Model Behaviour. Tamara Morgan
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not wasting any time with this one.”
“I got back this afternoon, technically.” He looked at his watch, his smile dimming as he reset it to Eastern Standard Time. If Livvie remembered correctly, he’d spent the past week in London, the week before that in Paris. A real estate developer with a wallet in every city, his travel itinerary put hers to shame—and she had enough frequent-flier miles to practically buy her own airline. “My flight didn’t get in until two. But you could say this date has been in the works for a while now.”
“Now you’re making me feel bad.” Although she’d been looking forward to this dinner with an almost giddy excitement, she was also aware of how precious Ben’s free time was. “We could have rescheduled. You probably need a nap more than anything.”
“I’ll sleep when I’m dead. I’d much rather spend my time on affairs of the heart.”
She was about to point out that his affairs had less to do with the heart than they did with an entirely different pumping organ when the waiter returned bearing her gimlet. He also handed over the tap water, which Ben held up in a toast. Since he didn’t appear to intend to lower his glass until she returned the gesture, she offered an obliging clink.
“To tap water,” he said.
“You’re in a weird mood tonight.”
“And salad.”
“How jet-lagged are you?”
“And the start of something beautiful.”
“Okay, now you’re being obscure on purpose.” She ignored the way his dark gaze held hers and took a drink, grateful when the high alcohol content of the vodka moved through her in a spreading warmth, a perfect distraction.
“Don’t you want to know her name?” Ben asked.
She stopped, her drink suspended in midair. “Why? Do I know her?”
“Yes. You could say you know her quite well.”
Alarm mixed with the alcohol in her gut, and she took another sip of the gimlet to fortify herself. Ben had never shown an interest in dating one of her friends before—and most of them wouldn’t take him up on the offer anyway. They were far too smart to bother with a man who refused to stay in one place long enough to actually grow attached. “Oh, really? Who is this mystery woman, and why did you come out with me if you’re so hot to trot her out? You know I don’t hold you to your promises. There’s a party at Le Bain I could have gone to instead.”
“I didn’t realize you operated under such a sense of obligation.” Ben set his glass down without taking a sip. Typical. He might order tap water, but he wouldn’t actually allow it to pass his lips. She was pretty sure he showered in Evian. “By all means, go to Le Bain. I’d hate to smother you with all my unwanted attention.”
“Don’t be such a drama queen. Of course I want to be here with you.”
“I can tell. Your scowl is especially charming this evening.”
She slapped on her best lipstick-ad smile, holding it in place long past the breaking point of the average person. She wasn’t a muscular woman by any stretch of the imagination, but she’d been modeling long enough she could practically do push-ups with her zygomatics.
“Much better. I feel like I’m looking at a picture.”
She gave in and laughed. One of her favorite things about Ben was that neither time apart nor his short attention span affected their friendship. They didn’t require regular contact or weekly chats to maintain their ties. She could be gone for months at a time and experience parts of the world she’d never known existed before, but the second she saw him smiling at her from across the room, it was as if nothing had changed.
Ben was timeless.
It was nice, having someone like that, especially since they didn’t seem to have to work at it. Five years had given her a pretty good glimpse at what went on inside his perfectly molded skull, and he was one of the few people who understood that her modeling career was a necessary part of her identity—not because she needed to be in the spotlight or photographed to be happy, but because nothing else fed her need for constant movement.
She was like a shark that way. Move forward or die. A decade spent jet-setting and striving to make her own way didn’t lend itself to long-term relationships with men, but Ben had always been different.
Thinking of those differences and how bleak her life would be without him, she softened and laid a hand on top of his, giving his fingers a reassuring squeeze. She’d be happy for him no matter who the woman in question was. “I mean it. If you have somewhere you’d rather be, we can do this later. I don’t want to stand in the way of your depravity with what’s-her-face.”
“Olivia.”
“What?”
“Olivia.”
“Yes. I’m sitting right here. You’re being weird again.”
He turned his fingers over so he was the one doing the squeezing. Even though Livvie knew for a fact his supple digits got regular manicures, there was a strength to his grip that no amount of pampering could hide. It was impossible to spend ten minutes in Ben’s company without being reminded how much of a man he hid underneath that well-groomed exterior.
It was a lot. There was a whole lot of man under there.
“That’s-her-face,” he said softly. “Olivia Winston. I believe you two have met?”
She snatched her hand away, her movements jerky enough to cause a splash of her drink to cascade over the rim of the glass. Since wasting such a precious commodity right now seemed like a bad idea, she brought her hand to her lips and licked the lime cocktail from her skin. There was no mistaking the way Ben watched her actions, his eyes following each flick of her tongue as if he’d do anything to trade places with her right now.
He wants to wear my skin.
Later, she would blame the alcohol for how long it took for the details to fall into place, since everyone knew gimlets from the Brick House deadened the senses and made idiots out of otherwise perfectly intelligent females. For right now, however, there was no denying it was his darkly expressive gaze that rendered her incompetent. More intoxicating than vodka, pulling her in like twin black holes, that gaze belonged to a man she didn’t recognize.
But holy hell, that looked like a man she wouldn’t mind getting to know.
He blinked and the look disappeared. So too did the mesmerizing spell he’d been weaving, and she shot out of her chair with a start. She stumbled to the nearest table, where a middle-aged woman with an impressive bouffant sat looking over the wine list. “Excuse me, ma’am—do you think I could see your menu for a minute?”
The desperation in her voice caused the woman to comply without a murmur of complaint, and Livvie didn’t bother sitting down as she looked over the menu prices, eyes scanning over dollar signs with a rapidly increasing pulse.
Oh, no. He wouldn’t dare. He knew better.
She handed the menu back with an only slightly shaking hand and inserted her best sashay as she returned to her seat. There was no need to let Ben see how much he was affecting her right now—it was best not to equip the enemy with any more ammunition than necessary.
And Ben was her enemy. If her suspicions were correct, he’d just declared out-and-out war.
“Call the waiter back right now and order real food,” she commanded. Instead of transforming her facial muscles into a smile this time, she allowed them to settle into her natural expression. The Olivia Winston the world knew by sight was famous for her resting bitch-face, had transformed her naturally surly expression into a comfortable living. Livvie literally got paid to glare at people. “I’m not kidding. Order the fig and prosciutto starter. Or get the wedge salad instead.”
“But I