Diana Palmer - Man of the Hour: Night of Love; Secret Agent Man

S teven Ryker paced his office at Ryker Air with characteristic energy, smoking a cigarette that he hated while he turned the air blue in quiet muttering. A chapter of his life that hed closed the door on four years past had reopened, leaving his emotional wounds bare and bleeding.

Meg was back.

He didnt recognize his own fear. It wasnt a condition hed ever associated with himself. But things had changed. Hed gone through a period of mourning when Meg had walked out on him to begin a balletic career in New York. Hed consoled himself with woman after willing woman. But in the end, hed been alone with the painful memories. They hurt, and because they still hurt, he blamed Meg. He wanted her to suffer as he had. He wanted to see her beautiful blue eyes fill with tears, he wanted to see pain on that exquisite face framed by soft blond hair. He wanted consolation for the hell shed put him through by leaving without a word when shed promised to be his wife.

He put out the cigarette. It was a habit, like loving Meg. He hated both: cigarettes and the blond memory from his past. Hed never had a woman jilt him. Of course, hed never asked a woman to marry him, either. Hed been content to live alone, until Meg had kissed him in gratitude for the present hed given her when she turned eighteen. His life had turned over then.

Their fathers, hers and his, had become business partners when Meg was fourteen and her brother, David, just a little older. The families had developed a closeness that tied their lives together. Meg had been a sweet nuisance that Steven had tolerated when he and David had become best friends. But the nuisance grew up into a beautiful, regal woman whod melted the ice around his hard heart. Hed given everything he was, everything he had, to Meg. And it hadnt been enough.

He couldnt forgive her for not wanting him. He couldnt admit that his obsession with her had all but cost him his sanity when she left. He wanted vengeance. He wanted Meg.

There would be a way to make her pay, he vowed. Shed hurt her leg and couldnt dance temporarily. But that ballet company she worked for was in real financial straits. If he played his cards right, he might yet have that one magical night in Megs arms that hed dreamed of for years. But this time, it wouldnt be out of love and need. It would be out of vengeance. Meg was back. And he was going to make her pay for what shed made of him.

M eg was already out of humor when she went to answer the phone. Shed been in the middle of her exercises at the bar, and she hated interruptions that diverted her concentration. An injury had forced her into this temporary hiatus at her family home in Wichita, Kansas. It was hard enough to do the exercises in the first place with a damaged ligament in her ankle. It didnt help her mood when she picked up the receiver and found one of Steven Rykers women on the other end of the line.

Steven, the president of Ryker Air, had been playing tennis all afternoon with Megs brother, David. Hed obviously forwarded his calls here. It irritated Meg to have to talk to his women friends at all. But then, shed always been possessive about Steven Ryker; long before she left Wichita for New York to study ballet.

Is Steve there? a feminine voice demanded.

Another in a long line of Steves corporate lovers, no doubt, Meg thought angrily. Well, this one was going to become a lost cause. Right now.

Whos calling, please? Meg drawled.

There was a pause. This is Jane. Who are you?

Im Meg, she replied pertly, trying not to laugh.

Oh. The voice hesitated. Well, Id like to speak to Steve, please.

Meg twirled the cord around her finger and lowered her voice an octave. Darling? she purred, her lips close to the receiver. Oh, darling, do wake up. Its Jane, and she wants to speak to you.

There was a harsh intake of breath on the other end of the line. Meg stifled a giggle, because she could almost read the womans mind. Her blue eyes twinkled in her soft oval face, framed by pale blond hair drawn into a disheveled bun atop her head.

I have never! An outraged voice exploded in her ear.

Oh, you really should, you know, Meg interrupted, sighing theatrically. Hes so marvelous in bed! Steven, darling?

The phone was slammed in her ear loud enough to break an eardrum. Meg put a slender hand over her mouth as she replaced the receiver in its cradle. Take that, Steven, she thought.

She turned and walked gingerly back into the room David had converted from the old ballroom into a practice room for his sister. It didnt get a lot of use, since she was in New York most of the year now, but it was a wonderfully thoughtful extravagance on her brothers part. David, like Meg, had shares in Ryker Air. David was a vice president of the company as well. But the old family fortune had been sacrificed by their late father in an attempt to take over the company, just before his death. Hed lost, and the company had very nearly folded. Except for the uncanny business acumen of Steven Ryker, it would have. Steve pulled the irons out of the fire and made the company solvent. He owned most of it now. And he should, Meg thought charitably. Heaven knew, hed worked hard enough for it all these years.

As she exercised, Meg felt wicked. She shouldnt have caused Steve problems with his current love. They hadnt been engaged for four years, and shed long ago relinquished the right to feel possessive about him.

Pensively she picked up her towel and wrapped it around her long, graceful neck, over the pink leotard she wore with her leg warmers and her pitiful-looking toe shoes. She stared down at them ruefully. They were so expensive that she had to wear her old ones for practice, and anyone seeing her in them would be convinced that she was penniless. That was almost the truth. Because despite the shares of stock she held in Ryker Airthe company that Stevens father and Meg and Davids father had founded jointlyMeg was practically destitute. She was only a minor dancer in the New York ballet company shed joined just a year ago, after three years of study with a former prima ballerina who had a studio in New York. She had yet to perform her first solo role. Presumably when she passed that landmark, shed be higher paid, more in demand. Unless she missed a jump, that was, as she had a week ago. The memory was painful, like her ankle. That sort of clumsiness wasnt going to get her any starring roles. And now she had the added worry of getting her damaged tendon back in shape. The exercise, recommended and outlined by a physical therapist, was helping. But it was torturously slow, and very painful, to exercise those muscles. It had to be done carefully, too, so that she wouldnt damage them even further.