Driven to Distraction (Silhouette Desire S.) Read Online Free Page B

comparison.”
    Maggie hooted with laughter. From the corner of her eye she saw Ben Hunter turn and look her way. Feeling her cheeks burn, she studiously applied herself to the stewed chicken and overcooked vegetables.
    â€œDon’t look now, but here comes the maestro now,” Suzy whispered a few minutes later. “I’ve heard he makes the rounds introducing himself, so smile and be sweet. You might even get a passing grade.”
    Maggie looked up into a pair of turquoise eyes that had to be—simply had to be—contacts. God didn’t make eyes like that.
    â€œAh, we meet again, Miss James.” Perry Silver smiled at Suzy, then turned to Maggie. “Let me guess. This would be Miss Riley, right? Margaret L. Riley, the journalist? I’m honored, my dear. May I join you for a few minutes?”
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    From the far side of the dining room, Ben frowned as he watched Silver make his way across the room to the table by the kitchen door. The slick jackass was hanging all over the Riley woman, ignoring the bleached blonde.
    Conversation continued around him. One of the women said, “I remember thinking at the time that ten thousand was a fortune. Nowadays it wouldn’t even last six months, not at today’s prices.”
    â€œWhat? Oh, right,” someone else said. “GI Insurance.”
    Ben had been gently sounding out his dinner partners, trying to squeeze in a subtle hint about a few of the scams that targeted senior citizens. New ones cropped up every day, and for any seniors who went online, the dangers tripled. On his left sat Janie Burger, whose husband, a World War II veteran, had died a couple of years ago, leaving her with an eighty-six Plymouth van, a house in need of reroofing and a ten-thousand dollar GI life insurance policy. Her daughter had treated her to Silver’s workshop in order to—as Janie put it—haul her up from the slough of despond, which Ben interpreted as depression. Although the lady didn’t strike him as depressed. Far from it.
    â€œI’ll certainly never get rich as an artist,” she said with a self-deprecating chuckle, “but at least I won’t have to worry about buying Christmas gifts this year. They’ll all get bad watercolors and won’t have the nerve to tell me what they think of my talent. Works every time.”
    Pulling his attention away from the table by the kitchen door, Ben made an ambiguous, hopefully appropriate comment. He admired the lady’s spunk, as well as her unlikely pink hair.
    â€œWe’re supposed to be intermediates, aren’t we? Didn’t it say so on the brochure?” That from Charlie Spainhour. The two men had been assigned a room together. “I took a few courses some years back, but haven’t done any painting since my late wife decided the bathroom needed a pink ceiling.”
    Ben glanced again at the table by the kitchen door, where little Ms. Riley was smirking up at Silver, batting her eyelashes like she’d caught a cinder and was trying to dislodge it. If she wanted to play teacher’s pet, it was no skin off his nose. Hell, she wasn’t even all that pretty.
    The conversation eddied around him while he watched the Riley woman’s reaction to whatever Silver was saying. Lapping it up with a spoon. He shook his head and forced his attention back to his own dinner companions.
    Charlie said, “I don’t know if it’ll come back to me or not. Like I said, it’s been a while.”
    â€œDon’t worry, if he’s as good a teacher as I’ve heard he is, he’ll fill in the gaps,” said the white-haired woman at the end of the table—Georgia something or other. “By the end of the week we’ll all beintermediates—some of us already are. I guess you can fake it that long.”
    Evidently, Ben was the only one present who had never tried his hand at painting before. He was beginning to feel more than