The Last Man on Earth (18 page)

He leaned over and pressed his lips to the smooth skin of her neck, skimming them across her jaw before fitting his mouth against her own. He tunneled his fingers into her hair and intensified the embrace, his breath quickening.

Madelyn relaxed into his arms, enjoying the firm warmth of his lips moving over hers, the solid width of his shoulder muscles as they flexed beneath her hands.

He was a skilled kisser. No sensible woman could complain about his technique.

Still, a vital part of her remained detached, her heart beating at its regular, steady speed. Acknowledging the lack within herself, along with the stinging nip of guilt that followed, Madelyn closed her eyes and poured herself into the kiss.

Almost immediately she regretted her action.

Taking her response as an invitation to deepen their level of intimacy, James slanted his mouth over hers in an act of uncompromising demand. His hand slid downward to find and cover one of her breasts, his earlier playful mood evaporating completely. He moaned and slipped open a pair of blouse buttons.

“James, we shouldn’t.” She turned her head away, reaching up to still his fingers. “Remember what we agreed?”

He buried his face against the fragrant curve of her neck and went to work on the spot with his tongue, his other hand delving up under her skirt.

She flattened her hand over his to stop him, shimmying sideways in an attempt to wedge some space between them. “
James, no
. You said we’d wait.”

Reluctantly, he straightened and blinked at her through hooded eyes. “I don’t want to wait.” He reached for her again.

Madelyn evaded him. “But you agreed, remember? I . . . I know it’s hard, but it’ll make our wedding night better.”

“Let’s go to the bedroom and make
tonight
better.”

“No, you promised.” Madelyn scooted to the far end of the couch and began fastening the buttons he’d undone. “You said you’d wait.”

He collapsed back against the couch, leaning his head along the top. “I must have been insane when I made that promise. It’s not like we haven’t been together before,” he growled.

“I know, and that’s why I want to wait. If we don’t, our wedding night will seem like any other night, nothing special. I want it to be special.”

Actually what she wanted was time. The full six months of their engagement to heal and forget, to purge a certain someone else from her mind for good. Given that time, she felt certain she could enter into her marriage with a whole heart and never look back, never regret. Once she became James’s wife, being intimate with him again would feel right, feel good. She wouldn’t have to pretend.

James peered at her out of narrowed eyes. “You’re not having second thoughts, are you?”

“No, of course not,” she evaded. “I love you and I want to be with you. But we’re going to have the whole rest of our lives to make love. What’s another two months?”

“An eternity, according to the lower half of my anatomy.” He groaned and closed his eyes in a silent plea for strength. “But you’re right. As stupid as it was, I did promise, and if it’s what you want, we’ll wait. Even if it kills me,” he added under his breath.

“Thank you, James.” She smiled and leaned toward him.

He held out a hand to ward her off. “No, don’t touch me, not for a while, probably the rest of this evening.”

“All right.” She folded her hands primly into her lap.

“So . . . um . . . did you finish addressing all the wedding invitations?” he asked, deliberately steering them onto an innocuous topic.

“Yes, all three hundred of them, and another two hundred for the reception. My wrist is still sore, even though Mother and Ivy helped me out.”

He began to relax. “Did the caterer call your mother back?”

“He did, but he couldn’t find enough of that champagne you suggested. He thought we should substitute the ’fifty-seven.”

“Not from that vineyard. Tell him to try . . .”

•   •   •

“You’re needed in Phoenix next week for the Giatta XJL shoot. I already told Stephanie to book your reservations.”

Madelyn regarded Larry from her seat on the opposite side of his desk. “You know this isn’t a good time for me to travel. I have three other accounts finishing up next week. Accounts I need to be here to oversee.”

“Peg can pick up the slack on those. This is more important. Giatta is filming on location. You’re needed there.”

“I know Giatta’s filming on location. I’m the one who set it up. The director is very experienced, though. He’ll be fine on his own. If there are any problems, he has my direct office line and my cell number.”

“Look, I can’t change it. The decision’s already been made. Giatta’s president, Giancarlo Leonelli, has decided to be at the shoot in person. He’s using it as an opportunity to combine business with pleasure, as the saying goes. Apparently, he fell in love with golf on his last trip to America. Since he’ll be visiting the U.S. again, he wants to golf and he wants to meet you. So you’re going to meet him.”

“Have him come to New York. I’ll meet him here.”

“He’s not stopping in New York. You’ll meet him there.”

She wanted to tell him no, she couldn’t possibly, not with all the wedding preparations to complete—for both her own and Peg’s, whose ceremony was now less than three weeks away. But she knew better than to even whisper the word “wedding” in Larry’s presence. And any other argument she offered would be turned aside, a useless waste of breath.

