by Elle Kennedy
A shockwave rocks my core, causing me to squeeze his tight ass and buck against him. Suddenly I don’t have the energy to tease or prolong the inevitable.
“I want it very, very badly,” I whisper.
With a satisfied nod, he plunges into me and swallows my strangled cry with a hard kiss. His mouth devours mine, his fingers stroking my hair and my hips and my clit. I drink in his kisses and it isn’t long before waves of pleasure crash over me again. A climax so extraordinary that my legs shake and bright light explodes in front of my eyes.
The bliss only deepens when I feel Ben shudder, when I hear the low groan signaling that he’s coming. I tighten my grip around his neck. When I press my breasts to his sweat-soaked chest, the erratic thumping of his heartbeat vibrates against my skin.
I don’t know how long we lie there, and I don’t care that the crush of his powerful chest restricts the flow of oxygen to my brain. I like the weight of him. And the slick feel of him. And the spicy masculine scent of him. I know I should move, get up, get dressed, put an end to this intimate moment, but I can’t bring myself to do it. Instead, I release a sigh and stroke his back, pressing my face to his chest as he slowly rolls over and brings me with him.
22
Ben
I’m reeling, not so much from the incredible sex, but from Maggie’s odd behavior. Something’s changed. I can’t put my finger on it, but I sense it as I hold Maggie in my arms and thread my fingers through her hair. Somehow, in the minutes we’ve been lying here recovering from our mind-blowing orgasms, she’s dropped her guard. She didn’t jump out of the bed after the sex, didn’t start rambling on about her schedule and schoolwork and all the reasons why being here with me is a bad idea.
She just curled up beside me, letting me stroke her hair.
I like it.
A lot.
“So what now?” she asks after giving a big yawn. “Should we take a walk on the beach?”
“Says the redhead after yawning her face off,” I tease. “It’s okay to be tired, babe. To just lie around and do nothing.”
She shifts, moving onto her side so that her gaze locks with mine. Her expression reflects uneasiness. “Doing nothing makes me anxious.”
I grin. “I’ve noticed.”
“It’s not a bad thing, is it?”
“No, it’s not a bad thing. No need to get defensive.” I reach for her leg and lift it so that it’s draped over my thighs, not sure why I need the physical contact so desperately. “I just think you need to learn how to relax every now and then.”
She doesn’t answer, but the troubled look on her face speaks volumes. I wonder how many times she’s heard that before from the people in her life. Her friends. Co-workers. That dumbass Tony. I’d bet anything that Maggie’s non-existent love life is a direct result of her need to always be doing something.
“What do you want from your life?” I find myself asking. “Aside from being a social worker?”
Surprise flickers in her gaze, followed by a glimmer of confusion. “To be honest, I’ve never really thought past the career thing.”
“You don’t think about getting married? Or having children? Traveling, gardening, anything that doesn’t involve working?”
“Not really.” Before I can question the response, she turns the tables on me. “What about you? Do you ever think of a life beyond acting?”
“All the time.” A wry smile creases my mouth. “If I’m being honest, acting is definitely not what I thought it would be.”
“What did you hope to get from it?”
I pause to think. Shit. I’ve never let myself examine the hopes I had going into this industry. Or the unhappiness I feel now that my career has zigzagged in a direction I never wanted.
“Ben?”
I chew on the inside of my cheek, trying to put it into words I’ve never said out loud. “It’s…it’s like I bought a first-class ticket for passage on the Titanic,” I finally say. “You know, boarding the ship, getting caught up in the splendor of it, thinking I’m on top of the world. And then comes the iceberg and the ship sinks.”
“So what’s your iceberg?” she asks, reaching out to touch my chin.
I haven’t shaved in days, and the feel of Maggie’s fingers skimming my rough beard makes my groin tighten. She doesn’t miss the way my cock jerks in response, but she wiggles her eyebrows and gives me a no-nonsense stare. “Oh no. We’re having a conversation. Stop trying to distract me.”
