Midnight Encounters (17 page)

“You don’t think about getting married? Or having children? Or heck, traveling, gardening, anything that doesn’t involve working?”

“Not really.” Before he could question the response, she turned the tables on him. “What about you? Do you ever think of a life beyond acting?”

“All the time.” A wry smile creased his mouth. “If I’m being honest, I’d tell you acting is definitely not what I’d thought it would be.”

“What did you hope to get from it?”

He paused to think about the question. Shit. He’d never let himself examine the hopes he’d had going into it. Or the unhappiness he felt now that his career had zigzagged in a direction he’d never wanted.

“Ben?”

He bit the inside of his cheek, trying to put it into words he’d never said out loud. “It’s…it’s like I bought a first-class ticket for passage on the Titanic,” he finally said. “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 asked, reaching out to touch his chin.

He hadn’t shaved in days, and the feel of Maggie’s fingers skimming his rough beard made his groin tighten. She didn’t miss the way his cock jerked in response, but she wiggled her eyebrows and shot him a no-nonsense stare. “Oh no. We’re having a conversation. Stop trying to distract me.” He grinned. “I didn’t do anything.”

“No, but
he
did.” She stared at his erection for a moment, and then shook her head as if to snap herself out of it. “So…the iceberg?”

“Being typecast,” he admitted. “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, Maggie. All I get are mindless let’s-blow-up-every-possible-thing-we-can films.”

She gave a dry smile. “Not that I have much experience in the movie 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,” he answered in frustration.

“Try harder.”

Amazement washed over him. Damn, Maggie Reilly really was something. The women he knew would’ve done one of two things— laughed it off and told him to enjoy the money, or made a heartfelt speech about how one day someone would recognize his talent and give him a significant role. Not Maggie. Nope, she told him to try harder.

Oddly enough, it was just what he wanted—and needed—to hear.

She yawned again, the delicate muscles in her face stretching with fatigue. “You’re right. I’m tired,” she announced. “No beach walking tonight.”

They were both still naked, but Maggie didn’t seem to mind. Without an ounce of bashfulness, she stretched her arm out and fumbled on the end table for the remote control.

“I haven’t watched TV in ages,” she confessed with a tiny smile.

Although Ben would have liked to indulge in a repeat performance of what they’d done a half hour ago, he decided to let Maggie enjoy herself. If watching television would finally make her relax, he was willing to do it.

When she flicked on the TV, however, what flashed across the screen was not a mindless sitcom or movie of the week, but Ben’s face.

“Hey, it’s one of your movies,” Maggie exclaimed. Before he could object, she raised the volume and the crack of gunfire filled the bungalow. “Huh. You’re right about all the explosions.” Seeing his latest film play across the screen left Ben weary, but Maggie seemed to be enjoying it so he stayed quiet. He pulled her closer, wrapping one arm around her, and then turned his gaze to the movie, inwardly cringing at every loud blast and the sound of screeching tires from the car chase he’d loathed shooting.

The film dragged on, and next to him Maggie’s naked body grew warmer and her breathing evened out.

She’d fallen asleep. He tried to fight back that prickle of insult but it was hard. Hell, his movies sucked so bad they even made Maggie, the workaholic energizer bunny, fall asleep. That hurt more than he’d ever admit.

Trying not to jolt her, he slowly reached for the remote control next to her sleeping body and flicked off the TV. Then he reached for the lamp beside him and turned that off too. Darkness draped the room, save for one clear shaft of moonlight that poured in through the sheer curtains.

With a sigh, Ben closed his eyes and touched Maggie’s hair again.

Just as he started to drift off, her soft voice broke through the silence in the room.

“You’re a good actor, Ben,” she murmured before making a breathy little noise and falling back into slumber.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this,” Maggie declared the next evening.

She collapsed on the bed, her stomach full from the eight-course dinner they’d just indulged in and her skin pink from the hours they’d spent in the sun earlier in the day.

“Get used to what?” Ben closed the door of the bungalow and headed for the plush leather armchair near the bed. He dropped into it with a contented sigh.

“This.” She waved her 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…

“And to think,” Ben said 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.”

Her head came 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 brought a smile to her lips. Earlier she’d told Ben she hadn’t played tennis since high school, and although he’d griped and grumbled the entire time, he’d spent two hours on the court with her, which was pretty sweet coming from a man who could barely serve the ball without hitting the net.

Still, she’d found his pitiful tennis skills—and candid admission of inadequacy—seriously charming.

Stretching out her legs, she propped herself up on her elbows and sighed. “I’m too full to move. I’ll shower later.”

“No time. We’re on a schedule, Red.”

“Oh, are we?”

“Yep.” He rose from his chair and gave one of her arms a tug, dragging her off the bed. “So get your pretty little ass into that shower.”

