by Elle Kennedy
I like her because she treats me like a…human being.
She knows who I am now, and she still doesn’t care. She isn’t trying to impress me, isn’t holding her tongue. Aside from my mother, this redheaded waitress is the first woman who isn’t scared to tell me exactly what she’s thinking.
“Okay, so what do you want?” she repeats, her lips pursed in irritation. “And don’t say a date, because I really don’t have time for that.”
I laugh again and decide this is the best conversation I’ve ever had with a girl.
“What do I want,” I say thoughtfully. I pull one hand out of my pocket and with it comes her pink panties. With a chivalrous bow, I hand her the silky underwear. “First, to return these. I don’t want your pretty little butt getting cold.”
A whisper of a smile crosses her mouth as she tucks the underwear into her purse. “My butt is just fine, Mr. Barrett. I do own more than one pair of panties. And second?”
“Second?”
“You said the underwear was first. What’s second?”
I poke my tongue in my cheek and eye her, experiencing one of those rare moments when words escape me. What do I want? Well, I know what I need, and that’s to figure out where to spend the night without ending up on the news again.
What I want, though, is to pull this chick into my arms and kiss the hell out of her. And then maybe go back to her place and fuck the hell out of her.
Then again…who says that my needs and wants are mutually exclusive?
I need a bed.
I want this woman in bed with me.
Why can’t I have both?
“You’re doing it again,” Maggie accuses, jolting me back to reality.
“Doing what?”
“Staring at me. Be honest, do I have something stuck between my teeth?”
I laugh. “No.”
“Then quit staring. It’s rude.” She shakes her head in exasperation. “Okay, we’ve wasted enough time here. I have to go back to work and you—”
I cut her off. “Let me stay at your place tonight.”
10
Maggie
My jaw closes so abruptly I can hear a few teeth rattling around in my mouth. Is this man insane?
Let me stay at your place tonight.
Seven words I never expected to hear, and yet the second he says them a thrill shoots up my spine.
Fine, so maybe the idea of bringing this sex god home is seriously tempting. But unlike most people, I’m pretty skilled at resisting temptation.
I stare into Ben’s dark blue eyes and wonder if he’s joking. He doesn’t look like it. No amusement on his face, just a dead-serious expression.
Does he actually think I’m going to let him stay at my apartment?
“No offense or anything, but are you strapped for cash?” I ask carefully. The guy’s financial situation isn’t any of my business, but I have to know.
“No, I’m doing all right in the finance department.”
He takes a step back, but I still feel the heat radiating from his lean body. His leather jacket doesn’t emphasize his muscled arms or rippled chest, but I remember those details well. I wonder if he has any other tattoos I might have missed in the dark. Then I wonder why my thighs are trembling at the idea there might be more.
For God’s sake, stop checking him out and focus.
Right. It doesn’t matter how many tattoos might be hidden on that hard body of his. That’s no reason to invite him to stay with me.
“Okay, so you’ve got money,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. “Which means you can afford to check into a hotel.”
“I’d much rather stay with you, Red.”
“Are you in trouble with the law?”
“No. I just need a place to sleep. It’ll only be for a few days.”
My jaw drops. “A few days?”
“Yeah.” He gives me a little boy look. “Is that a yes?”
“No!” I’m still gawking at him. “Why not a hotel?”
“Do you always ask so many questions?” he counters.
“When a stranger asks to crash at my place, yes.”
“We’re not strangers.” He moves closer and dips his head so we’re at eye level. “We’ve been in bed together, remember?”
He has to bring that up again, doesn’t he?
“I just don’t get why you’re asking me this.”
He sighs, and his warm breath tickles the bridge of my nose. “Here’s the short version—I haven’t slept in days because the press is on my back for a silly scandal they fabricated. This morning they thought I was abducted. The cops gave a statement that I wasn’t, but the media is still camped out in front of my building.”
“No friends you could call?”
“Friends?” He makes a bitter noise that sounds like a cross between a laugh and a snort. “Let me enlighten you about my so-called friends. A guy I grew up with—we were inseparable since we were six years old, I was best man at his wedding. Last year he sold pictures of me from his bachelor party for a quarter million. Sound like a friend to you?”
I swallow. “Ouch.” Then, realizing I’ve let my sympathy distract me, I mutter, “All right, so you’ve succeeded in making me feel sorry for you.”
“I don’t expect you to feel sorry—”
“But it doesn’t mean you can coax a free bed out of me.”
He lowers his head again so that his lips brush my ear. “I doubt you need much coaxing. It’s obvious you want me in your bed as much as I want to be there.”
“Excuse me?” A spark of anger lights my stomach at the sheer arrogance dripping from his tone. “Where do you get off?”
A lazy grin spreads across his mouth. “Well, last night, I got off while fantasizing about a certain redhead.”
Heat rolls through me.
“Tonight, though,” he says with that wicked grin, “I figured maybe we’d get off together.”
My arousal is joined by another flicker of anger. Guys are never this forward with me, and although his flirting is kind of amusing, the way he assumes he can just snap his fingers and get me into bed is insulting.