I protest. “I didn’t do anything.”
“No, but he did.” She stares at my cock for a moment, and then shakes her head as if to snap herself out of it. “So…the iceberg?”
“Being typecast,” I admit. “I started acting because I loved it, but I also wanted to be recognized. Respected. Then I did one action flick and suddenly I’m known as bad boy macho man Ben Barrett. I haven’t been offered a decent role in years. All I get are mindless let’s-blow-up-every-possible-thing-we-can films.”
She smiles dryly. “Not that I have much experience in the film industry, but one thing I’ve learned in life is that nobody’s going to give it to you. If you want something, you go after it.”
“I’m trying,” I answer in frustration.
“Try harder.”
Amazement washes over me. Maggie isn’t like any other chick I’ve been with. The women I know would either laugh it off and tell me to enjoy the money, or make a heartfelt speech about how one day someone will recognize my talent and give me a significant role. Not Maggie. Nope, she tells me to try harder.
Oddly enough, it’s just what I want—and need—to hear.
She yawns again. “You’re right. I’m tired,” she announces. “No beach walking tonight.”
We’re both still naked, but Maggie doesn’t seem to mind. Without an ounce of bashfulness, she stretches one arm toward the end table and fumbles for the remote control.
“Let’s watch a movie,” she says. “I haven’t watched a movie in ages.”
Although I’d prefer a repeat performance of what we’d done a half hour ago, I decide to let Maggie enjoy herself. If watching movies will finally make her relax, then why not.
But when she flicks on the TV, the first thing that flashes across the screen is my face.
“Hey, it’s one of your movies,” she exclaims. Before I can object, she raises the volume and a crack of fake gunfire fills the bungalow. “Oh, wow. You’re right about all the explosions.”
Seeing my latest film on the screen leaves me weary, but Maggie seems to be enjoying it so I stay quiet. I pull her closer, wrapping one arm around her, and turn my gaze to the movie, inwardly cringing at every loud blast and the screeching tires from the car chase I loathed shooting. I do most of my own stunts, and I went home that night covered in bruises and needing to ice my ribcage.
The film drags on, and next to me Maggie’s body grows warmer and her breathing evens out. She’s fallen asleep. I try to fight back a prickle of insult, but it’s hard. My movies suck so bad they even make Maggie, the workaholic Energizer bunny, fall asleep. That hurts more than I’ll ever admit.
Trying not to wake her, I slowly take the remote control next to her sleeping body and turn off the TV. Then I reach for the lamp beside me and turn that off too. Darkness engulfs the room, save for one clear shaft of moonlight that pours in through the sheer curtains.
With a sigh, I close my eyes and stroke Maggie’s hair again.
Just as I start to drift off, her soft voice breaks through the silence in the room.
“You’re a good actor, Ben,” she murmurs, giving me a little squeeze before she falls back asleep.
23
Maggie
“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this,” I declare the next evening.
I collapse on the bed, my stomach full from the eight-course dinner we just indulged in and my skin pink from the hours we spent in the sun today.
“Get used to what?” Ben closes the door and heads for the plush leather armchair near the bed
. He drops into it with a contented sigh.
“This.” I wave my hand around. “Our own private bungalow. Our own private stretch of sand. Being waited on at dinner. Eating steak and lobster.”
Having wild, almost hourly sex with a movie star… I keep that part to myself. His ego is already big enough.
“And to think,” he says with a chuckle, “we still have the whole night in front of us. You should hop in the shower, by the way. It’s almost time.”
My head comes up with a jerk. “Almost time for what?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“You know I don’t like surprises.”
“And I don’t like tennis, but I played a few sets with you, didn’t I?”
The memory brings a smile to my lips. Earlier I told Ben I hadn’t played tennis since high school, and although he’d griped and grumbled the entire time, he spent two hours on the court with me. Which was really sweet coming from a man who could barely serve the ball without hitting the net. Still, his pitiful tennis skills—and candid admission of inadequacy— were seriously charming.
