Temptation's Kiss Read Free

Josh Bennett had further disturbed her peace. Still, she couldn't help but bask in a small light of pride that he considered her opinion worth so much. “Why would you tell him I'm so good?” she asked.
    “Because it's true. He trusts your judgment. As do I. At least in business matters.” She heard him stand up, and panicked when his footsteps came close behind her. “I'm proud of what you've accomplished.”
    “Well, don't be,” she said waspishly, whirling around. It alarmed her to find him standing so close. She had to tilt her head up to look at him. She'd forgotten just how tall he was. He always seemed to tower over her. Her husband, James, had been short, much more complementary to her petite height. If nothing else, Josh's sheer size terrified her. “I don't want to hear any patronizing praise for the poor little widow struggling in the cold cruel world,” she said. “Especially not from you.”
    “I'm not patronizing you, damn it. My people tell me that if they always worked with a sales force as competent as yours, they'd have no problems.”
    “Thank you,” she said stiffly, conceding to let him flatter the people working under her.
    “Why wouldn't you consent to see me after the funeral?” The unexpected question struck her in the heart like a bullet, opening up a wound that had refused to heal in three years. “You wouldn't return my calls. You didn't answer my notes. Why?” he demanded.
    She stepped away and glared up at him with undisguised hatred. “I didn't want to, that's why. I found your insincere bereavement at James's funeral ludicrous and wanted no part of your hypocrisy.”
    The muscles in his jaw flexed and hardened. The irises of his eyes glinted like amber glass. “When James collapsed in his office, I administered CPR myself. When that didn't work, I drove him to the hospital, not even waiting for an ambulance. I did everything possible to save his life. He was my good friend, my best employee. How can you reasonably say that I wasn't grieved by his death?”
    “Because you did your best to kill him.”
    “You know better than that, Megan.”
    “No, I don't. The long hours you demanded, brought on his coronary. He was thirty-five years old!” she shouted. “Men that age don't drop dead of heart attacks unless they're under intense, insurmountable pressure. I would think guilt alone would have made you too ashamed to come to the funeral, much less mouth your insincere platitudes to me afterward.”
    “Guilt?” His irregular eyebrow cocked over his eye. “Guilt over what? What's the real issue here, Megan?” Spoken softly, the question was all the more deadly. “I didn't force James to smoke five packs of cigarettes a day. I didn't insist that he take a different client to a three-martini lunch five times a week. It wasn't my fault that he didn't exercise. What do I have to feel guilty about?”
    Lord, she wished she'd never broached the subject. She couldn't—wouldn't—look at him. Did he know that her heart was thudding painfully against her ribs, that only part of her agitation was due to her anger over what they were discussing? He was standing so damn close! He smelled so healthfully masculine. Each time he spoke, she drew his breath into her body like a disciple of hedonism.
    “Nothing,” she said. “You don't have anything to feel guilty about. I only want you to leave me alone.”
    He leaned toward her like a jungle cat moving in for the kill. “What do I have to feel guilty about, Megan? We're not talking about the work James did for me, and we both know it. We're talking about the night before you married him.”
    “No!”
    “Yes,” he said, grasping her upper arm before she could turn away from him. “That's what all this animosity boils down to: those few stolen minutes in the summerhouse. After you and James were married, you avoided me like the plague. If you could help it at all, we never even saw each other. You've been angry ever since that