Inner Harbor by Nora Roberts Page A

enhance his standing with his peer group.”
    Because he was grinning, she lifted her eyebrows. “You disagree?”
    â€œNot at all. I’m in advertising, and that pretty much hit the nail.”
    â€œAdvertising?” She ignored the little tug of guilt at the pretense. “I wouldn’t think there would be much call for that here.”
    â€œI work in Baltimore. I’m back here on weekends for a while. A family thing. Long story.”
    â€œI’d like to hear it.”
    â€œLater.” There was something, he thought, about those nearly translucent blue eyes framed by long, inky lashes that made it nearly impossible to look anywhere else. “Tell me what else you see.”
    â€œWell . . .” It was a fine skill, she decided. A masterwork. The way he could look at a woman as if she were the most vital thing in the world at that one moment. It made her heart bump pleasantly. “You see the other waitress?”
    Phillip glanced over, watched the frivolous bow on the back of the woman’s skirt swivel as she walked to the bar. “Hard to miss her.”
    â€œYes. She fulfills certain primitive and typical male-fantasyrequirements. But I’m referring to personality, not physicality.”
    â€œOkay.” Phillip ran his tongue around his teeth. “What do you see?”
    â€œShe’s efficient, but she’s already calculating the time until closing. She knows how to size up the better tippers and play to them. She all but ignores the table of college students there. They won’t add much to her bill. You’d see the same survival techniques from an experienced and cynical waitress in a New York bar.”
    â€œLinda Brewster,” Phillip supplied. “Recently divorced, on the prowl for a new, improved husband. Her family owns the pizza place, so she’s been waitressing off and on for years. Doesn’t care for it. Do you want to dance?”
    â€œWhat?” Then that’s not Grace either, she thought and struggled to tune back in. “I’m sorry?”
    â€œThe band’s slowed it down if they haven’t turned it down. Would you like to dance?”
    â€œAll right.” She let him take her hand to lead her through the tables to the dance floor, where they shoehorned themselves into the crowd.
    â€œI think this is supposed to be a version of ‘Angie,” ’ Phillip murmured.
    â€œIf Mick and the boys heard what they’re doing to it, they’d shoot the entire band on sight.”
    â€œYou like the Stones?”
    â€œWhat’s not to like?” Since they could do no more than sway, she tilted her head back to look at him. It wasn’t a hardship to find his face so close to hers, or to be forced to press her body firmly to his. “Down-and-dirty rock and roll, no frills, no fuss. All sex.”
    â€œYou like sex?”
    She had to laugh. “What’s not to like? And though I appreciate the thought, I don’t intend to have any tonight.”
    â€œThere’s always tomorrow.”
    â€œThere certainly is.” She considered kissing him, letting him kiss her. As an experiment that would certainly include an aspect of enjoyment. Instead, she turned her head so cheeks brushed. He was entirely too attractive for an impulsive and uncalculated risk.
    Better safe, she reminded herself, than stupid.
    â€œWhy don’t I take you to dinner tomorrow?” Skillfully, he slid a hand up her spine, back down to her waist. “There’s a nice place right in town. Terrific view of the Bay, best seafood on the Shore. We can have a conversation in normal tones, and you can tell me the story of your life.”
    His lips had brushed her ear, sending a shocking ripple of reaction down to her toes. She should have known, she thought, that anyone who looked like he did would be damn good at sexual maneuvers.
    â€œI’ll think about it,” she murmured and,