The Last Man on Earth Page 23

  “You mean adding bimbos to the ads?” she shot back.

  “They aren’t bimbos; they’re actresses.”

  “You can call them that if you want. I’ve seen the old Giatta ads. No doubt it takes a great deal of acting talent to get a set of D-cups to jiggle just the right way. In fact, it gives me a great idea for a Fourth of July campaign. We could attach little sparklers to their—”

  “Madelyn,” he cut her off with a warning growl.

  She faced him, hands on her hips. “Don’t ‘Madelyn’ me, not after this. Meeting behind my back with my client. Making a deal you had no right to make on one of my accounts. And then having the nerve to tell that client to keep it a secret from me. I knew you could be low, but not this low. Even snakes crawl higher.”

  The elevator reached her floor; the doors opened. “Normally, I’d wish you a pleasant evening,” she said, “but under the circumstances even that seems too good for the likes of you.”

  He moved, blocking the doors with his shoulder. “We’re not done with this, Madelyn.”

  “We are as far as I’m concerned,” she declared, marching past him into the carpeted hallway. “I’ve heard more than enough of your lies and excuses. I don’t need to hear any more.”

  His temper flared, and without stopping to think, he charged after her. “What lies? And what excuses? All I’ve been trying to do is explain. If you’d calm down for two seconds and quit overreacting, maybe I could.”

  “Overreacting?” She rounded on him. “Me? Overreacting? You stick your big nose into my business and I’m overreacting? You wouldn’t say that if I were a man.”

  “I wouldn’t need to—if you were a man.”

  “No, because if I were, we’d be outside right now beating the living daylights out of each other. If I’d done to you what you did to me, you’d be furious. Admit it.”

  In another time and another place, he might have conceded her point. But right now, he wasn’t in the mood to admit anything, most especially not to her. He opted instead for silence, giving her a steely-eyed glare and a pugnacious upward thrust of his chin.

  She tossed him a disgusted look, flung up her arm and spun away.

  He pounded after her. “Look, the XJL ads may have been assigned to you, but Giatta is still my account and Giancarlo is still my client, whether you like it or not. He came to me this morning with his concerns, not to you, and since he wanted them addressed, I addressed them.”

  “You had no right to address them. What you should have done was send him to me.”

  “And if I had, what would you have done differently? Once Giancarlo gets something in his head, not even a nuclear attack can dislodge it. He’s as bullheaded as they come. He wanted the ads changed and he wasn’t leaving my room until he got that change.”

  Madelyn arrived at the door to her room, turning to face him. “Whether I would ultimately have agreed to Leonelli’s stipulation is not the point. The point—the one that you, Zachary Douglas, refuse to see—is that the XJL account is mine, not yours. You had no business agreeing to anything concerning it. Not without consulting me. Not without my say-so. I might have expected that sort of cavalier treatment from one of the other men at work, Larry or Mark, but I didn’t expect it from you. No matter what’s passed between us, I thought you had a bit more respect for me as an equal, as a professional. It seems I was mistaken.”

  He didn’t like the look of betrayal in her eyes. The hurt she couldn’t entirely hide. More particularly, he didn’t like the way that look, that hurt, made him feel.

  Her hand trembled as she shoved the wafer-thin bit of plastic that passed for a key into the electronic lock on her door. She yanked it back out so hard, the key nearly snapped in half.

  “Madelyn . . .”

  She closed her ears to him and pushed into her room. When he came in after her, she spun around. “How dare you come in here uninvited. Get out!”

  “I had no idea you’d be this upset. I didn’t mean to hurt you—”

  “Hurt me? Please,” she scoffed, “you haven’t hurt me. To do that, I’d have to feel something for you, and I don’t, not anymore. It’s only your actions that offend me. Including that ruse of yours, coming to me claiming you wanted us to get along. How did the line go? Civil and friendly. That’s right, civil and friendly, when all you really wanted to do was soften me up enough to drop my guard and give you the advantage.”

  “And exactly what advantage would that be?” He moved forward, forcing her to take several steps backward.

  Defiant, she held her ground, arms planted squarely on her hips. “You know exactly what. Your plan to make my work on this campaign seem unimpressive enough that Fielding will decide to hand the entire account back to you. From the beginning you’ve complained about how I stole Giatta from you. This is your way of getting even.”

  “You know, that’s not a bad plan, if I’d thought of it. Which I didn’t. You have the most incredibly convoluted mind, twisting motives and coaxing schemes out of thin air. You know what your problem is, Red? You think too much.”

  “No, my problem is you. You interfering in my life, finding ways to cause me trouble at every turn. I’m tired of it and I’m tired of you. I want you out. Now.” She thrust a finger toward the door.

  “Or what?” He crowded close, forcing her back, pinning her against the wall. “What will you do? You know, for a woman who claims she feels nothing for me, you’re awfully passionate.” He met her eyes and held them, then stroked a finger over the flushed curve of her cheek.

  She trembled, the heat inside her turning from anger to a fire of another sort. “Get out,” she repeated.

