The Last Man on Earth Read online

  He took her hands in his. “I’m not. It’s actually very appealing. Shall I let you in on a little secret of my own? You make me nervous too.”

  “I do not.”

  “Here, feel.” He placed her right hand against his chest, over his heart, and held it tight.

  Beneath her flattened palm, she could feel the muscle beat, hard and quick.

  “See how fast it’s pounding?” he said. “Just like a drum.”

  “That doesn’t prove you’re nervous.”

  “It proves I want you, and that’s enough to make any man nervous.”

  He caught hold of her other hand and brought it up to join its mate, flattening them both against the soft wool of his sweater.

  “Why is it,” she murmured, “that I always end up in my underwear when you’re still completely dressed?”

  “Happy coincidence. But the next time I come out of the bathroom, I promise I’ll be in my briefs. Or better, nothing at all. In the meantime, why don’t you help me rectify the situation?”

  “Undress you, you mean?

  He released her hands and spread his arms wide. “I’m all yours. Please be gentle.”

  She laughed, a bit of her tension easing. “I’ll do my best.”

  Slipping her fingers beneath the waistband of his sweater, she pushed the garment up and over his head, tossing it sideways onto one of the armchairs.

  Drawn as if by some magnetic force, she ran her hands over his beautifully sculpted torso. Next she traced his muscled arms and broad shoulders, admiring their width and masculine grace. He shivered when she moved lower and touched his flat stomach before heading south to the snap of his jeans. Heat rose from him, pure male animal and something else, something totally, uniquely Zack.

  She bent to unlace his boots, drawing them from his feet, and afterward his socks. She set them neatly aside.

  His eyes were blazing by the time she straightened.

  “Do the rest,” he ordered, his tone gruff, the rock-hard bulge in his pants proof of his response. “Do it now.”

  She eased open the zipper, then slid her hands inside, connecting with warm flesh as she shoved his jeans and briefs off his lean hips, down his thighs. He kicked the denim aside.

  His hips bucked when she took him into her hand, finding him as hot and sleek as velvet. As she touched him below, she leaned forward to kiss his chest, his nipples.

  Groaning, Zack clenched her hair in his fist and pulled her head back, savaging her lips, turning her world to flame. She heard something rip and realized with a wild kind of shock that he was tearing her underwear from her body. Shredding the material, bra and panties both, into useless scraps.

  Then she was naked and there was no time to think at all as he pulled her to the bed and down. His hands were everywhere, touching her with an impatient fury she matched with a mindless savagery of her own.

  Lifting her up and over, he impaled her, driving himself deep, deeper than she’d thought it possible to go. And then they were surging together, flesh beating against flesh, sounds of their breathing harsh in the air as they struggled to find completion.

  It took her first, the climax, with a cry she heard but didn’t recognize as her own, slamming her up and back in a brutal undertow that left her dazed and quivering as she came down on the other side.

  He kept up the rhythm, giving new life to the tiny aftershocks reverberating inside her body, bringing her along and once again to completion.

  Only then did he find his own.

  Panting, replete, they settled in a tangle of limbs while they waited for the world to stop spinning.

  With a smile on her lips, she gradually sat up. Astride him, she stretched her arms over her head, twisted at the waist, then leaned forward to plant her hands against the flat of his chest.

  “Guess what?” she said.

  “Can’t. My brain’s too fried,” he muttered, eyes closed.

  “My nerves are settled, just as I figured they would be. In fact, I feel great.” She bent down and kissed him with a lusty sweep of lips and tongue. “How soon do you think you’ll be ready to help me settle my nerves again?”

  He pinned her with an arch look. “Sooner than you might imagine if you keep bouncing around like that.”

  Madelyn laughed and bounced some more.

  • • •

  It was full dark before they came up for air. And food. Both of them ravenous.

