Midnight Encounters

by Elle Kennedy

  Her gaze drifted to his tattoo, the tribal design that turned her heartbeat into a thumping tribal drum. Her pulse quickened as she glanced south again and noted the absence of a second waistband. Was he not wearing any boxers? That realization alone was enough to soak her cotton panties.

  God, why did this man have to be so damn…sexable?

  “Finished gawking?”

  His rough voice caused her to snap her head up. He was grinning at her, looking totally pleased by the fact that she’d been checking him out.

  “I wasn’t gawking,” she lied, breezing toward the fridge and getting out the orange juice. “I was just—”

  “Shhh.” He held up his hand to silence her, cocked his head toward the stereo, and started singing the first few lines of “Barbara Ann”.

  Open-mouthed, Maggie just stared at him, waiting until he tired of the song and turned his attention back to the sunny-side eggs sizzling in the pan.

  “I take it you’re a Beach Boys fan,” she said, sipping her juice. She then set down the glass so she could run her fingers through her frizzy, slept-on hair.

  It was slightly unnerving having him here, making breakfast in nothing but a pair of jeans. She and Tony never did the breakfast thing, or the morning thing, or any thing that didn’t involve hot sex followed by goodbye.

  “The biggest,” he replied, shooting her a toe-curling grin before reaching over to turn off the stove.

  Using a spatula, he dropped one egg on a plate, followed by a piece of brown toast, and handed it to her. “Enjoy.”

  When was the last time a man had cooked for her?

  Oh right. Never.

  Oddly touched, she took the plate, then the fork he held out, and settled on the lone stool by the counter. The kitchen was too small to be considered eat-in on any real estate listing, and Maggie was about to suggest moving to the dining room table when Ben picked up his own plate, leaned against the counter, and started eating standing up. Well. At least he wasn’t one of those celebrities who expected to be served while he sat on a throne.

  “You know, I dated a girl named Barbara Ann once,” he said after he’d swallowed a bite of toast.

  “Doesn’t surprise me.” She chewed slowly. “I bet you’ve also dated a Rhonda, and every other girl the Beach Boys sing about. You’ve also dated every actress and model in the eighteen to thirty-five demographic.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “I Googled you last night.”

  “No, you didn’t. We slept in separate bedrooms.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Google, as in the Internet search engine, wise guy. I couldn’t sleep, so I researched you.”

  He polished off the rest of his meal and walked over to the sink. To her surprise, he washed his dish and set it to dry on the plastic tray on the counter, then left the frying pan in the sink to soak. Wow. Even Summer didn’t do her dishes this quickly, and Maggie had dubbed her the ultimate neat-freak.

  “Why couldn’t you sleep?” Ben asked, seemingly oblivious to the rest of her admission.

  “I just told you I researched you and you want to know why I couldn’t sleep?”

  “Yep.” He grinned. “So why couldn’t you?”

  I was too busy fantasizing about licking every inch of your body. “I was too tired.”

  “Right.” It was obvious he didn’t believe her.

  “Anyway,” she went on, hoping he’d leave it at that, “it turns out you’re quite the playboy.”

  He looked insulted. “I’m not a playboy.”

  “Sure you are. You travel the world and have causal affairs with gorgeous women. That makes you a playboy.”

  She didn’t mention that unwelcome pang of jealousy she’d experienced while reading about Ben Barrett’s conquests. Of all the things that annoyed her since Ben had insinuated his way into her life, the jealousy topped the list. Considering the only type of appearance Ben would be making in her world would be a cameo, she had no idea what to make of the claws that came out when she’d seen all those photos of him with other women.

  “Well, with you getting laid only twice a year, I can see why my reputation might intimidate you,” Ben teased.

  “Sometimes three times,” she corrected. Then she scowled. “You really are one of those annoyingly cheerful morning people, aren’t you?”

  “I sure am.”

  He waited while she shoved the last mouthful of eggs into her mouth, and then took her plate. To her surprise, he washed it as well.

