Midnight Encounters

by Elle Kennedy

  There was something seriously kinky about the way he’d so efficiently trapped her in place. He could have his way with her right this second, screw her standing up in the bathroom of a rapper’s private jet, and there was nothing she’d be able to do except hang on for the ride.

  The naughty scenario caused a drop of moisture to pool inside her panties, and she knew Ben could feel the heat emanating from her core.

  “You’re ruining the mood,” he murmured, tightening his grip on her waist.

  “How am I doing that?”

  “You’re talking about us parting ways.”

  “Just promise me we’ll say goodbye when the eight days are up.” She forced out the words, if only to appease her own peace of mind.

  “I’ll promise later.” He wiggled his leg and the friction it made over her fleece pants drove her mad.

  “Ben, please, just promise. I told you, I don’t want any complications in my life. You’re the boy toy, remember?” God, it was getting harder to formulate words when he kept rubbing his thigh against her like that.

  “Fine.” He slanted his head and offered a placating smile. “I promise not to complicate your life.”

  It wasn’t the guarantee she’d asked for, but with her clit swollen from his hard muscular thigh rubbing against it and her nipples so hard they actually hurt, suddenly the last thing she wanted to do was talk.

  “Ever done it on an airplane?” His voice was husky, silky as a caress, and thick with sexual promise.

  “Can’t say I have.”

  She gasped as he tugged at the waistband of her pants and slid them down, along with her underwear. Fleece and cotton pooled around her ankles, leaving her exposed from the waist down.

  “Well, now you can.”

  She waited for him to unzip his jeans and thrust that rock-hard erection inside her, but he didn’t. Instead, he stretched one arm in the direction of the pristine white sink and fumbled with the drawer beneath it. A second later he held up a handful of brightly colored condom packets.

  “Choose your poison,” he teased.

  She cupped him over the denim and gave his hard ridge a squeeze. “I choose this one.”

  He choked out a laugh and shot her a look so full of hunger and lust she almost came on the spot. Those metallic blue eyes swept from her flushed face to her slick folds, devouring her body in a way that made her knees thump together.

  Oh sweet lord. She’d already experienced so much with this man. His hands. His mouth. His tongue.

  And it still wasn’t enough.

  With an impatient growl, she snatched one of the condoms from his hand, tore open the package and reached for his zipper. He laughed again, but she didn’t care. She couldn’t take it anymore. She simply couldn’t.

  She freed him from his jeans and rolled the latex down his smooth, throbbing cock.

  “I need you inside,” she ordered. “Now.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  He planted one hand on her ass and angled her body for better access, then closed his mouth over hers. Before she could blink, he slid into her pussy with a thrust so hard she wasn’t surprised when the plane actually shook.

  Wait a second—the plane shook?

  A light knock rapped against the lavatory door. “Mr. Barrett?” came the flight attendant’s voice.

  Ben let out a string of curses so utterly indecent Maggie’s cheeks grew warm. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered.

  His erection continued to throb inside her, and her inner muscles involuntarily tightened over him, causing him to swear again. He gripped her waist to keep her from moving.

  “What is it?” he called through the closed door.

  “I’m sorry to bother you, but the captain just announced we’re experiencing some turbulence. It’s very light, but you and your guest will need to return to your seats.”

  Ben mumbled something under his breath.

  “What’d you say?” she whispered.

  “I said fuck.”

  “Oh.”

  His lips curved with amusement. “You’ve really got to stop answering everything with ‘oh’.”

  He started to withdraw, but she held his hips in place. “She said light turbulence, right?”

  One of his dark brows shot upwards. “She did say light.”

  Maggie’s mouth lifted in a little grin. “I can be fast. What about you?”

  “I too can be fast.”

  She choked back a laugh, and then gasped as he drove into her again. She gripped his taut ass, arched her hips to meet his hurried thrusts, and slid her hand down to stimulate her clit. Not that she needed much stimulation. She came so quickly and so hard that she shocked herself, and she had to clamp her lips together to stop from crying out. Slamming into her with abandon, Ben climaxed a moment later, groaning softly in her ear and palming her breasts over her sweater.

