“Firing your manager and your publicist….it sounds like you don’t like them much anyway. But, people will talk,” added Steve. “It may look like you’re throwing away your career.”
“Maybe I am.”
The three of them stood in silence after that, until Ben held out his hand. “So, do we have a deal?”
Lucas eyed him. “You know you’re like a brother to me. Of course I’ll help you. But, are you sure about this? All of it?”
Ben nodded. “It feels…right. Scary. But, right.”
Lucas grabbed his hand and shook. “Okay. Boss.”
They laughed, and headed down the dock back to On the Sound.
***
An hour later, Ben shut his cell phone with a final snap. It was done. He closed his eyes and took stock of how he felt. Mike’s true colors shone through as he laughed Ben off and said he was well rid of a washed up actor who would never get anywhere without an agent like him. How had he blinded himself to the sleaze that surrounded his now-former agent? Even worse, he’d tossed Artie—a good man—aside.
Ben sat up and gazed out the window down to the sea. He felt like one of the boats, bobbing up and down on the water, drifting. Without acting, what was there? He sat, brooding, as the late afternoon shadows lengthened. Before long though, his thoughts turned to the script he’d been noodling over, and he found himself debating character histories, potential plotlines.
Lucas and Steve’s voices mingled in the hallway, and he heard them clattering down the stairs. With an effort, he turned away from the window, and headed out to the sitting area. Who he really wanted to talk to, he realized, was Amy. She was someone who knew all too well what it was like to be heading along one path and suddenly find the rug jerked out from under you. And, her situation hadn’t been by choice. His had. Of course, there was the awkward matter of his drunken kiss. So, talking to her was out. At least until enough time had passed where she might have forgotten. No way was he bringing it up and calling more attention to his stupidity.
Two beers. That was his limit tonight, he reminded himself with a rueful grin as he grabbed his jacket. And, no more long thoughts. He might be drifting, but he was heading somewhere. Right? If not, he’d correct course.
Amy was just walking up the stairs as he exited his room.
“Good day?” she asked with a friendly smile.
“I think so.” Ben nodded. “I really think so.”
Her smile took on an edge of puzzlement. “Okay.”
He shook his head and laughed. “I wasn’t trying to be mysterious. Or, was I?” He arched an eyebrow and felt an absurd sense of satisfaction when she laughed. “Anyway, yeah, it was good.”
“Well, behave tonight. Or, don’t,” she said in the same sly tone he had used.
He waved and made it halfway down the stairs before he turned around on impulse. Be a man, Morrison, he told himself.
“Uh, Amy?”
She turned from the linen closet where she was stacking clean towels. “Yes?”
“I just...Uh.” He cleared his throat. “I’d like to apologize. For last night.”
“Last night?” She tilted her head. “What do you mean…oh, because you were all feeling no pain?” She waved a hand in the air. “Please. You’re on vacation, and you’re entitled to enjoy yourself.”
“Yeah. Actually, I was specifically apologizing for, you know. Kissing you.” It was extremely odd to find himself apologizing, for something not that long ago, most women would have been begging him to do.
Amy tilted her head back and laughed. “Oh God, is that all? You looked so serious I started to get worried that you’d done something truly horrible. Please. Don’t even give it another thought. I haven’t.”
“Okay.” Ben nodded, and jiggled the change in his pants pockets. “Great.”
Amy patted him on the shoulder. “You’re sweet. But, it was totally harmless. In fact, it was pretty funny. You can breathe easy.”
“Great.” Ben frowned. Clearly she wasn’t offended. Or mad. But, the fact that she genuinely didn’t seem to care, that she hadn’t thought anything of it...well...damn it. That was irritating.
“Now I can join the legions of women kissed by the famous Ben Morrison,” she said lightly. “I might put it on the hotel blog.” She winked.
“I wouldn’t say legions.”
“Hundreds, then.” She picked up sheets from the laundry basket and slid them neatly into a drawer.
“I’m not a playboy,” Ben retorted. “I don’t go around kissing random women.”
