness with which he'd pressed her against him, the tenderness of his hands, the sweetness of his lips. Trying to conjure up an image of a hard, calculating man, she failed. The only picture that came to mind was Josh's concerned expression as he cradled her cheeks and lifted her mouth to his.
“No,” she repeated, deeply anguished.
She hated him more than ever, yet only now would she admit to herself the true reason. Since the night they'd met, she had never been able to banish him from her mind. Tenaciously he remained. And he wouldn't be exiled now.
For two days Megan didn't communicate with either Josh or Terry Bishop. She received only a brief report from Jo Hampson. “Terry said you liked the commercials. That poor man's so uptight. If Seascape doesn't open soon, he's going to have heart failure. Thanks for filling in for me the other day.”
“Glad to do it,” Megan said with what she hoped was a sincere smile. “What
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