“Fine,” she said. “I’ll meet him there. If there isn’t anything more, I have a meeting in fifteen minutes.” She rose from her chair.

“Oh, just one other item. Douglas will be traveling with you.”

“What!”
She couldn’t help the squeak in her voice. “Why?”

“Because in the big picture, Giatta’s still his show. The company wants you both in attendance.”

Madelyn bristled, genuine affront camouflaging the dread spreading like poison through her veins. “I’m perfectly capable of handling this account on my own. I don’t need a babysitter.”

“Then don’t think of him as one. Mostly he’ll be there to smooth your way with Leonelli. I guess the two of them get along like a house on fire. He asked expressly for Zack to tag along.”

She stayed silent, too busy digesting the staggering news.

“Is it going to be a problem? Working with Zack?” Larry tapped his pen on the desktop as he waited for her answer.

With the exception of their one unplanned exchange that late summer evening so many weeks ago, she and Zack had barely crossed paths. In many ways, it was as if nothing had ever happened between them. And to her everlasting relief, as far as the office was concerned, nothing had. To others, she and Zack were the same odd mix of oil and water they’d always been.

She wanted to tell Larry that she would rather be coated with honey and staked out in the blistering noonday sun on top of a desert anthill than accompany Zack Douglas on an out-of-town business trip. But work was work, and if she planned to continue on at F and S, she supposed she would have to learn to deal amicably with Zack.

This trip would be a good test, she reasoned, a chance to prove to herself that she was finally and totally over him.

She rarely thought of him these days, as her mind was filled to overflowing with wedding plans and James and the lovely future they would soon make together. It was time to put her past with Zack behind her, once and for all.

“No,” she said. “It’s not a problem.”

And in that instant, it was the truth.

M
adelyn gave her order to the waitress, then leaned back against one of the comfortable white wicker chairs provided by the Scottsdale resort hotel where she was staying.

She looked out beyond the carefully landscaped grounds to the manicured plains of thirsty green that made up the adjoining golf course complex. Past that to the desert, with its hard-packed earth and rough, rocky slopes; cacti dotted the raw hills like soldiers, armed and at the ready.

Nearly iridescent, the sky was vivid with striations of peach and violet and magenta. She couldn’t remember ever having seen a more beautiful sunrise, a more breathtaking day.

Yesterday morning, she’d left James behind in a cold, gray New York drizzle with a warm kiss and a promise to call. Her business trip was expected to last three days.

Three days juggling work, desert heat, and Zack Douglas.

She could handle it. A simple matter of keeping all the right balls in the air.

The waitress returned and slid breakfast in front of her: orange juice, hot tea, fresh fruit, and a basket of assorted breads and pastries. Madelyn didn’t have time for anything more elaborate.

In forty-five minutes or less, she needed to be in her rental car, on the road, headed north to the private ranch where the commercial shoot was scheduled to take place. Already, the crew was there setting up cameras, reviewing last-minute script changes, working with the professional stunt driver hired to climb behind the wheel of the new Giatta XJL model.

She chose a blueberry muffin, poured tea into her cup, and was about to dig in when a shadow fell across the table.

“Morning, Madelyn.” Without waiting for an invitation, Zack pulled out the chair opposite her and sat down. “Sleep well?”

He looked fresh and vital, his dark hair neatly brushed and still damp from his morning shower. His teeth gleamed white against his tan complexion, his eyes blazing with an enigmatic green light.

What does he want?
she wondered.

Madelyn kept her features even and ignored the increased thud of her pulse. “Very well.”

“All the quiet kept me on edge,” he remarked. “Too used to the big city, I suppose.”

He didn’t look the least bit sleepy to her.

“Maybe some coffee will wake you up,” she suggested. “Why don’t you have some?
At one of the other tables.
” She swept a hand out to encompass the nearly empty dining room. It was too early yet for most of the hotel’s guests to have ventured from their beds. “There are plenty of tables available.”

“I told the hostess not to bother seating me. I said I’d share with you.”

“Tell her you’ve changed your mind. I’d like to eat my breakfast.”

“Go ahead. Eat.”

“Alone,”
she drawled meaningfully.

He leaned back in his chair, making no effort to leave.

She sighed. “What do you want, Zack?”

“That coffee you mentioned for starters. Then some food. All I had time for last night was a quick burger on my way between airports. I skipped the cardboard they serve in flight. I’ve been starving since about three this morning.”

“Poor baby,” she cooed with false sympathy, slicing her muffin in half with a sharp thrust of her butter knife.

“Coffee?” The waitress appeared at Zack’s elbow, her mood far more chipper than the last time she’d stopped by Madelyn’s table.

He held out his cup and flashed her a smile. “Yes, thanks.”