  “But then you always were passionate,” he breathed. “It’s one of the first things I noticed about you, back when you made it a profession not to notice me. All that pent-up fire, that carefully controlled need, that longing, battling to get free. When you were with me, there wasn’t any need to keep it bottled up anymore, was there? When we were together, you stopped thinking about all the things you’re supposed to want and need and simply existed. Simply felt. What is it you feel now? What is it you want? This?” He skimmed a knuckle over the fullness of her lower lip, his touch nearly a kiss. “Is it this?”

  She could have escaped if she’d really tried. She knew he wouldn’t have stopped her. She pressed her hands flat against the wall. Pressed her body backward as if she could sink into the wallpaper itself, and fought the storm of desire that raged within her.

  Relentless, Zack went on. “Does he set you free, Madelyn? When he touches you, does your mind go numb? Does he make your spirit soar?”

  She lost herself in his eyes.

  “Does he make your body sing?” he whispered.

  She trembled and knew she could not lie. “No.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Without thinking, without wanting to think, she swept her arms around him and pulled his head down to hers. She kissed him, devouring his mouth, sucking at his tongue, urgent and greedy, showing him the way she longed to be taken.

  Zack needed no urging, as hungry for her as she was for him.

  The pins popped from her hair as he thrust his hands into it, combing through the fiery mass before wrapping it around one wrist to pull her head back so he could lay siege to her neck, her breasts.

  She slipped her arms up inside his shirt, yanking the material out of her way to touch the hard heat of his back. Trace the breadth of his wide male shoulders, tunnel her fingers into the short curling hair covering his chest.

  She bit at his lower lip.

  He bit back, playful yet intense. Then suddenly he was tearing at her clothes, too impatient to wait a single second longer than he had to.

  She gasped as he ripped her shirt in two, then did the same to the lacy cups of her bra, letting her breasts spill out into his eager hands. He fondled them, drawing a ragged m
oan from the back of her throat as he touched and rubbed and tugged in exactly the right way, exactly as he knew she liked.

  He ground his mouth against hers as he went to work on the fastenings of her pants. Shuddering, she did the same for him, taking him hot and ready into her hand.

  She was naked except for the scraps of cloth dangling from her shoulders. He lifted her high, pinning her against the wall, spreading her legs apart to drive himself deep.

  Madelyn bucked and cried out as his entrance pushed her over the edge, the massive climax roaring through her with the fury of a hurricane, sending her spinning and floating, to leave her clutching him as if he truly were her only lifeline.

  He thrust into her, his movements a rhythm as ancient as time, reigniting the spark within her.

  She stroked her hands over him and buried her face against his neck, drinking in his scent, his texture. The slick, heated feel of sex, raw and elemental. And the sounds. The words she couldn’t control. Spurring him on, daring him to take both of them as high as they could possibly reach.

  And as he promised, he sent her soaring. He set her free. Filling her to the brim with more than just his body. Completing her in a way no other man could, or ever would be able to, complete her.

  Then she forgot everything, even how to think, as he rocked them both to crisis, fitting his mouth over hers to swallow her cry of completion, to let her drink in his own hoarse shout of release.

  Slowly, when enough air had returned to their lungs to breathe, he let her slide to the ground and helped her to stand on unsteady legs. He brushed the last remnants of her clothes from her shoulders, then took her face between his palms and kissed her—long and slow and sweet. They both were trembling by the time he led her to the bed, where they slipped between the sheets for more.

  • • •

  Night was the color of molasses when she awakened, her head pillowed on Zack’s shoulder, his arm wrapped just below her throat.

  She lay for a while, relaxed and quiet, listening to him sleep. Aware how right, how complete, she felt.

  And how wrong.

  Guilt chewed at the edges of her conscious mind. She did her best to push the feeling aside.

  There would be plenty of time for regrets later on.

  He roused not long after with a yawn and a shivery stretch, then turned to press a kiss to her temple, his evening beard rough against her skin.

  She said nothing, wanting him to speak first, hoping she wouldn’t be disappointed with his words.

  She was.

  “I’m starving.” He ran a hand down the flat of his belly. “You suppose it’s too late for room service?”

  She sat up. “I think they serve until two a.m.” She got out of bed, crossing to a low bureau to find the menu. She tossed it to him on her return. “Order me something, nothing greasy. I’m going to take a shower.”

  She came out of the bath a long while later, bundled in a yellow terry-cloth robe and thick cotton socks. Her hair was dark with wet and combed neatly down her back. The food had arrived, set up on a small table near the window.

  Zack sat in one of the two available chairs, dressed only in pants, his chest and feet bare. A late-night television talk show droned on the TV.

  He turned the volume down low. “Did you run all the hot water out?”

  “Every last drop, I think.” She slipped into the chair across from him and lifted the lids from the plates on her side of the table. Spinach salad with strips of grilled chicken and a bowl of tomato soup.

  “It was that, pasta Alfredo, or some sort of sandwich,” he said.

  “This is fine. Perfect, in fact.” She dipped a spoon into the soup to sample it. “Still hot.” She ate another spoonful, only then realizing how hungry she was. A basket of rolls sat in the center of the table. She chose one and broke it in half. “And what are you putting in your cast-iron stomach?”