  They stood there for a few seconds, breathing heavily, until he finally pulled out and disposed of the condom.

  “We should return to our seats,” he said, lips twitching with silent laughter.

  A tiny smile tugged at her mouth. “Right.”

  Then she pulled up her pants, smoothed her hair with her hands, and followed Ben out of G Pappy’s bathroom. As they nonchalantly strolled past the expressionless stewardess, Maggie tried very, very hard to act as if doing the nasty in a private jet lavatory was absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about.

  Chapter Nine

  “I can’t believe we’re in the Bahamas,” Maggie breathed as they walked through the airport terminal a couple of hours later.

  Ben struggled to keep up with her energized strides. He practically chased her across Lynden Pindling International Airport toward the exit, a difficult task considering his cock still throbbed from the mind-blowing sex they’d had just an hour ago.

  “C’mon, Ben, you’re slacking here,” Maggie chided, already out the door before he could reply.

  He stepped outside. A humid breeze instantly swept over him and made his T-shirt stick to his chest. Damn, he seriously hoped the hotel manager had remembered his request for a change of clothes.

  “Tony has told me so much about the Bahamas, but I never thought I’d get to see it for myself,” Maggie remarked.

  A muscle twitched in his jaw. “New rule—you’re not allowed to mention Two-Time Tony while you’re with me.”

  She cocked her head, causing strands of red hair to fall onto her forehead. “Two-Time?”

  “You know, because he only comes two times a year. Literally.”

  To his surprise, Maggie let out a husky laugh. Well. Maybe he should’ve whisked her away from the city sooner. The island air seemed to lighten her up.

  “So, what now?” She stared at the crowd of travelers bustling around and the taxi drivers loading suitcases into the trunks of their cabs.

  “Now, we get into that car right over there—” he pointed to the black Lincoln at the end of a long line of cars, “—and we start our trip.”

  Maggie grinned. “Sounds like a plan.”

  A moment later they were in the backseat of the Lincoln, speeding into Nassau toward the marina, where a boat would be waiting for them. The sun began to set just as they reached the marina, dipping toward the horizon and filling the sky with shades of pink and orange. Ben hid a smile as Maggie stared at the gorgeous sunset in awe. When was the last time she’d watched the sunset? Knowing her schedule, probably never.

  “That’s our boat,” he said as they hopped out of the car. He nodded to the sleek white speedboat docked at the end of the pier.

  Maggie’s throat bobbed as she gulped. “How familiar are you with current shipwreck statistics?”

  “For the love of Pete, you’ve never been on a boat either?”

  “No,” she sighed.

  He flashed a grin and took her hand, leading her down the sturdy wooden planks beneath their feet toward the boat. She seemed uneasy as she got in, but her expression brightened the moment the boat drive
r gave it some gas. The speedboat sliced through the calm water, which went from transparent turquoise to navy-blue under the darkening sky.

  Ben slung an arm over Maggie’s shoulders and enjoyed the salty breeze hitting his face. The last time he’d been to the Bahamas was a year ago. He’d come here with Sonja Reyes, a Brazilian swimsuit model he’d briefly dated, and he’d been itching to come back ever since.

  While the islands boasted plenty of celebrity-friendly resorts, Ben preferred Paradise Bay to all the others. It was subtle, certainly not as blatantly lavish as a place like Atlantis, but that’s why Ben liked it. Private bungalows, deserted beaches, and best of all, the hotel was located near a wildlife preserve, making it hard for trespassers, aka paparazzi, to loiter around.

  “Here we are, folks,” the driver called over his shoulder as he slowed the boat and steered toward a long dock nearly hidden by thick foliage.

  “Pass me your bag,” Ben told Maggie.

  She did, and he hopped onto the wooden pier and extended a hand to help her out. A tall blond man in a burgundy blazer materialized out of nowhere and strode toward them, greeting Ben with a firm handshake and dropping a polite kiss on Maggie’s knuckles.