She batted her lashes and darted her eyes up to his several times while she poured. “What can I get you?”

You, perhaps?
Madelyn thought on a sour note as she watched the exchange.

“Eggs over easy with a side of grits and a bagel, if you can scare one up. With cream cheese. And hey, I’m pressed for time this morning. Would it be a lot of trouble to have the kitchen rush my order?”

“Not at all. I’ll make sure they zip it right through.” She pitched him another giddy smile, then hurried off to the kitchen.

“It’s shameless the way you use that.” Madelyn took a careful swallow of tea, returning her cup to its saucer with a sharp clink.

She watched him pretend not to understand her meaning, his face the picture of innocence. “Use what?”

She refused to be drawn by his bait and glanced down at the weave pattern on the tablecloth. “You wanted something, Zack? What is it?”

•   •   •

Zack gazed at her for a long moment, drinking in her beauty as she sat in the clear morning sunlight.

You,
he thought in answer to her question.
I want you
.

He kept his expression bland and shifted sideways in his chair to hide his sudden arousal. He hadn’t actually stopped by her table to seduce her. Although he couldn’t seem to keep from thinking about doing just that whenever she was near him for more than five minutes.

But he’d had his chance with her. He’d made his decision. And she’d made hers by agreeing to marry another man.

He picked up his coffee cup. “I wanted a chance to talk to you in private. It occurred to me that you might have wondered if I had anything to do with the decision to accompany you on this trip. I didn’t. It came as much of a surprise to me as I’m sure it was to you.”

“And?”

“And seeing that we are here, I thought it would make both our jobs a great deal easier if we put aside our personal difficulties and worked together as professionals.”

“I am always professional, and as far as personal difficulties, I know of none that will interfere with my work. Whatever former . . . arrangement we had with each other, that’s in the past. It’s no longer important, certainly not to me.”

His jaw stiffened. He willed his muscles to relax before curving his lips into a relaxed, friendly smile. “Good. Then you won’t mind if we drive out to the set together?”

She glared at him. “Don’t you have a rental car of your own?”

“Yes, but it seems a waste for both of us to travel separately when we have the same destination. Why not share one car and save the company some money?”

“I had no idea you could be so frugal. I’ll have to remember to put you in for one of those employee awards. You know, the kind they give out to the thrifty little Boy Scouts who salvage used paper clips and dig barely scratched binders out of the trash.”

Zack tossed back his head and laughed. “You have a real gift with language, Red, you know that? One of the reasons you’re so damned good.”

“What are you up to, Zack?” she demanded again, eyes narrowed.

“Nothing. Honestly.” He sighed. “I just thought it might be nice if we could get along while we’re here. Three days. Two and a half, really, since I’m leaving late on Wednesday afternoon.”

She studied him for another long, considering moment. “And that’s all?”

“That’s all. Really.”

“Well, I guess it is only three days. Two and a half,” she corrected. “I suppose I can be civil and friendly to anyone for two and a half days.”

“Even me?”

“Yes, even you,” she said with a smile.

They shared a moment of warmth and camaraderie, the kind they hadn’t shared in a very long time. Then the waitress arrived with Zack’s breakfast and shattered the mood.

“Better eat up,” he suggested as he tucked into his eggs. “They start shooting in an hour.”

She glanced at her watch. “Less than an hour.” Pushing aside the last niggling threads of caution, she stabbed a fork into a piece of cantaloupe and began to eat.

•   •   •

The first day’s shooting went well.

Giatta’s president, Giancarlo Leonelli, arrived around eleven, roaring toward the set in a sleek black luxury sedan—his own company’s design, of course—trailing a plume of dust in his wake, kicked up off the unpaved desert road.

A lean, dark man of medium height and middle years, he had a fondness for Cuban cigars and attractive women, emerging from the car with one of each in hand.

His companion, a leggy blonde with a voluptuous Sophia Loren figure, paused for a dramatic moment in the piercing Arizona sunlight to slip on a pair of sunglasses and a stylish wide-brimmed hat. Only then did she deign to join the others already assembled.

Introductions made, Leonelli monitored the proceedings for a time from the shade of a temporary awning. Puffing his cigar in silent consideration, he watched the shoot while the blonde lounged in a nearby chair.

By early afternoon, the heat became oppressive and the director decided to shut down production. Work would conclude tomorrow.

Before he left, Leonelli conferred with Madelyn and Zack, suggesting they meet him and his blonde companion, Nathalie, later for dinner and drinks.

Located about ten minutes from the hotel, in a quiet section of Phoenix, the restaurant Leonelli chose was a small but elegant Greek establishment where he dined whenever he was in town. Done in white and blue with pretty little curtains, neat wooden tables, and authentic Grecian decor, it was rather like stepping into another country. Even the scents in the air were different, exotic, mysterious, delightful.

