by Elle Kennedy
I can see, though, why the owner’s sudden decision to pop in would unnerve Lynda, who’s pretty much singled-handedly run the Olive for six years now.
“No problem,” I assure my manager. I tie the pinstriped apron around my waist. “I’ll check on Booth Five and see how he’s doing.”
As I head for the booth, I can feel Trisha’s eyes boring into my back. I’d seen the flicker of irritation on my friend’s face when I volunteered to handle it, but too bad. Considering Lynda just gave us a speech about professionalism, I don’t think letting Trisha approach the alleged movie star is a good idea.
Like Trisha said, the mysterious stranger has his face hidden behind a newspaper, which really isn’t all that suspicious when you think about it. People read newspapers every day. People read newspapers in bars every day. It doesn’t mean they’re celebrities.
“Sorry to disturb you, sir, but would you like some more water?” I ask the Sports section.
There’s no response from the man behind the paper.
“Or maybe you’d like something else. A beer?”
Very slowly, the newspaper lowers.
A second later, my gaze collides with a pair of familiar blue eyes.
“Hello again,” my stranger says pleasantly, the corner of his mouth lifting in a small grin.
“Oh,” I squeak.
8
Maggie
Oh? Oh? I can’t think of anything better to say to the man I hopped into bed with last night?
I try to look casual despite the incessant thumping of my heart. God, I didn’t think I’d see him again. Yet here he is.
And either I’m crazy, or I hadn’t paid close enough attention yesterday, but he seems to have gotten even better looking. Has to be the clothes. Naked, he had sex written all over him. But now, in a leather jacket, white T-shirt, and faded blue jeans, he looks sexy and dangerous and completely edible.
As if the hotel-room disaster happened seconds ago rather than hours, my embarrassment returns with full force, slithers up my spine and settles in the back of my throat. Along with it, though, comes a spark of arousal at the memory of how incredible this guy’s mouth felt on mine. How warm his hands were when they’d gripped my waist, and how hard his—
“No need to look so terrified,” he quips, running a hand through his dark hair. “I won’t bite, you know.”
Yes, you will. You already did. I fight a shiver as I remember the way his teeth nibbled on my bottom lip.
“Um, I didn’t think we’d see each other again.” I lower my voice so that nobody can overhear. “I guess you’re here for that free drink.”
“Actually, no.” The other side of his mouth lifts so that a full-blown grin plays on his lips. “I’m here to return something.”
“Return…?” I blush when I realize what he means. “Oh,” I say, because once again it’s the best I can come up with.
“I know how attached women can be to their panties.” He winks. “Apparently it’s like losing a limb.”
Before I can answer, a sharp fingernail pokes the small of my back. The French-manicured perpetrator is Trisha, who gives a strangled cough that sounds like “ask him!” before she scurries away. Fucking hell.
But since I’d rather humor Trisha’s farfetched suspicions than discuss my underwear, I lower my voice and ask, “Hey, so this is going to sound absolutely ridiculous, but is your name Ben Barrett?”
His grin fades. “Why do you ask?”
I shrug. “One of the waitresses here thinks you’re Ben Barrett.”
He doesn’t answer.
“He’s an actor,” I add.
Still no answer. Wonderful. Have I just insulted him? Maybe he’s one of those celebrity look-alikes who is constantly hassled on the streets and gets pissed off whenever somebody points out the resemblance.
Opening my mouth to apologize, I’m surprised when he meets my gaze and says, “Yes.”
“Yes what?”
“I’m Ben Barrett.”
The apology dies on my lips. Wait. What?
“The actor,” he clarifies with a faint smile.
Clearly he’s kidding.
Right?
Are you a reporter?
His question from last night floats into the forefront of my brain. Why had he asked that? Because, really, only a man who’s used to having reporters around him would ask if I was one.
Which means…
Maybe he’s not kidding?
I focus my wary gaze on his face. “Is this a joke?”
His features grow pained. “No.”
“You’re really this Ben Barrett guy?”
“Lower your voice, Red, will ya?”
Red?
“My name’s Maggie,” I say, absently playing with the hem of my apron. “And I don’t get it. Why don’t you want anyone to know who you are?”
“I…” He rubs his temples. “I don’t want to be bothered. I’ve had a bitch of a time lately with reporters hounding me. I just want to be left alone.”
I raise my eyebrows. “So you decided to come to one of the busiest bars in Manhattan on the busiest night of the week?”
He gives a shrug. “I wanted to see you.”
My heart skips a beat. He wanted to see me?
“You don’t even know me,” I say slowly.
The grin returns to his rugged face. “Well, that can be easily changed.” He says it in a voice so smooth with confidence and so heady with sexual promise, my body grows warm in response. No, not warm. Hot. Burning hot.
Hoping he can’t see my nipples poking against my shirt, I swallow, desperate to allow some moisture back into my mouth. “I’m working.”
I’m working? Again, that’s all I can come up with? What about, Look, you’re hot but I don’t have time for complications right now.
Because I’m pretty sure Ben Barrett would be just that—a complication. He might be sexy as sin, and yeah, his voice gives me shivers that are completely foreign to me, but there’s no doubt in my mind that this man is trouble.
