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

since that dinner we had weeks ago. She ended the evening abruptly. I must have done something wrong— who knows with Olivia. She can change moods in a heartbeat. I’ve left a few voice messages, but no response. I figured she’d get in touch when she was ready.” Ben got up and walked to the window and gazed out into the approaching darkness. He turned back, put his hands in his pants pockets, shrugged, and looked squarely at his parents. “Do you suppose you’re being punished too—by association?”

Ben’s parents looked at each other and shrugged as well. Hugh said, “Stranger things have happened. We are talking about Olivia, bless her heart. We’ll find out eventually. It won’t be the first time. All three of us share the responsibility for spoiling her.”

Paris countered with a defense for her daughter. “Olivia’s not a self-centered girl— she’s just rather mercurial. She cares about world situations, children and poverty. I know from what she’s said— that she has favorite charities and contributes what she can.”

“We’re not putting her down, Mum. We men just have a hard time figuring her out. She’s a unique soul. I knew that by the time she was ten— even before. Maybe it’s the creativity that sets the marching tune for her particular drummer.” His comment lightened the mood and the three shared the humor, not at Olivia’s expense but because they realized how much they loved her. Edith had left them a light supper, and following that, all agreed that it should be an early night.

Ben followed Ana upstairs, while his parents let Sir Freddie into the pantry to sleep and then secured the house. Ben walked Ana to the door of her room, where they stood talking a bit, Ben standing close to her as she leaned against the door. She impulsively looked up at him and found his remarkably blue eyes looking straight into hers. Without touching her Ben leaned down, lightly brushing his lips across hers before kissing her cheek. His lips lingered there, and again Ana was overcome by the now familiar flush coursing through her body. Her impulse was to take his face in her hands and kiss him, not on the cheek but on the lips, and in a way that would carry no doubt of intention. Ana was filled with passion in need of expression; however, she just smiled and touched his cheek with her palm. When he returned the smile, she looked down self-consciously. Something about the whole thing felt adolescent, but the sweetness of the moment made it remarkable. Without another word he turned and walked toward his room. When he reached the door she was still standing in front of hers. He looked back and said goodnight. The reasons for their reticence were clear: He didn’t want to seem too eager; she didn’t want to seem too easy.

Alone in their beds, imaginations ran rampant. Ben had resisted time and again, wondering if it were the right moment but then deciding there would be a better one. The waiting had become torture. The more time he spent in her company, the more he wanted her. Ana felt a sexual energy between them, but previous experience kept her from being overt in her signals to Ben. Both were aware that danger could be an aphrodisiac, and that when removed from that danger the attraction could diffuse, showing its lack of substance. Being burned by past relationships had made them cautious. Yet Ana realized that too much caution could be like missing the train to an idyllic destination. She truly hoped that Ben would at least buy a ticket.

* * *

Lyle Brett’s face revealed a dire need for sleep. He was pale, drawn, and licked his lips nervously as he scanned the flat’s sitting room to ensure it was tidy. Satisfied that all was as it should be, he zipped the jacket of his black velour athletic suit and prepared to leave. This casual look was a grand departure from the business suits that always seemed slightly too small. Also absent was the stiff demeanor he was known to present at his place of employment. Lyle was sliding into middle age and was no doubt the least athletic person ever to don such attire. But it did do him the favor of adding a few pounds to his spindly frame.

He collected the mobile phone and keys from the hall table, checked his appearance in the mirror mounted above, and made a hasty exit. Once on the street he decided against using public transport and stepped toward the curb to wave down a taxi that had most conveniently happened along. He slid into the back seat, not noticing the driver glance in his rear-view mirror and then stifle a snigger. Lyle gave the address of his destination and the man maneuvered into traffic. The afternoon rush was underway and caused him to check his watch constantly then mutter to himself. When they arrived at the building, he discourteously tossed the fare over the seat and got out as fast as he could.

As he slammed the door the driver leaned across and shouted, “Wanker!”

He ignored the affront and entered the building, briskly taking the stairs to the second floor. Number 2C was at the end of the hall and he knocked in rapid succession. A large man opened the door—at least he seemed large to Lyle, who was of much smaller stature. The man scowled at him and pointed out his tardiness.

“Traffic and a stupid driver,” he said by way of excuse. He puffed himself up then added, “You do know that I’m the one who’s heading up this project? A little respect if you please.”

The man grunted and turned away, stepping back into the flat as he said under his breath, “Royal prat.”

Lyle had never been good at making friends or a good impression—just the opposite. How he had obtained his position of responsibility was a mystery to his co-workers. His presence could