Madelyn liked it immediately.

She gave Zack an easy smile as they were shown to their table.

He’d been true to his word today. Both of them had, burying their past under a comfortable layer of professionalism. She didn’t know when it had happened, but their agreement seemed to have smoothed away the worst of her nervous edges.

This trip might work out all right,
she told herself. The trick was to keep the focus on business and steer any other conversational gambits into safe, neutral waters.

The talk moved along at an easygoing pace while they feasted on a delightful assortment of appetizers followed by crisp salads dressed with feta cheese, kalamata olives, and a tangy Greek vinaigrette.

They were finishing their main course—Madelyn had selected a succulent roast lamb with tender baby vegetables—when Nathalie turned and spoke to Leonelli in a quick rush of Italian.

He’d explained earlier that although Nathalie understood a bit of English, she had little facility for speaking the language. She was far more comfortable using him as an interpreter, an indulgence he was happy to grant.

Leonelli focused on Madelyn. “She wants to know if she might have a closer view of your ring?”

Madelyn placed her fork on her plate. “My ring? Oh, of course.” She held her hand out to the other woman, who leaned forward to see.

“Do you play golf, Signorina Grayson?” Leonelli chewed a bite of moussaka.

“Madelyn, please.” She smiled.

He swallowed politely. “Madelyn.” He waited for her answer.

“No, I’m sorry, I don’t. My father tried to teach me years ago, but I fear I wasn’t the best of students. I concentrated my efforts on tennis instead.”

“Tennis is too hot and exhausting, all that sweating and chasing, and for what? A fuzzy little ball.” He gave a dismissive gesture. “Golf is much better, a refined sport. You will play a round tomorrow, no? With Zack and me. Four o’clock. Now that you are a woman grown, you will like it as you did not as a child.”

“Quanto bello,”
Nathalie pronounced, beaming and nodding her appreciation for the close-up view of Madelyn’s ring.

Madelyn returned the smile.

“So, you will golf?” Leonelli persisted.

“Of course she will, Giancarlo.” Zack nudged Madelyn’s foot under the table. “Won’t you, Madelyn?”

Barely, she kept herself from growling at Zack. “Four, is it? The filming should be concluded by then. I’d be delighted to join you. Just don’t expect too much.”

“We will spot you a few extra strokes, and Zack can help you with your swing.”

“I can take care of my own swing, but thank you for the suggestion.”

Leonelli looked back and forth between the pair of them for a long moment, then let out a hearty chuckle. “Independent American women.”

Nathalie interrupted him with another spate of Italian.

“She wants to know when you marry?”

Madelyn addressed her reply to Nathalie. “The wedding is in December, the twenty-seventh, just after Christmas.”

Leonelli relayed the answer and another question. “She says she loves weddings. You send her a picture.”

“All right. Of course,” Madelyn agreed with a smile.

“She says too that you make such a beautiful couple and she knows you will be very happy together. Whatever little spat you’ve had, you must forget tonight and make it up in bed.”

Madelyn’s eyes widened in shock. “You think that Zack and I . . . ? No, she misunderstands. He and I . . . we only work together. We aren’t getting married. I’m engaged to another man.”

Clearly surprised, Leonelli relayed the information to an equally surprised Nathalie. “She apologizes for the mistake. You seem like two people in love; that is all. Well, perhaps we should think about dessert.”

•   •   •

Feet planted in the short, clipped grass, Madelyn focused her energy on the small white ball beneath her.
Concentrate,
she told herself.

Line up the shot.

Swing the club.

And on the downward pass imagine the ball is Zack’s head, centered smack-dab, right there on the tee.

Madelyn drew in a deep breath and lifted her club.

Whap
.

The ball sailed in a clean, fast arc out over the fairway. Long and high, traveling, traveling, until it lost momentum and dropped onto the turf. After a pair of bounces, it rolled, quick and true, straight into a sand trap.

Damn, she hated this game. And it was all Zack’s fault. Him and his opinionated foot.

She should have kicked him a good one last night for nudging her into this—literally—and used her heel to mash a couple of his toes in the bargain. She should also have been independent enough to have refused Leonelli’s offer with a firm, polite,
Thank you, but no, thank you. I don’t play golf.

Instead, here she was, trapped. Not only in this viciously numbing game, but with Zack as well.

Ever since that dreadful moment last night when she’d been forced to explain it wasn’t Zack she was marrying, she’d been on edge again. Whatever control she believed she’d gained over the situation, whatever ease, had vanished completely in that instant. She still didn’t know what that blonde, that Nathalie, thought she’d seen. Certainly nothing in her. There was nothing to see, not any longer.