  “A Reuben. It came with French fries, but I ate them all while you were showering.” He took a big bite of his sandwich and chewed.

  The low buzz of the television filled the silence for a few minutes as they ate.

  Finished with his meal, Zack wiped his fingers clean on a red cloth napkin, then poured himself a second cup of coffee. “When are you going to tell him?”

  “Tell who what?” She speared up a forkful of spinach leaves.

  “You know, your fiancé, about us. You’ll have to give him that ring back when you break it off.” He wanted to tug the damned thing off her finger right now but knew she’d ruffle up if he started making aggressive demands.

  Madelyn paused and drank some ice water; then she set her fork aside. “What makes you think I’m going to break off my engagement?”

  It took him a moment to register what she was saying. He scowled. “What happened between us tonight makes me think that.”

  “And what happened? We had sex. We’ve had sex before. Did it mean something more to you this time? If it did, you certainly haven’t said so.”

  He scowled harder, emotion turning his eyes dark. “Of course it did. It always means something . . . when it’s with you.”

  He rose from his chair and paced the floor like a caged animal. “I want you, Madelyn. I want things back the way they were before. It was good between us. It can be good again. Move in with me. Come live with me.”

  “Live with you?” she repeated weakly.

  “Yes. I’ve missed you, missed us. I know you want something more permanent, but marriage . . . well, I just can’t do marriage, not again.”

  She closed her eyes against the temptation to relent and give him what he wanted, tears collecting behind her lids. She forced them away, forced her eyes to dry. She’d promised herself she would not cry. Not again. Never again over him.

  “Can’t or won’t?” she challenged, then sighed in resignation when she read his look. “We’ve had this argument before. We can’t agree and nothing’s changed.”

  Frustrated, he smacked a fist into his palm. “But you can’t marry him.”

  “I can and I will,” she assured him sadly, “unless you give me a good reason why I shouldn’t.”

  “I’ve given you a reason, the best reason. Because you don’t love him, that’s why. If you did, you wouldn’t have spent the last few hours in that bed with me.” He pointed behind him to the evidence, the rumpled sheets, the flowered spread that had been kicked to the floor. “You don’t belong with him.”

  “Then who do I belong with? You? For how long, Zack? How long until you decide it won’t work between us and you leave? Because deep down you’ve already decided, haven’t you? That’s why you don’t want to marry me, because forever to you is something that just doesn’t exist, something that can’t exist. You expect to fail before you even start. And what happens to me when you decide it’s over? When you pick up and move on to some other woman? I’ll be alone and I’ll have given up other things I want. Precious things—a home and a family, a man I can grow old with, who’ll someday see the wrinkles of age and love me despite them.”

  “You’d find someone else,” he said. “You wouldn’t have a problem.”

  But he would, he acknowledged, fire burning in his gut at the thought of her with another man.

  Any other man.

  “And I would have hurt James, my friend,” she went on. “A good man who really loves me. If I leave him now, he won’t take me back.”

  “What about tonight? Don’t you think he’d be hurt if he knew about us?”

  She flinched, his words a knife in her heart. “He would be very hurt. Are you going to tell him?”

  I could, he thought. There would be a certain satisfaction in it, showing his rival who truly held the upper hand. But it wouldn’t change what was wrong between him and Madelyn; all he would gain was her hatred.

  “No. I won’t tell him.”

 
“Thank you,” she said on a quiet sigh of relief.

  She worried her fingernail over a nubby spot on her robe. “Zack, what we did tonight. It was wrong and should never have happened. James loves me and I’ve paid him back with betrayal. I’ve made promises, not only to him, but to my family and friends, to people who want what’s best for me.”

  He knelt down in front of her and took her hands. “They may want what’s best, but you are the only one who can decide what that is. It’s not too late to call off this wedding, you know.”

  She lifted a hand to thread her fingers into his hair, so soft and dark. She loved the feel of it against her skin.

  Slowly, she leaned forward and kissed him tenderly on the lips, pulling away before he could turn it into more than a brief touch. She slid her hands free of his. “You broke my heart once. I can’t let you break it again. If you don’t love me enough to want to try for forever, then please go away. Please stay out of my life.”

  He hung his head, still kneeling before her. And for the first time since he’d been a boy of ten, he wanted to cry. Standing heartsick and mute as he’d watched his mother pack a suitcase in the middle of the day. While he’d stood helpless and lost as she hurried from the house without explanation, without so much as a good-bye, leaving only the echoing slam of the screen door and the screech of car tires behind her.

  A few simple words and Madelyn would stay. All her warmth and sweetness would be his for the taking. He only had to say the words, tell her what she needed, what she wanted, to hear.

  He swallowed, his voice raw with emotion. “I’m sorry, Red. I just can’t do it. I can’t marry you.”

  Slowly he stood, gathered his belongings, and left.

  • • •

  The last leaves of October drifted from the trees, leaving bare November branches to usher in cooler days and skies turned sullen and gray with clouds. Heavy clothes and warm coats were brought forth in place of lighter attire. The toasty insides of homes and offices and schools took on a more welcoming aspect, if for no other reason than the shelter such buildings provided.