  “I’m Marcus Holtridge, manager of Paradise Bay. Follow me.”

  He led them to a golf cart, sandwiched himself between them, and signaled the driver to go.

  The golf cart maneuvered the lush grounds of the resort, and Ben felt a rush of satisfaction at the wonder dancing in Maggie’s green eyes. He understood her reaction. The perfectly manicured lawns, the little cobblestone paths that wove through the luxurious setting, the bright exotic flowers that only added to the elegance of the spectacular layout. When Sonja first brought him here, he’d thought he’d died and gone to Eden.

  They drove past a man-made waterfall that flowed into a small pond, and Maggie nudged his arm and gestured to the school of fat Koi swimming in the water. “Isn’t that pretty?” she breathed.

  He swept his gaze over her rosy cheeks and lit-up features. “Sure is.”

  As they entered the main section of the resort, Marcus pointed out various points of interest. The tennis courts, the spa, the small but elegant casino where Ben had lost five grand the last time he’d come.

  It was the perfect place to relax without worrying about your face being splashed on every newspaper in the country and, considering he’d promised his agent he’d lay low, Ben couldn’t have picked a better atmosphere to do it in.

  Ten minutes later, the golf cart stopped in front of its destination. Maggie hopped out, followed by Marcus, while Ben fumbled with the overnight bag. He glanced over at the pale-yellow structure nestled between majestic fronds, feeling that same sense of amazement he’d experienced during his first visit. It wasn’t the most magnificent bungalow, but it was picturesque and private and that’s all Ben cared about. The little house stood on a stretch of clean white sand, steps away from the ocean, and if you left the windows open at night, the sound of waves lapping against the shore lulled you to sleep.

  On the small porch of the bungalow, Ben accepted the key from Holtridge, thanked the man for his assistance, and then watched as the hotel manager and the golf cart disappeared down the path leading back to the main complex.

  “This is beautiful,” Maggie confessed as they stepped into the large spacious room.

  A billowing white canopy hung from the ceiling and draped over the frame of the big mahogany bed, and on the blue bedspread sat a wicker basket filled with fragrant soaps, papaya shampoos, face towels and other welcome items.

  Ben dropped the overnight bag on the polished hardwood floor. “You should see the hot tub.”

  “Hot tub?”

  “Follow me.”

  He led her to the glass sliding door at the far end of the room and pointed.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said as her gaze followed his outstretched finger. Outside sat a four-person hot tub, skillfully built under a cluster of palm trees and surrounded by boulders, giving it the appearance of a natural rock pool.

  “What do you say we get into our suits and hop in?”

  “I didn’t bring a suit.”

  Her disappointment pleased him. “Not to worry. When I asked the manager to leave a change of clothes in the closet, I made sure to request a few bikinis too. Go take your pick.”

  “How’d you pull all this together so quickly?”

  He shrugged and offered a faint smile. “I’m Ben Barrett, remember?”

  As Maggie drifted over to the tall oak armoire across from the bed, Ben walked toward the nightstand and reached for the telephone. “I’m going to make a quick call while you get changed.”

  He dialed his agent’s number and waited. From the corner of his eye he saw Maggie grab one of the bathing suits off a hanger and—was she actually going into the bathroom to change? Yep.

  Like he hadn’t already seen her naked a dozen times.

  A cheeky comment involving her initiation into the Mile High Club bit at his tongue, but Stu answered the phone before he could say it.

  “Fuck, Ben, where are you now?”

  “The Bahamas,” he replied nonchalantly.

  “Wonderful. Absolutely frickin’ wonderful for you. It warms my heart that you’re sun tanning on a beach while I’m working my ass off here.”

  “I thought you convinced the media I wasn’t abducted.”

  “I did, but they still think you’re up to something fishy. The prostitute angle is old news. So is elopement with the mysterious hotel chick. Now the consensus is that you’re shacked up with another married broad.”

  “I was never shacked up with a married broad before.”

  “Of course not.”