  The inn had no room service, so they forced themselves to get dressed and wander down to the restaurant for a meal. Then it was back to their room to sleep and make love, which they tackled with eager enthusiasm.

  Sunday afternoon arrived in what seemed the blink of an eye; then it was time to go home.

  Packed and checked out, Zack walked Madelyn out to her car.

  Taking her keys, he opened her car door and loaded her bag into the backseat. “I guess I’ll see you at work tomorrow. We have a department meeting, don’t we?”

  “Yes, ten o’clock.”

  She’d had the freedom to touch him at will during the past twenty-four hours. It was going to feel odd slipping back into their old routine.

  As if he read her mind, Zack told her, “Just steer well clear of me, like you always do. And if it can’t be avoided, give me that look. You know, the one that could strike a cockroach dead at a hundred paces. No one will suspect a thing.”

  “It isn’t people in general I’m worried about. It’s Peg. She has a real knack for ferreting out information, and she knows me way too well. If I suddenly stop complaining about you, she’ll wonder what’s up.”

  “Then don’t stop.”

  Madelyn thought about it for a moment and smiled. “All right, I won’t.”

  “You don’t need to look so pleased by the prospect.” He took her hands, rubbing his thumbs over her palms as he brushed her lips with a kiss. “Until next weekend, then.”

  She nodded. “Yes, next weekend.”

  But that time already seemed so far away. Too far away. She hadn’t had nearly enough of him, not yet.

  She surprised them both a moment later when she dragged his head down and crushed her mouth to his for a long, intense kiss that left her breathless.

  “Wow.” Zack took a moment to steady himself. “Sure you don’t want to check back in? We could both call in sick tomorrow.”

  Tempting, she thought, definitely tempting. She stroked a palm over his smoothly shaven cheek and gave him one last, lingering kiss. “Bye.”

  She turned, climbed into her car, and drove away.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “Here, try this.” Peg placed a paper napkin containing a thin, oval-shaped wafer near Madelyn’s elbow.

  Madelyn eyed it, deciding the color looked nasty enough to take a bite out of her. It was a particularly virulent shade of yellow, bright enough to outshine a fleet of school buses.

  “What is it?” she questioned in a wary voice.

  “The new product from Carmichael Foods. That’s part of the sample they sent over.”

  Madelyn picked the thing up with the same care she might have exercised around a letter bomb, then turned it over slowly, front to back to front.

  She lifted an eyebrow. “Cracker?”

  “Chip.”

  She gave it a tentative sniff. “Really?”

  “That’s what the package said.”

  “Have you tried one?”

  Peg had on her poker face. “Yes, but I want your unbiased opinion.”

  “Why do I get the feeling I’m being set up?”

  Peg settled into the visitor’s chair next to Madelyn’s desk, her expression still giving nothing away.

  Madelyn braced herself. “Well, here goes.” She popped it into her mouth and chewed.

  Her gag reflex kicked in a second later.

 
Peg passed her a napkin.

  Madelyn took it and spat, going so far as to wipe off her tongue before she grabbed the bottle of water she kept on her desk. She drank and drank, wondering if the taste would ever go away.

  “My God,” she gasped, “that’s the worst thing I’ve ever tasted.”

  “That was my reaction too,” Peg agreed.

  “And you let me eat it!”

  Peg gave a mildly apologetic shrug. “I wanted to make sure it wasn’t just me.”

  “It wasn’t, I assure you. Did they test market these things?” She couldn’t bring herself to call them chips; they were an insult to corn and potato products everywhere.

  “Yes, according to the information forwarded with the sample, they were well liked, particularly by males aged twelve to sixteen.”

  “I don’t believe it. Rats wouldn’t eat that stuff. Or even teenage boys. And I’m supposed to come up with an ad campaign? I can see it now.” Madelyn lifted a hand to frame her imaginary slogan. “New! Ipecac in a Bag—the crunch will make you lose your lunch. Oh, or how about this? A bulimic’s best friend, no fingers required. I should have known there was a catch to having this account handed to me, since Mark Stinson lands most of the snack food and soft drink stuff.”