“Look, I get it. You apparently think you’re God’s gift to women. But let me tell you something, Ben Barrett—I’m not one of those girls who swoons in the presence of a celebrity, okay? In fact, the last thing I want to do is get involved with someone like—”
He kisses me.
Just like that. No permission, no warning, he just slams his hot mouth on mine and kisses me.
If any other man did this, I would probably slug him, but I find myself unable to pull away. Like last night, he doesn’t take the time to be gentle. He parts my lips with his tongue, while his hands drift down to my waist to keep me against him. And just when I begin to respond, just when my tongue flicks against his and the fingers of my right hand slide into his dark hair, he pulls back.
And grins at me.
“Know what that was?” he says cheerfully.
I struggle to catch my breath. “A totally insensitive way to shut me up?”
“Our first fight.” He drops his hands from my hips and sticks them back in his pockets. “So, when are you off work, Red?”
All I can do is stare at him. Are all movie stars this crazy or is it just this particular one?
“I’m done at two,” I find myself replying. “Why?”
He ignores the question. “I’ll meet you here when you’re done. You can give me your answer then.”
“My answer?”
“About letting me crash with you.”
“I already said—”
He presses his index finger to my lips, which causes a shiver to dance up my spine. “Think about it. That’s all I ask. Give me your answer after you’ve had a chance to do that.” He shoots me that cocky smile again. “Not that there’s much to think about. You and I both know exactly where I’ll be spending the night, don’t we, Maggie?”
11
Ben
Women
don’t say no to me.
It’s simply one of the delicious facts of life that I’ve come to accept over the years. Even before I started acting, the ladies loved me. Hell, when I was fifteen, a few friends dared me to ask the most popular senior in school to the freshman prom, and not only had I walked into the high school gym with the hottest girl on my arm, but I also lost my virginity that night.
Needless to say, I’m not surprised when Maggie walks out of the bar at two a.m. and gestures for me to follow her.
Yup, I still have a way with the ladies.
And yet while Maggie clearly isn’t saying no, she’s the first chick I’ve encountered who has the nerve to look less than pleased with her decision to say yes.
“I’m not going to stay at your place if you sulk all night,” I say, keeping my stride casual as I follow her down the sidewalk.
It’s late, and the Saturday night crowds have finally started to disperse. In the distance, a thin mist shrouds the buildings and skyscrapers, and the spring air is chilled, causing me to zip up my jacket. When I glance over at Maggie, my gaze doesn’t miss the way her nipples are poking against the thin bra under the blue long-sleeved shirt she now wears. She’s also changed into a pair of snug blue jeans and tied her long hair into a low ponytail, which makes her seem younger.
“I’m not sulking,” she replies, her frown deepening.
“Sure you are.” I stick my hands in my pockets and cock my head at her. “I actually find it quite insulting.”
She stops walking. “You want to know what’s insulting? You assuming you can waltz into my life and expect me to agree to whatever tickles your fancy.”
I lift a brow. “Considering we’re on the way to your apartment, I’d say that wasn’t a bad assumption.”
Her cheeks turn bright red. “The only reason I’m letting you stay over is because I feel sorry for you,” she huffs.
A laugh trickles out of my mouth. “Sure, babe. If you say so.”
We fall into step again, me still chuckling, and Maggie apparently using silence as punishment for my amusement. I wonder how she’d react if I tell her I view her silence as a reward. If I tell her she’s the first woman who doesn’t fawn all over me or coddle me. The women who tend to pursue me are vacuous fame chasers, trying to seduce me to further their own ambitions.
Not that I don’t like being seduced. Every now and then, however, I like the challenge of doing the seducing myself. A rare luxury, considering most women are ready to fuck me before I even ask. Hell, these days I don’t even have to ask.
“This is it,” Maggie says, breaking the drawn-out silence as we come to a stop in front of an older-looking high-rise with large balconies.
She uses a key to get into the lobby, then heads for the elevator without looking back to see if I’m following. It’s kinda cute, the way she pretends she’s doing me a favor by letting me come home with her. I know better, of course. The way she trembled against me during the kiss earlier proves the attraction between us is very mutual.
“How long have you lived here?” I ask as we step into the elevator.
She shoots me a dirty look. “Don’t make small talk.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re only wasting time.” The doors open with a loud buzz, and Maggie whisks out of the car, over her shoulder adding, “Neither of us has any illusions about why you’re here.”
The remark startles me, so much so that the elevator nearly closes on my toes. I push forward before the doors shut and hurry after Maggie. Another first, having to chase after a woman.
“And what’s that supposed to mean?” I catch up to her as she unlocks the door to her apartment.
“It means we both know how this night is going to end,” she replies, mocking me with my earlier words.
Any other time I would have a sexy comeback, but the second I enter Maggie’s apartment, I become speechless.
“This is where you live?” I finally demand. I’m gaping at her.
“Yeah. Is there a problem?”
There isn’t a problem, but I certainly hadn’t expected this. If I hadn’t seen Maggie unlock the door, I would think we were in the wrong apartment.