  “Don’t tell me you dated a Martha Stewart too,” she said with a sigh.

  He wiped his hands with a pink dishcloth. “No, but I grew up with one. My mother never let me leave the kitchen until it was spotless.”

  As if to confirm that, he used the dishcloth to wipe the counter until it squeaked. When he finished, he turned to face her. “So what are we doing today?”

  He caught her momentarily off guard, but she quickly covered up her surprise. “Well, I have a ton of stuff to do, and you, I assume, will be finding a hotel. Or maybe you’ll be talking with your publicity people about your recent scandal. I read about that too, by the way.”

  His cheerful expression faded. “You did?”

  “Yep,” she mimicked. “So that rich lady left you her money, huh?”

  She hit a nerve. She could tell from the way his features hardened and his eyes narrowed into slits. Not that she had a clue why she’d brought it up in the first place. Thanks to her mediocre Internet-searching skills, she’d only managed to dig up a few details about Ben’s involvement with Gretchen Goodrich, but enough to suspect how touchy a subject it must be.

  Goodrich, heiress to a salad dressing empire and wife of an Academy Award-winning director, had lost the battle with breast cancer three months ago, and from what Maggie read, she’d left Ben close to ten million dollars in her will. The press hinted at an affair between Ben and the fifty-three-year-old heiress, but since there was no evidence or confirmation of that, Maggie had decided it was most likely a rumor. Still, Ben must have been pretty close to the woman if she’d left him a part of her fortune…

  “You can’t believe everything you read,” Ben said in a mild tone. The frown left his face, but his stiff posture said he was still on edge.

  Before she could say anything else, he breezed past her, bare feet padding against the tiled floor. She figured he would head for Summer’s room to get dressed, so when he flopped down on the living room couch and reached for the remote control, she bolted to her feet and scurried into the living room.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded. “I just told you, I’ve got tons of stuff to do.”

  “I’ll wait.” He flipped on the TV and turned it to ESPN.

  “You can’t wait,” she said, exasperation climbing up her chest. “I have a really busy day.”

  Ben pressed the mute button and shot her an expectant look. “Doing what?”

  “You want me to write you a list?”

  “No, a verbal break-down would be fine.”

  Oh, she’d give him a verbal break-down, all right. She didn’t care how sexy he looked in those jeans or how enticing his chest was. It was Sunday, and Sunday was her day. The only day she didn’t work or volunteer or take notes in a classroom. Sure, she spent the free time studying and doing homework, but it was free time nonetheless.

  “I have to finish writing a paper,” she said, setting her jaw. “Then I have to research child abuse law and make notes so I can write another paper. Then I need to study for my exams.” She took a breath. “And when I’m done all that, I was going to wax my legs. Satisfied?”

  He furrowed his dark brows. “Why do you wax your legs when the only guy who sees them comes to town twice a year?”

  “Sometimes three times,” she snapped. “And I don’t need to justify my leg-waxing routines to you. So get dressed and go do some movie star things like, I don’t know, golfing or staring at your reflection in store windows.”

  The laugh he gave sounded
like honeyed sandpaper. “Is that what you think movie stars do?”

  “I don’t care what you do,” she replied, starting to grow annoyed. “I just want you to go away. My schoolwork requires silence.”

  “So I’ll be quiet.” He shrugged and directed his attention back to the sports highlight reel flashing across the TV screen.

  It took all her willpower not to pull her own hair out by the roots. What did he want from her? Obviously not sex, considering he hadn’t touched her since last night.

  “You’re seriously not going to leave?” Her voice was a cross between a squeak and a groan, with a growl thrown in for good measure.

  Ben’s blue eyes never left the screen. “Nope.”

  “But…I…you…just keep the volume down!”

  Spinning on her heel, she stormed into her bedroom and cursed herself for not being strong enough to physically throw him out.

  As she got dressed, she heard him chuckling from the other room.