  “I know. Funny how his schedule became mysteriously overloaded.”

  “Yeah, right. Well, we’re stuck now.” Madelyn slumped back in her chair. “Obviously someone should tell Carmichael Foods their product’s a disaster, but if we do—”

  “The client will be unhappy,” Peg finished.

  “Exactly. And if we proceed with the ad campaign and the product tanks, which it will—”

  “The client will be unhappy.”

  “Not to mention the lead balloon response here at F and S.”

  The two of them shared a moment of gloom.

  Peg tapped a polished nail on the corner of Madelyn’s desk. “Larry should be the one to tell them.”

  Madelyn snorted. “Larry wouldn’t tell a mouse it was brown unless it snarled and held him at gunpoint.”

  Peg snickered. “That sounds like something Zack would say, only cleaner.”

  “Please, don’t make this worse by mentioning that man. Don’t even so much as whisper his name in my presence.”

  The first of the ads for Takamuri Electronics had hit the airwaves a few days before and were an acknowledged triumph. Rumors were percolating that Zack was in line for a substantial bonus.

  “Sorry, Madelyn.”

  Peg looked so remorseful that Madelyn felt a stab of guilt. She hated lying, especially to Peg. Although thinking about that particular account did raise her blood pressure to dangerously high levels.

  Not because of Zack, though; not any longer. Since their revealing discussion about the Takamuri deal, she’d absolved him of any wrongdoing. Still, she couldn’t afford to share her change of heart with Peg. A few well-chosen questions from that direction and the jig would be up, her affair with Zack out in the open.

  “Hey,” Peg said, “I know what you need. Why don’t we all go out for drinks? I’ll call Linda and Suzy. It’s been weeks since the last time.”

  Eight weeks precisely, Madelyn thought, since before Christmas, since before Zack. “That sounds like fun, but I can’t, not tonight.”

  “What—? You got a hot date or something?”

  Or something, she thought, since she couldn’t exactly call what she and Zack did together dating. More like hot bouts of incredibly satisfying marathon sex. And if she was going to be ready for another round tomorrow night, she needed her rest. “No . . . um . . . my cat, Millie, she’s sick. I have to take her to the vet.”

  “Oh, I hope it’s nothing serious. She’s such a sweet kitty.”

  “She’s been off her food a little lately. It’s probably nothing, but I want to make sure.”

  “Well, of course you do. We’ll make the rounds another night.”

  “Definitely.”

  Jesus, Madelyn thought after Peg left, now I’m lying about my cat—another source of guilt, since she barely saw the poor animal these days.

  Lately, she’d taken to dropping her off at a neighbor’s apartment for the entire weekend so the cat wouldn’t be lonely. Luckily Mrs. Strickland, an elderly widow who loved animals but whose son discouraged her from keeping any, delighted in entertaining a furry houseguest.

  What had this affair with Zack done to her?

  She’d always been such an honest person. Now she was a liar and a sneak. Frankly, she’d never expected their liaison to last this long. Five weeks—six, if you counted that first time on New Year’s Eve. You’d think they’d be getting sick of each other by now.

  But Zack seemed as hot for her as ever. And when she was with him . . . well, there was no other place she wanted to be.

  In fact, the longer they were together, the more they seemed to want each other. Just thinking of him now, and the weekend to come, had her glowing with anticipation.

  At five o’clock she left for home, detouring briefly to pick up a load of dry cleaning. Once inside her apartment, she made dinner and, while it cooked, spent some quality time with Millie, eliciting long, rumbling purrs of contentment.

  She was just sitting down to eat when the phone rang. “Hello?”

  “Hi. It’s me.”

  Zack. His voice was as familiar as her own these days.

  “Hi, me,” she teased. “What are you doing?”

  “Packing.”