“Of course.” She sounded about as convincing as his last co-star. Her back was to him, but he could practically hear her eyes rolling. Picking up the now-empty laundry basket, she turned and patted his hand. “Have a good night.”
It was the pat—the second one, downgraded to his hand—that did it, he would think later. Or, maybe it was the patient, amused gleam in her eyes. It occurred to him as he moved in that this was stupid, that he was proving her point that he was, in fact, a playboy. But, it was too late. She smelled like fresh laundry and lemons, he had time to think before he touched his lips to hers and brushed lightly, once, twice, then changed the angle, deepened the kiss. And then, all thoughts evaporated, and it was simply her lips against his, her warm breath mingling with his, her body, at first frozen with shock, and then, the crash as the laundry basket landed on the floor, and her arms wrapped around his neck, her mouth avid. He ran his hands up her back and fisted them in her hair, and she made sexy little moans deep in her throat.
Before he realized it, he had her pushed up against the wall, hands sliding down to grab her ass and press her against his hard-as-a-rock erection, and she was gasping, arching up against him, rocking back and forth. Because it was suddenly all too easy to imagine shoving his jeans down and taking her right in the hallway, he eased back with a shudder, ending the kiss as he’d begun, with a few light brushes of his lips against hers.
She stared up at him, eyes blank, chest heaving, cheeks flushed. He rested his forehead against hers. “I’m not apologizing this time.”
Amy blinked, raised a hand to her tousled hair. Ben hid a smile, despite the fact that his hands were shaking. He didn’t know what this insane attraction meant, exactly, but one thing he did know—the woman couldn’t form a coherent sentence to save her life.
“Ben!” Steve called up the stairs from the lobby. “Get your lazy ass down here, we’re starving.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Ben brushed a strand of hair off of Amy’s forehead. She just stared at him, and he couldn’t help the wide grin from climbing over his face. “Good night, Amy. See you tomorrow.”
He left her standing in the hallway, the laundry basket at her feet, and her hand over her heart.
Chapter 14
Amy surveyed the mountain of pots and pans piled in the kitchen sink and pressed a hand to the small of her aching back. Rolling her shoulders, which also ached from the many, many loads of laundry she’d washed and folded, she bent down to unload the dishwasher.
She moved slowly, partly because yeah, she was tired. She’d been up since dawn, and now full dark had almost stolen over the Island, only a thin glimmer of light remaining on the horizon. But partly, she was enjoying the quiet. All of her guests had checked out today, except, of course Ben. He and his friends had headed out late that morning—Ben had seen them off to the ferry and then headed off for a sail, and she suspected, to brood a little about their departure. She’d spent the day in a flurry of morning checkouts, and then a massive laundry dump and room cleaning. On the Sound was empty of new guests until next Friday, a common occurrence in the fall. If she busted her ass today then she could reward herself with a lazy day tomorrow.
She turned on the small countertop TV for company, more than anything, listening to the entertainment news program with half an ear. As she methodically loaded the dishwasher and set the pots to soak in soapy water, her mind drifted to Ben. To…The Kiss. Again.
He probabl
y hadn’t given it a second thought. Despite his denials, he must kiss women all the time. So really, she shouldn’t give it another thought either because it didn’t mean anything. Amy banged a pot down on the drying rack with more force than was necessary. She stopped to stare with unseeing eyes out the darkened window. Damn him. She’d all but melted into his arms, twined herself around him, and then when he walked away, she’d done nothing but gape like her brain had gone to mush. Which, it had. But still, she chided herself, he didn’t need to know that.
She’d considered him sexy, sure. Maybe she’d fantasized—briefly—about getting him naked. But, he was a movie star. He hadn’t been…real. And then, his warm, firm lips, hard chest, the scent of the sea, the scrape of his unshaven cheek against hers had made him not only real but insanely hot. One brush of his tongue against hers and damned if all thoughts hadn’t fled, and sheer animal instinct had taken over. When she’d felt his erection, she’d lunged against him, practically urging him to take her right there in the hallway. Even now, her cheeks flamed with embarrassment.