The place looks like somebody’s grandmother lives in it. The furniture, mostly plaid upholstery, is all mismatched. The paintings on the wall depict bland landscapes and the occasional kitten rolling around in a garden. Frilly pink tablecloths and doilies that appear handmade cover every table in the room, and I have to blink a few times to be sure, but I think I see photos of Cary Grant and a young Marlon Brando hanging over the TV.
The only item in the apartment that resembles anything modern is the steel drum sitting in the open-concept dining room, but I can’t quite figure that out either.
When I finish my scrutiny, I glance over and see the humor dancing in Maggie’s eyes.
“C’mon, say it,” she taunts.
“What?”
“How tacky it is. We both know you want to say it.”
I might’ve been living in Hollywood for the past ten years of my life, but I grew up in Ohio with a mother who’d instilled good manners in me. “It’s not tacky,” I lie. “Did you decorate it yourself?”
Laughter bubbles out of her throat. “Wow. Did you learn the art of bullshitting from the film industry or does it just come naturally to you?”
“What? No, I think this place is really something.” Something terrifying.
She laughs again. “Relax, Barrett. I didn’t decorate it. My roommate’s grandmother owns this place. When she moved, she made Summer promise not to change a thing.”
My ears perk. “You have a roommate?”
Her amused expression quickly dissolves into another frown. “Summer’s gone for the week—and she has a boyfriend. So wipe any sleazy notions of a threesome out of your head.”
How is it humanly possible that she keeps catching me off-guard like this?
My nostrils flare as I ponder the best way to respond. “You really don’t think much of me, do you?”
“I don’t even know you.”
“You’re right, you don’t.” I offer a shrug. “For what it’s worth, the reason I asked about your roommate is because I wanted to make sure we’d be alone.”
“Well, we are.” Sighing, she crosses her arms. “So let’s just do this, okay?”
“Do what?”
“Let’s have sex.”
“No thanks.” I unzip my jacket and shrug it off my shoulders. “So, should I sleep on the couch or is there a spare room?”
“Excuse me?” She drops her arms and lets them dangle at her sides. “Did you just say ‘no thanks’?”
I toss my jacket on a nearby armchair. “That’s right, I did.”
When I meet her gaze, she has the gall to look confused. “You don’t want to have sex?”
“Not when you act like it’s a chore.”
Another sigh tumbles out of her mouth, longer this time, and lined with exasperation. “I can’t believe you. You’ve been flirting with me all night, taunting me about how it’s inevitable we’re going to end up in bed together, and when I finally give in, you back out?”
Shaking her head, she stalks past me toward the kitchen. A large window has been cut out of the wall, so I can see her every movement as she pulls the fridge door open so hard that the items on the shelves clatter against one another. I hide a grin, enjoying her visible indignation.
She’s pissed and I love it. Not that I get off on infuriating women, but this one deserves to have a few feathers ruffled. I’m used to people making assumptions about me, but Maggie is the first woman to openly challenge and criticize me. Also, the first woman who acts like having sex with me is equivalent to having a root canal—which ain’t cool. Or great for my ego.
“Why did you ask me to come here when it’s obviously not what you want?” I roll my eyes as I approach the kitchen doorway.
She pours a glass of orange juice and then sips the liquid slowly. I notice that th
e fire has left her eyes, replaced by a flicker of hesitation.
“It is what I want,” she finally replies.
Her expression is so glum that my ego takes another nice hit. “Don’t sound so enthusiastic.”
“You don’t get it.” She plays with the edge of her ponytail, and the vulnerability moving across her face chips away at my irritation. “I don’t have much room in my life for dating.” She gives a self-deprecating smile. “Or sex.”
“And yet our first meeting took place in a hotel room, with you getting naked and hopping into my bed.” I take a step closer, but still keep a few feet between us. “Who were you supposed to meet?”
“Tony.” Her reply comes out as a groan.
The spark of jealousy I feel at the sound of another man’s name on Maggie’s lips is not only unwelcome, but bewildering. “And who’s Tony?”
She stares down at her high heels. “Just a guy I meet a couple times a year.”
“Not a boyfriend?”
“No. Like I said, I don’t have time for dating. Or sex,” she repeats.
As understanding dawns, I give an amazed laugh. “Are you saying you only have sex two times a year, with this Tony guy?”
“Sometimes it’s three,” she says, sounding defensive.
Another laugh tickles my throat. I try very hard to swallow it back. For the first time all night, Maggie has dropped her combative attitude. The last thing I want is to spark another fight by making fun of her.
“What exactly keeps you so busy?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“Work. School. Volunteering.” She shrugs. “Relationships always seem to get in the way. That’s why I don’t understand this.”
“This?” I echo.
“You. This attraction I have to you.” She rubs her forehead, then her temples, then pinches the bridge of her nose, as if acknowledging the chemistry between us is nothing but a headache. “I don’t bring guys home. I don’t have flings. I don’t have time for flings. Especially with men like you.”
Against my better sense, a grin lifts the corners of my mouth. “And what kind of man am I?”