  “For tomorrow?”

  “Unfortunately, no. I was ready to head home tonight when I got pulled into a last-minute meeting. Apparently there are some problems with the Rhinebeck shoes ad. I won’t bore you with the numbing details, but the long and short is I have to fly to Dallas tonight. Chances are good I’ll be there through the weekend. I’m sorry, Madelyn. I’m going to have to cancel our plans.”

  “Oh.”

  “Believe me, I wish I didn’t have to go, but it can’t be helped.”

  “I understand,” she said, hiding her disappointment. “It’s fine. Rhinebeck is a major account. If there’s a problem, then of course you need to take care of it.”

  “It was my week to make the arrangements for us. I’ll switch them around for next weekend, if that’s okay?”

  “Sure, that’ll be great. What time’s your flight?”

  “Nine thirty.”

  “La Guardia or JFK?”

  “Kennedy. They have a nonstop that goes straight to DFW.”

  “Oh, well, good.” She could offer to take him to the airport, she thought. No, she couldn’t. They didn’t have that sort of relationship, and it would violate their agreement to keep what existed between them a secret.

  “Have a good trip, then,” she said.

  “You’ll be okay?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Ruined plans for the weekend, that’s all.”

  “I’ll recover. I have plenty of things I need to take care of.”

  “All right, then. I’d better be going.”

  “Yes, you don’t want to miss your flight.”

  “I suppose not. I’ll see you when I get back.”

  She listened to the drone of the dial tone for a few seconds, then hung up.

  Her dinner was cold—curried chicken and rice sitting in a congealed yellow lump in the center of her plate. She considered warming it up but tossed the unappealing glob down the disposal instead, turning the switch on, then off again with an irritated snap.

  She wished now she hadn’t refused Peg’s offer for a girls’ night out. Friends and conversation were exactly what she needed.

  Opting for the next best thing, she pulled a quart of ice cream out of the freezer—caramel chocolate fudge—and plowed ferociously into it with a long-handled spoon. Whoever’d said you had to drown your sorro
ws in booze had never eaten this.

  • • •

  The package arrived at four thirty in the afternoon on Wednesday by special courier. Her thoughts elsewhere, Madelyn carelessly scribbled her name on the signature line to accept the delivery.

  She nearly set the envelope aside to open later, then changed her mind at the last second. She didn’t get a lot of packages by courier, and her curiosity was piqued.

  There was no return address. She flipped it over, but there was nothing remarkable on the reverse—it was just an envelope, small and plain.

  Its inside was a different story.

  The envelope contained a key card, the plastic kind that opened an electronic door lock, together with a note.

  Meet me at the Hyatt. 7:00 tonight. Room 2511. I can’t wait until the weekend.

  The note wasn’t signed. It didn’t need to be.

  Zack was back.

  Excitement raced through her bloodstream. She hadn’t heard from him since he’d left for Texas last week, and hadn’t really expected to.

  Word was, problems with the shoot—primarily issues with the Olympic track star hired to run in the ads—were taking longer to solve than expected. She’d even started to think he might be held up for another weekend, but obviously he’d managed to resolve the situation and return home.

  And the first thing he’d done was arrange to rendezvous with her.

  Technically, he’d broken the rules, the ones the two of them had agreed to follow. From the start, they’d said there would be no personal contact between them at work. No notes or e-mails. No phone calls or smoldering glances. If they didn’t do anything suspicious, there would be nothing for anyone to notice.

  Yet she felt no irritation that he’d contacted her at the office. She couldn’t wait for the weekend either. Not now that he was back.

  Madelyn glanced at her watch.

  Four forty-five.

  If she left the instant the hour hand hit five, she should have time to dash home, take a quick shower, feed the cat, change into something attractive—and far more comfortable than the navy skirted suit she was currently wearing—and still make it to the hotel by seven.

  She slipped the key card into her purse, then wondered what she should do with the note.