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

“That’s lucky for me then,” Ana said, hoping she might be part of the reason for his cooperative mood.

“I really didn’t think that being published would have so much ‘peripheral responsibility,’” he said, making air-quotes with his fingers.

“Being published is one thing, but when you have two best-sellers in a row, and rumors abound that a third book is in the works, the ‘peripherals’ escalate. But I promise to make this as painless as possible.” Ana felt compelled to look deeper into his eyes, to be sucked into those whirlpools of ocean blue and learn instantly who this man was at his core. Those eyes could get a girl into serious trouble, she thought.

The desire astonished her, but it was quickly countered by the feeling that she was entering dangerous territory and should temper herself. “Don’t worry about me being a little worse for wear due to the rain. I’m relatively dry, all but my boots.” She leaned sideways, looked down at them and said, “They don’t look too bad. And you’ve basically given me your evening. You could have been home, wherever that is, reading by the fire with your trusty retriever sleeping at your feet and a whiskey on your side table.”

“Wait just a minute! Sounds like you’re describing an old man’s evening. How old do you think I am?” Ben sat back, put his hands on the edge of the table, and made a pretense of being annoyed.

“Oh gosh. Sorry. No, not old at all. It was just a picture that came into my head. Frankly, it looked like a scenario I would enjoy, especially on a night like this. I think your age is a matter of record, somewhere, but I didn’t research that fact ahead of time because to me it isn’t that relevant. It’s the work that interests me.”

“Well, since you covered yourself so well on that subject, I’ll tell you. I’m thirty-nine for another two months. Then I plan to have the proverbial mid-life crisis, maybe a few years early, and move to an island where I’ll live in seclusion and produce absolutely nothing.”

“Wouldn’t that scenario require a ‘comely island girl’ to keep you company?” As soon as the words were said, she realized it was flirting and ordered herself to rein it in.

“Hmmm. I hadn’t considered that part of it.” Ben paused for a moment, unable to avoid the picture in his mind of Ana filling the role of comely island girl. He sighed and continued. “Maybe I should rethink the seclusion part. Maybe a sportier car would do the trick.” His thoughts seemed out of control. Now he envisioned Ana beside him in that sports car, her abundant hair blowing wildly, her laughter increasing in tandem with the car’s speed. He quickly returned to the present and said, “I hope that last bit was off the record.”

”Oh yes. We haven’t even started yet and it’s nice to keep it casual for a while. I won’t quote you on anything until I tell you that I’m officially interviewing. And I’ll be asking you if you mind my using a tape recorder … just for the purpose of complete accuracy.”

“I understand that’s the way it’s done now. I’ll just have to remember to ‘edit’ before the fact, not after. But I still don’t see myself as interesting enough for a printed interview. It’s my characters that people must like … or a plot that takes them to places they may never see. I think it’s wise to create a story line that appeals to a variety of people, and sometimes, to their fantasies of one kind or another.”

“Well that sounded like a good quote, but since we’re still in neutral mode here, do your best to remember it when the time comes. And before we become further acquainted, or whatever we’re doing here, I would love a brandy to warm body and soul.”

Ben leaned back against the leather booth, looked up at the ceiling and shook his head. “Apologies for the bad manners. I was caught up in our conversation once we sat down, and I didn’t even think about it. We’ll get you a brandy, but I think I’ll just stick to beer.”

He caught the waiter’s eye and ordered warm brandy for Ana, and a sleeve of ale for himself. In spite of the pub being crowded, the service was fast, and soon the drinks were placed before them, along with a bowl of pretzels. Ana held the warm snifter with both palms and brought it to her mouth as if it were a bowl of café-au-lait. She let it barely touch her lips, enjoying the warmth and the brandy’s rich aroma. Flickering light from the candle on the table reflected onto the brandy-kissed lips of her partially open mouth. Ben rather shocked himself with his sudden desire to lick the brandy from those perfect lips and transfer it to her mouth with his tongue. He also felt the need to shake such libidinous thoughts from his head and get a grip on reality. All he could do was to shut his eyes tightly for a minute and try to will away the images.

Unaware of his wishful thinking, Ana kept her mouth near the rim of the glass and looked squarely at him. She didn’t know what the expression on his face or the tightly closed eyes were saying, but it seemed as though something had disturbed him. She was sure she had caused no offense during their conversation, so she let her curiosity slide and continued to sip the brandy. She would never have guessed that with each sip, Ben would be both plagued and pleasured by his vision of licking and sucking the brandy from her lips and letting his tongue dance with hers in passionate kisses. He couldn’t remember if there had ever been a time when a woman had affected him so quickly, or had made him feel so strongly those sensual preludes to