Midnight Encounters (14 page)

“
Who
?”

“Papa G.” He furrowed his brows. “You know, the rapper?”

Her expression remained blank, causing Ben to sigh.

“You honestly don’t know who Papa G is? LA gangsta rap, came out last year with the hit single

‘Where’s my Bling, Bitch?’.”

She’d entered the Twilight Zone. Only thing missing was the creepy music and a guy named Mulder…or was that a different show?

“So you’re borrowing this plane from a rapper who sings about bitches?” she said slowly.

“He doesn’t sing, he raps. And yes, I’m borrowing his jet. Papa made a cameo in one of my films last year, so I called in a favor.”

“Oh.”

There was really nothing more to say, except maybe inquire as to what bling was, but she didn’t feel like making an idiot out of herself in front of Ben and the stone-faced pilot lurking near the cockpit entrance.

“The flight plan has been filed, and we’re all fueled,” the pilot said in a professional voice. “If you could take your seats and strap in, we’ll be ready for take-off.” The pilot disappeared into the cockpit and closed the door.

Ben gestured to one of the window seats. “It’s all yours.” She gulped. “No, it’s okay, you take it.”

“You sure?”

“Uh-huh.”

During her gawking of G Pappy’s plane, she seemed to have forgotten one very important, very terrifying thought—she’d never flown before.

Her knees knocked together as she sank into one of the leather chairs and fumbled with the seatbelt.

Although the temperature in the cabin was cool, her entire body grew hot. Her nerves scampered around like an anxious kitten.

Fanning her scorching cheeks with one hand, she tried to assume a calm expression, and then turned to Ben and asked, “How familiar are you with the current plane crash statistics?”

“Huh?”

“Plane crashes.” She gulped a few times, trying to bring some saliva back into her arid mouth. “How often do they occur? Are smaller planes more likely to go down than larger ones?” Ben’s movie star mouth stretched out in an amazed smile. “Oh man. You’re scared of flying, aren’t you?”

“What? No. I mean, I don’t know. I’ve never flown before, so I’m not sure if I’m scared of flying.” A soft laugh rolled out of his chest. “It’ll be fine, babe. You’re more likely to get hit by a bus than die in a plane crash. That’s a fact.”

His reply only mollified her slightly, and her nerves continued gnawing at her stomach, especially when the jet lurched forward and started wheeling out of the hangar. It rolled toward one of the runways and a second later the pilot’s voice crackled over the loudspeaker to announce their take-off.

Maggie kept her gaze on her lap as the plane sped down the long strip. Her stomach turned as the wheels lifted off the runway. You have a better chance of getting hit by a bus, she told herself, and then repeated the mantra in her head as the jet made its ascent.

“Just take a quick peek,” Ben urged. He placed a hand on her chin in an attempt to direct her gaze to the window. “Look how gorgeous the city looks from the air.” Curiosity got the best of her. She leaned across Ben’s chest and pressed her nose to the square plastic window, then gasped. “Wow, you’re right.”

The plane continued to climb into the sky, providing a beautiful view of the cityscape below. Though the sun hadn’t quite set entirely, the lights of Manhattan sparkled up at them, the high-rises and skyscrapers growing smaller and smaller the higher they went. She squinted and noticed how tiny the cars speeding across the George Washington Bridge looked, like the miniature toy cars one of her foster brothers used to play with.

Everything looked pretty and surreal, and for the first time all day, a genuine smile reached her lips.

The smile soon faltered, however, when she realized she was draped across Ben’s chest. That her breasts were squashed into one of his muscular arms. Awareness prickled her skin, seared right through her sweater and made her nipples pebble against her thin bra. She knew he felt those tight buds, because he slowly moved his arm so that the sleeve of his leather jacket rubbed against her.

What was the matter with her? How was it possible that she
still
hadn’t gotten enough of this man? He’d been staying at her apartment for five days, for God’s sake. They’d already had sex more times than she could count. So how come every time she looked at him, every time he looked at her, the desire was as fierce and as potent as it had been that first night at the hotel?

“It’s a great view, isn’t it?” he murmured.

She turned to see his blue eyes glued to her mouth and almost licked her lips in anticipation of his kiss. It embarrassed her, how badly she wanted this man. She should be angry with him for whisking her away when she still had so much work to do and instead all she could think about was ripping his clothes off.

“Crimson red.”

She shot him a look. “What?”

“Crimson red,” he repeated. “The color of your cheeks. You’re embarrassed.”

“You know how I’m feeling from my cheeks?”

“Yep.” He shrugged. “A big part of acting is reading other people’s expressions. That way you know how to react.”

A tiny ringing sound filled the jet, indicating they could unbuckle their seatbelts, which they both did.

She crossed her legs and gave him a thoughtful look. “I keep forgetting you’re an actor. You definitely don’t fit my idea of a celebrity. Though you do fill the arrogance criteria to a T, by the way.” He grinned. “It’s part of my natural charm.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“You know,” he added, his features growing serious, “it’s really easy to fall into the Hollywood trap once you become famous. You could be the most down-to-earth, kind-hearted person and then you get to Hollywood and your ego inflates like a helium balloon. Suddenly you’re stepping over people to get ahead, or drowning in a lifestyle that has the power to kill you. Sex, drugs and rock ’n roll, that sort of thing.”

“So how’d you escape the trap?”