I prop myself up on my elbows and sigh. “I’m too full to move. I’ll shower later.”
“No time. We’re on a schedule, Red.”
“Oh, are we?” I roll my eyes.
“Yep.” He rises from his chair and gives one of my arms a tug, dragging me off the bed. “So get your pretty little ass into that shower.”
“You’re not going to join me?”
He shakes his head. “There are a few details I need to take care of.”
I can’t help but pout. “Fine.”
I drift into the bathroom and slip out of my yellow sundress. I hang it on the hook behind the door, then step into the black-tiled shower stall next to the marble bathtub. As the warm water sluices over my sun-kissed body, I lather lavender body wash on my skin.
I haven’t felt this relaxed in years. Actually, I haven’t felt this relaxed ever, seeing as my life is a big ball of stress that revolves around work and school. Relaxation has never been part of the equation.
I have to force myself to remember that although I’m enjoying my time at the resort, my time with Ben, it’s not about to become part of my routine. I can’t forget where I come from. What I’ll be going back to when this trip ends.
My schedule, not to mention my finances, doesn’t allow for impromptu island getaways and sweaty sex with celebrities. It’s easy to lose myself in these luxurious surroundings, but luxury isn’t something I can count on. What happens if I lose my job or fail my exams? Ben has his big pile of money to cushion his fall, but what do I have?
Myself. No family, no roots, no security blankets. I have only myself, and I need to remember that before I get caught up in all this glitz and glamour, or start to believe that a girl like me might actually belong in Ben Barrett’s life.
“Mimi is here to do your hair and makeup.”
I move my gaze from my newly polished fingernails and fight back a yawn. “Is he trying to kill me?”
Denise, the petite blonde who’s been shuffling me around the spa for the past couple of hours, gives a rueful smile. “You weren’t kidding—you really are one of those women who can’t handle being pampered.” There’s a teasing lilt to her voice.
“Is that what you call being poked and prodded for two hours? Pampered?”
She wags her finger. “Don’t pretend you didn’t like it. I saw your face during the mud bath. You enjoyed it.” She takes a step back. “I’ll send Mimi in.”
I wait for Denise to leave before releasing a sigh of contentment. Fine, so I enjoyed the mud bath. And the massage from Paulo the heartthrob. Maybe even the manicure and pedicure.
Okay, I enjoyed it all.
When Ben dropped me off at the spa, I’d ordered myself to have a bad time. To hate every second of the experience and laugh in the face of luxury. But I failed. I’ve wholeheartedly relished every tranquil, self-indulgent moment.
“I’m here to do your hair.” A willowy brunette with a stunning olive complexion strides into the room carrying a large silver case.
I narrow my eyes suspiciously. “Why exactly am I getting my hair done?”
Mimi shrugs. “Afraid I don’t know. Mr. Barrett never said.”
“Of course he didn’t.”
I settle back in the plush leather chair and decide there’s no point questioning Ben’s motives. I don’t voice one complaint, not even when Mimi nearly scalps me trying to twist my unruly hair into a French twist. And I don’t flinch when the woman goes at my eyebrows with a pair of mean-looking tweezers.
An hour later, Mimi finally finishes styling my hair and applying my makeup. But just when I get to my feet thinking we’re done, she holds up her hand.
“One more thing.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, the one part of my face I can touch without ruining my makeup. “I’ve been in this spa for three hours, what more can he want to do to me?”
Mimi smiles, leaves the room, and quickly returns with a garment bag and a shoebox. “He wants you to get dressed.”
I probably would’ve made another sarcastic comment if it weren’t for the spectacular item the hairstylist removes from the bag. I stare at the slinky, emerald green dress. It’s gorgeous, more gorgeous than anything I own. Or have ever owned.
“Versace,” Mimi supplies, seeing the wonder in my eyes. She drapes the dress over the back of the chair. “I’ll leave you to get dressed.”