  Because he’d taken a vow of silence, Ben spent most of the afternoon fighting back soundless laughter and watching television with the volume off and the captions on. In the dining room, Maggie sat at her small desk, typing away on the computer keyboard and stopping every now and then to rustle through the pages of a textbook the size of an encyclopedia.

  She’d been working for hours, her eyes glued to the monitor, her fingers on the keyboard, and the way she kept biting her bottom lip in concentration made Ben want to walk over there and capture that plump lip with his teeth.

  He wasn’t quite sure why he was forcing his presence on her, especially after last night. If any other woman had grumbled that much about the idea of fucking him, he’d have shook her hand goodbye and moved on.

  This morning he’d asked himself if pursuing a woman who viewed sex as a complication was worth the hassle. He had nothing against playing hard to get, but in Maggie’s case, it went beyond a coy little game. She seemed genuinely annoyed with him. And what was the deal with her whole ‘I have sex twice a year’ declaration?

  Their night at the Lester Hotel proved she was a passionate woman, so why did she save all that passion for that loser Tony, a guy who offered a few clandestine trysts a year?

  Under normal circumstances, Ben would pass on the challenge and focus his energy on a woman who actually wanted to be around him, but there was nothing normal about this situation. Or about Maggie.

  Since he’d met her, he’d barely thought about the recent scandal hanging over his head, or the fact that reporters were camped outside his home. Because of Maggie, he’d managed to think about something other than his own troubles, and he wanted to hang on to that liberating feeling for a while longer. Like he’d told his agent, he would lay low, and truth be told, he couldn’t think of anyone else he wanted to lay low with than this sassy redhead, no matter how annoying she found him.

  “You should take a break,” he spoke before he could stop himself, hoping Maggie wouldn’t reprimand him for breaking his oath of silence.

  “I just have to write up my conclusion,” she said absently without turning around. She rapped a few keys with her fingers. “Give me a sec.”

  He tried to tell himself he wasn’t thinking of his own needs as he rose from the couch and walked toward her. Instead, he focused on the fact that Maggie had been working for five hours straight without so much as a bathroom break.

  Standing behind her, he placed his hands on her shoulders and started rubbing the knot between her shoulder blades. She flinched for a second and then leaned into his massaging fingers, sighing softly.

  “See, you need a break,” he chided. “You’re so stiff.”

  And boy, did he know what stiff felt like. Although the material of her green long-sleeved shirt was woven from thick cotton, he could feel the heat of her skin underneath his fingertips. From there, his mind played a torturous game of What other parts of her body are hot? Her breasts? Her thighs? Her—

  “I can feel you poking against my back, by the way.” The chair’s backrest left a gap between her lower back and shoulders, and she wiggled her tailbone against his growing erection.

  Her teasing voice brought the warmth of embarrassment to his cheeks. Jesus. He was Ben Barrett. He didn’t get embarrassed when he sprang a boner.

  “Don’t act like you’re not getting wet feeling me against you,” he growled.

  “Wet? No. But I am a little hungry. Should we order a pizza?”

  Some primitive part of him made him swivel the chair, determined to prove to this woman that his aroused state turned her on as much as it did him. Her eyes widened as he sank to his knees and dipped both hands under the waistband of her black fleece track pants.

  “What are you doing?” she practically squeaked out the question. “I told you I have work to do.”

  “And I told you it’s time to take a break.” He forcibly lifted her ass off the chair so he could peel her pants off her legs, running his hands over her as each smooth inch of skin was revealed. “You don’t need to wax your legs,” he murmured as he tossed the track pants aside.

  She sighed. “I know. I lied.”

  His mouth lifted in a grin, partly because of her admission, partly because that agitated look on her face was completely foreign on her. Since he’d met her, she’d been cool and composed, her green eyes flashing with fire on occasion, her cheeks reddening with arousal. He liked it all, but not as much as he enjoyed the vulnerability and raw desire currently expressed on her dainty features.

  He continued to stroke her legs, and then moved his hands north again. Stroking the damp crotch of her bright yellow panties, he managed a chuckle. “Told you you’re wet.”