I don’t have time to play games with a movie star, no matter how delicious he looks. That’s why I prefer guys like Tony. Tony doesn’t have time for games. Or much of anything, for that matter. With him, it’s simply, let’s have some hot sex and see you later.
“I’m fully aware that you’re working,” Ben says. “But I’ve waited tables myself before, so I’m pretty sure you’ll have a break in a couple hours, right?”
I nod. “Nine o’clock.”
He returns the nod. “Good. So we’ll talk then.”
“We will, huh?” I arch one eyebrow.
“Yep.”
I narrow my eyes. How arrogant is this guy? He just assumes I’ll spend my dinner break hanging out with him? Like I have no other options? Like his sex appeal is so strong I just can’t wait to be alone with him and—
“I’ll meet you out front at nine,” I grumble.
Then I head back to the counter and try to convince myself that his good looks and sexy voice have absolutely no effect on me.
9
Ben
I smother a laugh as I watch Maggie scurry away. I wonder if she realizes her tendency to blush pretty much eliminates any chance of covering up her emotions. I’ve only been around her twice, but I’m able to pick up on everything she’s feeling from that telltale blush on her cheeks.
Crimson red means she’s embarrassed. I saw it last night, and again today, when I brought up the subject of her panties.
Scarlet means she’s angry, which was evident when I announced we’d be meeting up during her break.
And rosy pink…well, that’s a clear and undeniable shade of arousal.
She’s attracted to me. I know it, and I’m pretty sure she knows it too. Hell, it would be damn hard to deny it, seeing as the sexual tension hissed like a rattlesnake the second our eyes met.
I take a sip of water and reach for the novel I tucked into the pocket of my jacket. Nine o’clock, she’d said. Leaves
me with a few hours to kill, but that’s why I bought the book. I tried reading it earlier in Central Park, but I was too tense and too alert. Losing myself in a thriller was hard when I was constantly glancing over my shoulder, waiting for someone to ask for an autograph, or for a photographer to pop out from the other side of the bike path and snap my picture.
Maybe that’s why I came here tonight. I know sooner or later I’ll have to figure out where to spend the night, but calling up the few acquaintances I know in the city or attempting to check into another hotel appeals to me as much as having my chest waxed.
Why should I risk it anyway? My so-called friends would sell me out in a nanosecond. And if the other hotel clerks in Manhattan are anything like the guy from the Lester, I would only find myself on the news again.
I thought about renting a car and driving upstate, maybe checking into a little B & B, but something stopped me from leaving the city.
No, not something. Someone.
More specifically, the curvy redhead whose green eyes keep darting in my direction.
Fuck, she looks even sexier now that I’m fully awake. All that silky red hair that can’t decide if it wants to be wavy or straight. Her emerald eyes. Tight body. Looking at her now, I wish I asked her to stay last night. Would’ve been a lot more fun than the self-gratification session I had to indulge in after she left me with a raging hard-on.
Although I can’t really explain it, this woman has been on my mind from the second I opened his eyes this morning, and now I’m glad I listened to the strange urge that told me to come see her. I’ve been on edge all day, but sitting here in this booth with nothing to do but read a book and wait for Maggie to go on break, I don’t feel as stiff. The tension in my back has eased, my muscles are relaxed, and for the first time in a long time I’m relishing the feeling of being anonymous.
From the corner of my eye, I see Maggie exchange a few words with the brown-haired waitress who’s been eyeing me all evening. The sight of the two women whispering causes a sliver of unease to pierce through me. Are they talking about me?
More importantly, is Maggie confirming my identity or denying it?
The latter becomes likelier, as Maggie’s fellow waitress frowns, then pouts, then glances over at me with supreme disappointment.
I stick my nose in my book to hide a smile. Maggie covered for me. Why, though? She really had no reason to do that, but the fact that she respected my request for privacy pleases me.
When she sidles past my booth again, I can’t help but shoot her a grateful smile. She doesn’t smile back, just spares a brief look in my direction and saunters by.
Is that annoyance in her gaze?
I twist around and watch as she maneuvers through the large, dimly lit bar, which is beginning to fill up. Most of the scattered tables and wall-to-wall booths are occupied, and a popular hip-hop song now blares from the speaker system. Since it’s Saturday night, I know the place will soon be filled to capacity, but I can’t bring myself to duck out just yet.
I’m far too fascinated with the redhead across the room.
Her ass looks delicious in her short denim skirt, making my hand tingle with the urge to squeeze it. My gaze drifts north, to her slim back and the wavy red hair cascading down it. I’m startled to find my dick hardening at the sight.
Jeez. When was the last time I got an erection from the sight of a woman’s back?
Lowering my eyes to the novel, I try to shake off the desire raging in my blood, but my senses kick into overdrive as I remember every detail from last night. How sweet her hair smelled when it brushed against my cheek. The heat of her body pressed against mine. The taste of her lips. The urgency of her tongue. The way her pussy tightened over my finger when I slid it inside her.
The mouth-watering memories only make it more difficult to keep my cock in check. Eventually, I close the book and glance at my watch. Quarter to nine. Man, time sure flies when you’re fantasizing about a hot redhead while pretending to read.