The second the door closes, I waste no time whipping off my over-sized terrycloth robe. I carefully wiggle into the Versace masterpiece, then spin around to examine my reflection in the full-length mirror.
Wow.
With my hair piled atop my head and the gorgeous satin material clinging to my curves, I look like a different person.
“Oh my, I believe Mimi deserves a raise.” Denise’s voice comes from the doorway.
I blush as I meet her admiring stare. “You think I look good?”
“I think you look fabulous,” she corrects. She gives one last appraising look, and then gestures for me to follow her. “Mr. Barrett asked for you to meet him in the lobby at midnight. You don’t want to be late.”
I glance down at my bare feet. “But I don’t have shoes.”
Denise points to the shoebox the hairdresser left behind. “Sure you do.”
Feeling like a kid on Christmas morning, I make a beeline for the narrow box. Unlike the hand-me-down gifts I received from my foster families over the years, this box contains something new and shiny. Silver, high-heeled sandals that match the silver eye shadow Mimi dabbed on my eyelids. Ben obviously planned everything to a T.
I slip on the shoes and follow Denise out the door, oddly self-conscious as we leave the spa. My heels click against the marble floor beneath them, and my heartbeat drums in my throat as we near the majestic lobby of the resort.
“I feel like a princess,” I whisper, shooting a nervous glance at the woman next to me.
She stops in front of the arch leading into the lobby. “And there’s your prince,” she whispers back.
I shift my gaze and see him. Leaning casually against one of the stone pillars in the middle of the large room, his hawk-like gaze drilling into me.
My surroundings fade as our eyes lock, and I don’t break eye contact as I walk across the room toward Ben.
“You look…fuck, Maggie,” he mumbles. “You look beautiful.”
Heat spills through me. I have to admit, as out of my depth as I feel in the elegant dress he bought for me, I like the effect it has. The neckline dips so low that my breasts practically spill out of the silk bodice, and the slit up the side shows a hell of a lot of thigh. It’s the kind of dress meant to tease a man into submission, and though I’ll never be a hundred percent comfortable dressing like a vixen, I like the delight I see in Ben’s blue eyes.
I also like the tuxedo currently hugging his lean body, the way the black jacket stretches over his broad shoulders and emphasizes his
rock-hard chest. With that classy tux and his clean-shaven face, he looks every inch the movie star he is, and again I feel like Cinderella as I accept his proffered arm and curl my fingers around his biceps.
“Did you have fun at the spa?” he asks as we fall into step together.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
He leads me across the lobby toward a set of heavy oak doors flanked by two large men in dark suits. At our approach, the men pull the doors open with a graceful swoop and gesture for us to enter. Seeing as how we’re dressed like we’re going to the prom, I expect to walk into a grand ballroom. To my surprise, it’s a casino.
And not the kind of casino you see in Las Vegas, with flashing neon lights and ear-piercing chimes and bells of slot machines. This one is small and sophisticated, with an array of game tables, waiters with trays of champagne, and a black-tie clientele. Aside from the occasional jubilant cry coming from the roulette section, the atmosphere is serious yet relaxed, and it practically oozes money.
“Do you like to gamble?” Ben asks. We cross the plush carpeted floor toward one of the blackjack tables.
“I don’t know. I’ve never gambled before.”
What would I have to gamble with? I almost add, but stop myself just in time. A man as wealthy as Ben wouldn’t understand anyway.
“Trust me. You’ll like it.”
We stop in front of a table. A suit-clad man approaches and exchanges a few words with Ben. They speak in murmured tones, but I catch the word “markers” and then raise my brows at the number “two thousand.”
As a bow-tied card dealer doles out a stack of chips and places them in front of Ben, I lean over and whisper, “Did you just ask for two thousand dollars’ worth of chips?”
“Yep.” He splits the stack in half and pushes one pile toward me. “This one’s yours.”
I gulp. “I can’t take your money. What if I lose?”
“Then you lose.”
My throat tightens with irritation. “I won’t be in debt to you, Ben.”