  “You’re imagining it.”

  He dragged his fingers up to her waistband.

  She groaned and tried to wriggle away from his caress. “I don’t have time for this,” she grumbled.

  “Sure you do.”

  “I have homework…”

  “It can wait.”

  Before she could object further, he removed her panties and threw them out of her reach, then lowered his head and placed a soft kiss on her clit.

  She gasped.

  Then sighed.

  Then moaned.

  Fighting back a smile, he kissed her again, and again, and again, until it dawned on him that he wasn’t out to prove a point anymore. He’d intended to show her she couldn’t hide the effect he had on her and prove the attraction between them was oh so mutual. But as he ran his tongue over her wet pussy, he forgot about all that.

  She tasted like heaven. He swirled lazy figure-eights over her clit, savoring the sweet taste of her, groaning against her when she released a whimper of pleasure and widened her legs. If his cock wasn’t throbbing relentlessly and his head wasn’t buzzing with lust, he might have kept up the slow pace.

  As it was, all he could do was speed up, suddenly anxious to bring her over the edge and make her scream his name as she came.

  The wish was fulfilled a lot faster than he’d expected. All it took was for him to slide one finger deep inside her pussy and suck her clit hard in his mouth, and she shuddered with an orgasm so powerful he almost came in his pants.

  She wasn’t one of those women who bit her lip and writhed in silent pleasure. Oh no. Maggie vocalized every sexy second of her climax. Moaning. Trembling. Even tossing out an oh fuck or two as she tangled her fingers in his hair and locked her thighs around his head.

  When she finally whimpered and grew still, Ben pulled back, a satisfied grin on his face and an unsatisfied erection straining against his zipper.

  “You don’t play fair,” Maggie murmured, cheeks flushed, eyes a little glazed.

  “Never have,” he returned easily. He gave her inner thigh a light pinch and got to his feet, liking her disheveled appearance because he was responsible for it. “All right. I’m hopping into the shower. You can go ahead and finish your homework now.”

  So he wanted to play games? Was that it? Maggie wondered as she
stared at Ben’s sexy backside disappearing into the hallway.

  She inhaled a deep breath, then stumbled off the chair and bent down to retrieve her panties from the floor. She was still a little stunned by what happened, and more than a little shaky from the exquisite orgasm that had just rocked her world.

  Ben Barrett had made her come in a record-breaking three minutes. He hadn’t asked her what she liked. Hadn’t waited for her to guide him. He simply knew. It didn’t surprise her. The second she’d slid into bed with him two nights ago she’d known this man possessed the ability to set her body on fire.

  He’d taken advantage of that ability just a minute ago, making sure, of course, that she’d never be able to concentrate on schoolwork now.

  It was hard to stand up when her core still throbbed from Ben’s erotic assault, but Maggie forced herself to her feet. She walked toward the bathroom on shaky legs, her determination deepening when she heard the shower running.

  If he wanted to play games, she was ready to play back. If only to give her aroused body what it wanted so she could finish researching her paper without any distractions.

  At least that’s what she told herself as she turned the doorknob and stepped into the small, steam-filled bathroom. The bright pink plastic curtain shielded Ben from her view, and her from his, but she slid out of her clothes quietly, needing to hold on to the upper hand. She’d nearly melted into a puddle on the floor from Ben’s skilled tongue, but this time he’d be the one melting.

  “Are you joining me or what?” His muffled voice broke through the sound of water flowing.

  Her nostrils flared. Damn it. She didn’t even have the element of surprise on her side. How had he known she’d follow him in here? Was he so arrogant that he just assumed she’d run into the washroom to get a glimpse of his naked body?

  It’s what you did, isn’t it?

  She pushed that annoying voice out of her head and reached for the edge of the shower curtain. As she pulled it open, a billow of steam clouded her vision and made her slightly light-headed. When it cleared, her eyes focused, but she was just as light-headed, because the sight of Ben, wet, hard and naked, was enough to suck all the oxygen out of her lungs.