Worse, she was starting to like him. Despite the way the media painted him, he didn’t seem like a brainless pretty boy. He had an obvious and deep affection for his friends. He devoured books, and not just fluff books, because she’d asked—classics like Crime and Punishment and As I Lay Dying mixed with contemporary titles. And, Amy mused as she stuffed the dishwasher as full as it could get and set it to clicking and whirring, he hung up the towels in his bathroom, put away his clothes, made his bed.
She turned her attention to the pile of dishes soaking and began to scrub. Now she was alone with him. All week. The forecast called for rain, wind, rain and more rain. Amy considered smacking herself with the frying pan she was scouring. Maybe it would jar out the high school girl that seemed to have taken up residence in her head. She just needed to keep it light with him, that was all. Casual.
“Hey.”
Just like that, there he was. Standing in her kitchen, hair damp and standing up in spikes, eyes lasering in on her. Amy fumbled with the pan and caught it before it dropped, but not before it banged against the edge of the sink, spraying suds. She laid it down, swiped a hand across her forehead in irritation, realized she’d left a trail of water and soap in her hair. That was certainly casual all right. She blew out a breath and told herself to calm the hell down.
“So, they’re off?” she said with a cheery smile, resolutely not letting her eyes linger on the way a drop of rain rolled from his hair down his neck, and trying to stop thinking about licking it off.
Ben leaned against the island, a small smile twitching at the corners of his mouth as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. “Yep. I hope they weren’t too much trouble.”
“Hello?” she waved a sudsy hand at him. “This is my job, remember? Of course they weren’t too much trouble.” More relaxed now, she turned back to the dishes. “I liked them.”
“Yeah. Me, too.” He walked over and peered over her shoulder. “Need some help with that mountain before it takes on a life of its own and starts multiplying?”
She shot him an exasperated look. “I don’t think you were listening just now. This is my job. Go relax. Play solitaire. Watch TV. Do something guest-y.”
“Guest-y?” He laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling. He was opening his mouth to add something else when Amy heard the TV host.
“And now, for the latest on the strange but true Ben Morrison saga,” the announcer said, eyes alight with avid interest.
They both swiveled towards the TV, and Amy turned the water off.
“Access Star has learned that Ben recently fired famous agent to the stars, Mike Carson, along with his publicist and assistant. It’s just the latest in the bizarre antics from this former Hollywood golden boy, and another troubling sign of his downward spiral.”
“I’m sorry,” Amy said, and reached over to turn off the TV. “I didn’t know this would be on-”
“It’s okay.” Ben stopped her, his expression unreadable. “Let’s hear more about my downward spiral.”
The screen cut to a slickly dressed, blonde man in his forties, with an unnaturally wide smile. Was he trying to show all his teeth? As he talked, she gathered this was the famous Mike Carson. “…and of course, I’m sure the rumors I’ve heard that he’s holed up on a binge are untrue,” he said, brows pulling together in a look of confusion that cast doubt on his words. “Ben Morrison was a very successful and talented actor. We had some conversations lately about his future in the industry, and quite frankly, I couldn’t retain him as a client with his current behavior. So, it was just a matter of time before our long professional relationship ended. I wish him well and will always consider him a friend.”
The screen switched back to the host. “What’s next for Ben Morrison? Who knows, but industry insiders say this could be one final nail in the coffin of his career.”
Ben shook his head and hit the power button as the show faded to commercial. “I ran into that guy—the host, not Mike—at a party once, and he followed me around the whole night, like a puppy dog. Ben this and Ben that.” He gave her a wry smile. “That’s it. He’s off my Christmas card list.”
“I would take off that Mike Carson guy, too,” Amy said, indignant. “Talk about phony.”
Ben threw up his hands. “Great. You saw him on TV for 60 seconds and immediately discovered what it took me years to figure out. It’s official. I’m a moron.”