  Ben’s jaw tightened. Funny how Stu had been his agent for nine years and counting, yet the man still didn’t have faith in him.

  “There have been a few positive developments, though,” Stu added, his tone all business now.

  “Yeah, like what?”

  “Two high-budget screenplays landed on my desk, and the studio contacted me about a sequel for McLeod’s Revenge.”

  “Are you joking? McLeod’s Revenge Two? The guy already got his damn revenge, what more is he after?”

  “Who cares? It’s money in our pockets.”

  Was it possible to loathe one little phrase this badly? He was so sick of talking about money. What happened to artistic expression? Thought-provoking, quality scripts? Challenging roles?

  “Oh, and Alan Goodrich wants to meet with you.”

  Ben almost dropped the phone. “What?”

  “He called to set up an appointment.”

  “Business or personal?”

  “Seeing as you were screwing his wife, I doubt he wants to meet up so he can offer you a part in his new World War Two epic.”

  “Goodbye, Stu.”

  Ben hung up the phone before he said something he’d regret. His insides were tight with rage and churned with the slow boil of injustice he’d swallowed back for months now. If he wanted to, he’d phone up all the major tabloids and set them straight about Gretchen, the inheritance and the reasons behind the whole goddamn mess.

  But he didn’t want to.

  Let the world think what they wanted of him. Let them say whatever they felt like saying about him. His private matters weren’t anybody’s business but his own.

  “You okay?”

  Maggie’s soft voice brought him back to the present. She stood at the bathroom door, a towel wrapped around her waist and tucked under her breasts.

  “I’m fine. Just checking in with my agent.”

  He stood up, tried to act like nothing was wrong, and probably succeeded. If there was one thing he was very good at, it was acting.

  “Did I hear you talking about a movie sequel?” Her expression displayed curiosity. “That sounds cool.”

  He strode toward the armoire and rummaged around until he found a pair of swim trunks. Keeping to his word, Marcus Holtridge had also suppli
ed him with a stack of clean clothing. Jeans, T-shirts, boxers, even a crisp black tuxedo draped on one of the hangers.

  The tux gave him an idea, which he stored in the back of his brain as he quickly peeled off his shirt and unzipped his jeans.

  “I guess it would be cool,” he said in response to her remark, “if I wasn’t turning down the part.”

  “Why would you turn down—” Her voice halted the second he dropped his pants.

  Grinning at the tantalizing blush on her cheeks, Ben slowly slipped into his swim trunks, tugging at the material when it snagged over his growing erection.

  “You have no shame,” Maggie grumbled, openly staring at his cock.

  “Nope.” He tightened the drawstring and stepped toward her. “Now what do you say we get in the Jacuzzi and finish what we started on Papa G’s jet?”

  Maybe it made her the slut of the century, but Maggie had never been so excited to be naked before.

  Well, not fully naked. She was wearing that indecent string bikini as she lowered her body into the hot bubbling water, and Ben had his trunks on as he quickly joined her, but they didn’t need to be naked for her to know they were about to have wild, sweaty, hot tub sex. She honestly couldn’t wait. Since she’d met Ben, she’d had sex in more new places than she could count—the shower, the kitchen counter, the living room floor, a private jet, for god’s sake. Might as well add hot tub to the growing list.

  “I want to tear that bikini off with my teeth.”

  “What?” Maggie shivered despite the near-boiling water lapping against her body.

  Ben shot her an endearing smile. “Did I say that out loud?”

  “Uh, yeah.”

  “Can’t fault a guy for being honest.”

  “I guess not.” She shifted so that one of the jets pressed directly against her tailbone, and her muscles turned to jelly as the pressure slowly massaged her skin. Overhead, a spatter of bright stars lit up the clear night sky. She tilted her head to take in the gorgeous view, breathing in the scent of salt and island freshness floating in the air.

  This was nice. She hadn’t wanted it to be nice, but it was. She hadn’t taken a vacation in…well, she’d never taken a vacation, and the strange rush of relaxation coursing through her felt completely foreign.