Good Deed Bad Deed, Marcia Morgan [summer beach reads TXT] 📗

side. With their arms still entwined she straightened the leg closest to him, draping the other over his waist.

Once they had settled on the pillows facing each other, he gazed directly into her eyes and said in a near whisper, “Baby, for me that was worth the wait.”

“Perfection,” she said, uttering a sigh of satisfaction, followed by a smile.

Lying there quietly, wrapped together, neither interested in moving, a veil of serenity settled over Ana. Ben shifted slightly and rested his head against Ana’s chest, his ear touching the spot where he could hear the pulsing beat of her heart. Soon his breathing became slow, deep, and she felt his arm relax into the curve of her hip. Ben had been lulled to sleep by the heart he had promised not to break.

Ana’s serenity was short-lived. She remained wakeful, unable to surrender completely to the air of contentment that had settled over the room. The reality of all that had happened flooded her mind. Chance had set her on a path that was beyond her wildest imaginings. It was difficult to realize how one decision, a decision to help a man she’d just met, would lead her on an adventure that made every other experience in her life pale by comparison. Now that man lay sleeping in her arms, his every breath lightly touching the skin just above her beating heart. And she knew how close she had come—they all had come— to losing him, and that his loyalty had almost gotten him killed. Their relationship had evolved out of worry, danger and great risk. Were their intense feelings just a result of the constant adrenaline rush, and would the satisfied lust diminish his interest? Those were questions that couldn’t be asked.

After a while she had to shift her body. Ben stirred then opened his eyes. “How long was I asleep?” he asked.

“Not that long,” she answered, “but we have only a couple of hours before nightfall.”

“‘Nightfall’… Well there’s a word you don’t often hear.”

“I may have read it somewhere. But the only books I intend to read in the near future will be yours. At some point I hope you’ll tell me what you’re planning next.”

“Maybe,” he said, rolling away from her and stretching.

“Playing hard to get, huh?” Ana shifted then sat up against the pillows. “Anyway, right now all I really care about is food. Are you as hungry as I am?”

Ben answered by getting up and fetching the basket from the table. “A snack will keep us going for that sunset walk. We’ll eat something else later.”

* * *

In a short while the pair stepped out of the hotel and into the street, deciding which way to go. Ben took the lead, and they walked in the direction of La Plaza de Toros, the oldest bullring in Spain. Peaceful wandering was in sharp contrast to anything they had yet experienced in their relationship. They were charmed by the houses, some with terraces crowded by pots of blooming flowers, and others where abundant bougainvillea climbed up and over railings. A profusion of passionate colors swirled in the breeze like the ruffled skirt of a Flamenco dancer.

They continued to walk in companionable silence until Ben spoke. “If you can keep it under your hat, I’ll give you a verbal peek at that ‘next book’. You tried to quiz me about it on the first night we met.” Ana nodded yes and made a zipping motion across her mouth. “I’m going to use the story of how my grandparents met as a basis for the book… just a basic plot. I’ll fictionalize the rest— invent some mischief for the main characters. The setting? Spain. It was always going to be Spain.”

“Those details are just what I needed. Wish there was a way to use them, but as we know, I’m probably unemployed.”

“I knew I’d need to visit Spain again. It had been a long time. There are places I’d like to see either for the first time, or again, and some where I’d like to spend time— do the whole ‘find your roots’ thing. But the last thing I expected was to be here under these circumstances. Rather bizarre. I have to admit that starting another book seems distant right now.”

“I can understand that. But you will write it, when you’re ready. So tell me the story. What’s all this about ‘roots?’”

Ben took his arm from around Ana’s shoulders and instead, took her hand as they walked. “Well, first let me give you some back-story on my grandparents. My grandfather was a student at Cambridge— reading for the law. Alexander Wallace McKinnon— good old Scottish name.”

“So I see your middle name honors him?”

“Right. And I remember him being quite stern— a far cry from his youthful escapades.”

“Escapades, huh? Now I’m even more curious. Get on with it!”

“This is the way my father told the story to me: It was summer break from classes. He and his buddies decided on a lark to go to Pamplona and run with the bulls. I doubt his parents knew about that, or even where their twenty-year-old son was really going. They were traveling on a dime and managed to book a one-star hotel not too far from the center of things. Before leaving England they vowed to do the run together, all four, or not at all. On the first full day in Pamplona one of the guys got sick, either from too much drinking the night before, or some bad food. That created a three-day delay for all four of them.”

“I’d bet it was drinking,” Ana said, “That seems to be a priority while at university.”

“Maybe both. But while he was waiting for his friend to get better, my grandfather—let’s just call him Alex— wandered around, hung out in plazas, bars, and walked endlessly through the town.”

Ana pulled Ben toward a bench in the small plaza they were crossing, using tired feet as an excuse. As they sat there the lights came on around