“Well, maybe he wasn’t always a phony,” Amy offered, hiding a smile.
“Nope, pretty sure he was always that way.”
“So…” Amy shot him a look, trying to assess his mood. “Is it true? What the show said?”
“Yep,” Ben said it cheerfully enough, but she detected a faint line between his brows.
“Sorry, it’s none of my business.” Amy adjusted her gloves and turned the water back on. “Forget I asked.”
“You really want to know? I can give you all the sordid details.”
“No, I’m sure you get enough people prying into your private life.”
Ben shrugged. “It’s not so private, is it? Really, I don’t mind.”
Maybe, she realized, he wanted to talk about it. Who else did he have to talk to stranded up here? And, she was dying of curiosity.
“Ok, I confess—I’m nosy. Tell me the story.”
Ben grabbed a dishtowel off the counter and nudged her. “The price of admission into the tale of the tragic downfall of Ben Morrison is that I help you with the dishes.”
“No, really, sit.” Amy nudged him right back.
Ben snatched a clean plate out of her hand and began drying it. “Oops, can’t stop me. Look at me, doing the dishes.” He laughed at her exasperated look. “Consider it part of my therapy. Training to get back to a normal life where I do dishes instead of just ordering take out and eating straight out of the container.
“So,” he continued. “Once upon a time, there was a young kid from Jersey. He got bit by the acting bug, as you know, and took off to L.A. to make his fame and fortune. A pretty common story.”
Amy peeked over at him and noted he was unerringly putting the plates and pots he’d already dried back in the correct cabinets.
“You may know the rest,” he said. “If you’re a fan.” He put his hands on his hips, dishtowel dangling on his hip. “Are you a fan?”
Amy laughed at his mock-wounded look. “I can say truthfully, I am. Night School was one of my favorite movies back in the day. I confess the past several years though, I’ve fallen behind on my movie watching. But, I know the general gist.”
“Looking back, New Americans was the turning point. I fired my agent who’d been there from the beginning. Mike steered me to projects that offered a boatload of cash and opportunities for fame. I thought that was the way to go—it’s the way many actors go. I made a lot of bad choices. Oh, I was making movies. But, they sucked.”
“I can’t argue with that,” she said wryly, and he
threw his head back and laughed. Amy shut off the water and grabbed a towel to help him dry the rest of the pans.
“Wouldn’t you know it—my first agent wanted me to do Days of Consequence. Yep,” he said when she widened her eyes. “I thought the movie too big of a risk—and it turned out to bring in the most Oscars of any film that year, not to mention great box office returns. I was an idiot not to listen to Artie.”
He started wiping down the counters. “So, fast forward a few years. I just wasn’t having fun anymore. And, if you’re not having fun, then what’s the point? I came up here to get away, and yeah, a few days ago I fired everyone. The whole lot. An impulse, really. Who knows what crazy shit I’ll pull next?”
Amy put away the last pan, and turned to face him. “That’s not exactly the whole story, is it?”
He met her eyes, his smile fading.
“I just don’t buy that you’re some flaky playboy movie star. You were good in New Americans. I mean, really good. Call me naïve, but I don’t think you get that good without using at least a few brain cells.”
Ben turned after a moment and walked to the banquette, sat down. He shot her a hopeful look. “Is there any pie left?”
She nodded and moved to the fridge. So, conversation over. Back to guest and hostess. She shoved back the twinge of disappointment and cut two slices, one for herself and one for him. She’d take hers up to her room and leave him with his thoughts—she shouldn’t get involved anyway.
Amy set the piece of pie in front of him and opened her mouth to tell him good night, when he looked up at her, then away, out the window.
“The truth is, I just couldn’t breathe anymore,” he said, his voice soft. “You know?”
She looked at the lines etched on his face, the downward curve of his mouth, and just like that she was taken back to the period after Kevin’s death, when she’d laid in bed, alone, the darkness pressing down on her so hard that she had to force herself to draw a breath in, push it out. She laid a hand on his arm, waited until he looked at her.
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