“I have a very good mother.” He shifted over so they were face to face, and something really wholesome and genuine flickered in his gorgeous eyes. “She always made sure I had a good head on my shoulders, even if it meant slapping it into place.”

Envy gripped at her, but she tried to look casual. It wasn’t Ben’s fault she hadn’t lucked out in the maternal role model department, or that her voice would never contain that tinge of love and admiration when she spoke of her own mother.

“What about your father?” she asked.

“He ran off with another woman when I was two. Haven’t seen him since.” She offered a bitter smile. “Join the club.”

“Your dad took off too?”

“My dad wasn’t even in the picture to begin with. My mother was the one who did the running.” She swallowed. “I grew up in foster care.”

“Did you always live in New York?”

“Yep. Did you always live in Hollywood?”

“God, no. Do you think I’d be this normal if I had? Actually, I grew up in Cobb Valley, Ohio, a town with a population of, oh, about two thousand.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. Most of my classes in high school had about ten kids total.” He laughed. “And down the street from my house there was a drugstore with an honest-to-God malt shop in the back. I’m not making this up.”

Hearing Ben talk about his hometown brought on two reactions. First, it warmed her heart, probably because it amazed her that the movie star she’d spent the night Googling could talk so unpretentiously about his roots. The second reaction was discomfort, which was harder to decipher.

Being attracted to him was one thing, but getting to know him? Learning about his childhood and chuckling about the malt shop down the street? Telling him about her dismal upbringing? It was too…intimate.

Figure that one out. They’d seen each other naked, but it was the swapping of life stories she found intimate?

“Can I get you anything to drink?”

Maggie nearly fell out of her seat at the sound of the sugar-sweet female voice. She hadn’t thought there was anybody else on board aside from the pilot, and the sudden appearance of a petite blonde in a stewardess uniform made her wonder who else was hiding in the back of the jet. G Pappy himself?

“I’ll take coffee.” Ben glanced over at her. “Do you want anything, babe?” Did the flight attendant know who Ben was? Probably. And he’d just ‘babe’d her, right there in front of the woman! Great. She probably thought Maggie was his latest piece of arm candy.

“I want…to use the washroom,” she blurted, knowing her cheeks had turned crimson all over again.

This entire situation was too surreal for her. The private jet, the movie star, the fact that she was really starting to
like
the movie star.

Again, way too intimate.

She scurried out of her seat and gave the stewardess a fake smile before hurrying toward the lavatory sign at the end of the aisle.

Inside the surprisingly roomy washroom, she flopped down on the closed toilet seat—also a gaudy gold color—and raked both hands through her hair. God, this was so unlike her. How could she have just shoved all her responsibilities aside and agreed to this silly trip? Yeah, she had the day off from work tomorrow and the week-long chicken-pox-induced vacation from the community center, but think of all the homework she could’ve gotten out of the way.

Instead, she’d allowed Ben to whisk her away to…to where? She still had no clue where they were going, and that only made her stomach bubble with annoyance. She wasn’t cut out for life without plans and schedules, for spur-of-the-moment decisions and movie stars who made her heartbeat race.

She’d seen all those pictures on the web. Ben with a Brazilian supermodel. Ben with a gorgeous soap star. Ben at the Golden Globes. Ben on
The Oprah Winfrey Show
.

The man was a star. A hot, womanizing star. He had the looks and the money to make any woman with a pulse drool at his feet, so why was he hanging around with a waitress from Manhattan?

It couldn’t be the thrill of the chase, because truth be told, he’d already caught her. He’d already broken down her defenses by luring her on this mysterious vacation.

What more could he possibly want?

Before she could attempt to come up with an answer, the door handle clicked and Ben strolled in, oblivious to the stunned look on her face.

She stumbled to her feet. “What are you doing in here? What if I was peeing?”

“You weren’t,” he replied with a shrug. “What you
were
doing was taking too long, and I figured you were scheming to find a way to ditch me when we land.”

“I wasn’t scheming. I was musing.”

“About me?”

“No.” The lie filled the lavatory, but before Ben could call her on it, she curled her fingers over her hips and donned her best I-mean-business expression. “We need to get a few things straight.”

“Oh, do we?”

He stepped closer, and suddenly the bathroom wasn’t as roomy as she’d thought. It was tiny.

Oppressive. So tiny and oppressive that Ben’s big sexy body was about two inches away from hers, that his stubble-covered chin hovered over her forehead and his warm breath heated the top of her head. Oh, and that the growing tent in his pants would soon poke against her belly.

It was too tempting, being in an enclosed space with this man.

Being anywhere near him, for that matter.

“We need to set boundaries,” she managed to say despite her Sahara-dry throat.

He licked his bottom lip. “I don’t like boundaries, Red.”

“I’m sure you don’t, but we still need some. I need to know you’ll keep your end of the bargain.”

“I don’t remember any bargains being made.”

His voice grew rough as he eliminated another inch between them. Now his erection pressed against her navel, empirically proving that belly buttons could indeed get turned on.

“I promised you a place to stay. For eight days,” she added firmly. “I want you to promise that when the time is up, you’ll…”

“I’ll what? I’ll leave?”

“Y-yes.”

He snaked one hand up her back, cradled her head and tilted it so they were eye-to-eye. With his other hand, he wedged her flush against the wall, and then shoved one denim-clad leg between her thighs.

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.