“Do you think it’s him?” hisses a high-pitched female voice.
Shit.
Even in my fairly isolated booth, I know the two women by the counter have a clear view of me. I tug on my baseball cap at the same time I hear four words that make me cringe.
“It’s totally Ben Barrett.”
My muscles stiffen again, as my brain orders me to get out before the girls at the bar decide to approach me.
Maggie’s throaty voice stops me from rising.
“Sorry, honey, it’s not who you think it is.” She gives a loud, exaggerated sigh that makes my lips twitch. “I thought it was him too, but it’s not. I already asked.”
“That sucks,” says one of the women. “I heard he’s in the city.”
“If he is, he wouldn’t come to a place like this.” From my vantage point, I notice the smile on Maggie’s lips seems forced. “Big celebrities like him get suites at the Plaza and do blow with high-class call girls.”
I choke back a laugh. I’m tempted to march over there and kiss her senseless as thanks for covering for me. Or maybe not as thanks. Maybe I just want to kiss her.
Instead, I wait patiently for another fifteen minutes, then stand up when I hear Maggie tell the bartender she’ll be back in thirty.
Tucking my book in my pocket, I hop out of the booth and head for the door.
I breathe in the late evening air. A few moments later, Maggie walks out of the bar. She pauses near the streetlight by the curb, the pale yellow light causing her hair to appear redder and brighter. Like a halo of fire kindled by the evening breeze.
“Hey.” I greet her with a faint smile.
She stares me down with obvious wariness. And there it is again, a gleam of annoyance. What the hell is up with that?
“Hi.” She holds on to the thick strap of her oversized purse. “I have a half hour for my dinner break. I usually grab a hot dog.”
“Let’s go,” I say easily.
She nods and then pushes forward, her high heels clacking against the pavement.
I fall into step with her and cock my head. “You look angry.”
She shoots me a sideways glance. “What makes you think that?”
I shrug. “Are you?”
“A little.”
“Because I showed up at your work?”
Her hands drop to her hips as she stops walking. “Yes. Thanks to you, I’ve spent the past three hours as your bodyguard, trying to keep every vagina in the place away from you.”
I have to grin. “I never asked you to do that.”
“You didn’t have to. You turned white as mayo when I asked who you were. It was obvious you didn’t want to be bothered.” She pauses. “Besides, I owe you. Celebrity or not, I still barged into your room last night.”
With a frown, she resumes walking. I quicken my pace to keep up with her, oddly pleased that my celebrity status is an obvious thorn in her side.
It sure as hell is a thorn in mine.
“So what do you want?”
She gets right to the point, which I suspect she does a lot. Just another item to add to my already growing list of reasons why I like her.
“I told you, I came to return something.”
We stop in front of a hot dog vendor, who Maggie greets by name. She orders a dog with all the fixings, pays the man, and turns back to me.
“So that’s it? You came by to return my underwear?”
A loud cough sounds. I glance over to find the hot dog vendor raising his bushy eyebrows at us.
Maggie waves a dismissive hand. “Just a figure of speech, Joe. Pretend you didn’t hear that.”
She says good-bye and gestures for me to follow her. Moments later we’re leaning against a brick wall a few yards away, and I can’t help but be impressed as I watch Maggie eat.
It’s been a while since I’ve met a woman who dined in anything less than a five-star restaurant. If I even dared to suggest to a date we indulge in some street meat I’d probably get slapped. But
Maggie looks completely comfortable as she scarfs down a hot dog and wipes ketchup from the corner of her delectable mouth.
She doesn’t seem to notice the people hurrying by or the sound of cars whizzing down Broadway. When a cop car speeds past, sirens blazing, she doesn’t even blink. She acts like having dinner in the middle of a busy street is no big deal.
“Is there a reason why you’re staring at me like that?” she asks politely.
“I like the way you eat.”
One reddish-brown eyebrow lifts. “Is that some weird pick-up line?”
A laugh slips out. “No, just an honest-to-God compliment. It’s been a while since I hung out with a woman who ate something other than a side salad.”
Maggie makes a face as she swallows the last bite of her hot dog. “If my meals consisted of side salads, I’d die of malnutrition.” She wipes her mouth with a napkin and then tosses it in a nearby trashcan. “Anyway. Listen up, Mr. Movie Star.”
I can’t help but grin. “I’m all ears.”
“What do you want from me? I already apologized for last night and you passed on my offer for a free drink, so why are you here?” Before I can answer, she narrows those emerald eyes. “You’re not going to sue me, are you?”
I’m taken aback. “What?”
“Sue me. For sexual harassment or something.”
“Of course I’m not going to sue you.”
“You better not.” She scowls at me. “It would never hold up in court, anyway.”
I stare at her, bewildered. Who is this woman? One minute she’s angry with me, the next she’s accusing me of launching a potential lawsuit. It’s exasperating, but in a cute way, and as I stand there gaping at her, I finally figure out what’s drawing me to her.
It isn’t the fact that she’s oblivious to my career, or the way her curvy body felt pressed against mine. It isn’t the appealing blushing, or the killer legs, or how great her ass looks in that short skirt.
