Model Behaviour. Tamara Morgan

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      Contents

       Cover

       Back Cover Text

      Dedication

       Title Page

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

       Chapter Six

       Chapter Seven

       Chapter Eight

       About the Author

       Copyright

       Chapter One

      “I’ll have the house salad, please. Dry. And tap water.”

      Livvie looked up, startled at the nonsensical words escaping her companion’s mouth. While she could understand the caloric necessity behind the occasional dinner of unadorned lettuce, no one ordered tap water at the Brick House. This place had some of the best—and strongest—cocktails in Manhattan. One drink, and you were likely to forget your date’s name. Two, and you forgot your own. Three, and there was a good chance you’d wake up in Vegas with a brand-new one.

      Not that Livvie had ever done such a thing. She liked her name perfectly fine the way it was.

      “I’m sorry, sir,” the waiter said. “Did you just order tap water?”

      “Yes, thank you. Let’s go crazy and add ice, shall we?” Impervious to the waiter’s raised brows, her friend Ben turned to her with a smile. This wasn’t his polite company smile, either. It was all hydrogen peroxide and enamel over there, a flash of blinding white she mistrusted in an instant. “What’ll you have, Olivia? You should get the sea bass.”

      She’d been planning on it—in fact, it was why she’d suggested this restaurant in the first place. She loved sea bass. As, she might add, did he.

      Understanding hit her at once, and she closed her menu with an exasperated laugh. “You jerk. You have another date after this, don’t you? A real one?”

      “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

      “You do too. I’m the appetizer—and not a very good one, either. I don’t even warrant a drizzle of balsamic reduction.”

      He didn’t lose his smile. If anything, it only increased in voltage. Ben had a way of doing that, of dazzling with his perfection. In addition to possessing teeth that belonged in a cosmetic dentistry ad, he had an array of features that looked as if they’d been hand-selected to maximize a woman’s pleasure. His tousled brown hair held the right amount of curl to sit elegantly on his head no matter how much moisture saturated the air. His jaw was a piece of chiseled perfection that always seemed to bear exactly eight hours of stubble. And she wasn’t even going to start on the business happening below his neck. This was a public place, after all.

      “You’re being paranoid,” he said, his voice deep and expressive. He had one of those, too—a voice that rumbled with laughter when he was happy, with sex at all other times. It was unfair for one man to possess so many appealing qualities, but Benjamin Meyers had been born under a lucky star. He’d been born under a whole sky of them. “Would it make you feel better if I ordered a wedge of lemon on the side?”

      “It would make me feel better if you ordered an enormous meal and hid it in your napkin like a gentleman.”

      He СКАЧАТЬ