“You’re not going to join me?”

He shook his head. “There are a few details I need to take care of.” She couldn’t help but pout. “Fine.”

Getting to her feet, she drifted into the bathroom. She slipped out of her yellow sundress and hung it on the hook behind the door, then stepped into the black-tiled shower stall next to the marble bathtub. As the warm water sluiced over her sun-kissed body, she lathered lavender body wash on her skin, which was still slick and smooth from the pounds of tanning lotion she’d rubbed on it.

She hadn’t felt this relaxed in years. Actually, she hadn’t felt this relaxed
ever
, seeing as her life was a big ball of stress that revolved around work and school. Relaxation had never been part of the equation.

Don’t forget that.

Her hand trembled as she flipped open the lid of the shampoo bottle and squirted a glop in her palm.

That cynical little voice in her head was right. Enjoying her time at the resort, her time with Ben, was one thing, but she couldn’t forget where she came from. What she’d be going back to when this trip ended.

Her schedule, not to mention her finances, didn’t allow for impromptu island getaways and sweaty sex with celebrities. It was easy to lose herself in these luxurious surroundings, but luxury wasn’t something she could count on.

What happened if she lost her job or failed her exams? Ben had his big pile of money to cushion his fall, but what did she have?

Herself. No family, no roots, no security blankets. She had only herself, and she needed to remember that before she got caught up in all this glitz and glamour.

Before she started to believe that a girl like her might actually belong in Ben Barrett’s life.

“Mimi is here to do your hair and makeup.”

Maggie moved her gaze from her newly polished fingernails and fought back a yawn. “Is he trying to kill me?”

Denise, the petite blonde who’d been shuffling Maggie around the spa for the past couple of hours, gave a rueful smile. “Wow, you really are one of those women who can’t handle being pampered,” she remarked with a teasing lilt to her voice.

“So that’s what you call being poked and prodded for two hours? Pampered?” Denise wagged her finger. “Don’t pretend you didn’t like it. I saw your face during that mud bath. You enjoyed it.” She took a step back. “I’ll send Mimi in.”

Maggie waited for Denise to leave the spa’s sitting room before releasing a sigh of contentment. Fine, so she’d enjoyed the mud bath. And the massage from Paulo the Latin heartthrob. Maybe even the manicure and pedicure.

Okay, she’d enjoyed it all.

When Ben had dropped her off at the spa, she’d ordered herself to have a bad time. To hate every second of the spa experience and laugh in the face of luxury. But she’d failed. She felt like Cinder-freaking-ella, and God help her, but she’d wholeheartedly relished every tranquil, self-indulgent moment.

“I’m here to do your hair.” A willowy brunette with a stunning olive complexion strode into the room carrying a large silver case in one hand.

“Why exactly am I getting my hair done again?”

Mimi shrugged. “Afraid I don’t know. Mr. Barrett never said.”

“Of course he didn’t.”

Maggie settled back in the plush leather chair and decided there was no point questioning Ben’s motives.

She didn’t voice one complaint, not even when Mimi nearly scalped her trying to twist her unruly hair into a French twist. Didn’t flinch either, when the woman went at her eyebrows with a pair of mean-looking tweezers.

An hour later, Mimi finished styling her hair and applying her makeup, but just when Maggie got to her feet thinking they were done, the woman held up her hand.

“One more thing.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose, the one part of her face she could touch without ruining her makeup.

“I’ve been in this spa for
three
hours, what more can he want to do to me?” Mimi smiled, left the room, and quickly returned with a garment bag and a shoebox. “He wants you to get dressed.”

She would’ve made another sarcastic comment if it weren’t for the spectacular item of clothing the hairstylist removed from the bag. Maggie took a breath, eyes wide as she stared at the slinky, emerald-green dress. It was gorgeous, more gorgeous than anything she owned. Or had ever owned.

“Versace’s fall line,” Mimi supplied, seeing the wonder in her eyes. “Hasn’t even hit the racks yet.” She draped the dress over the back of the chair. “I’ll leave you to get dressed.” The second the door closed, Maggie wasted no time pulling off her jeans. Getting her tank top off without ruining her new updo and impeccable makeup proved to be a challenge, but she managed. She carefully wiggled into the Versace masterpiece, and then spun around to examine her reflection in the full-length mirror across the sitting room.

Wow.

No, make that a double wow.

With her hair piled atop her head, with all that sooty mascara coating her lashes, and with the gorgeous satin material clinging to her curves, she looked like a different person.

“Oh my, I believe Mimi deserves a raise.”

Denise’s voice came from the doorway, and Maggie blushed as she met the blonde’s admiring stare.

“You think I look good?”

“I think you look fabulous,” Denise corrected. She gave one last appraising look, and then gestured for Maggie to follow her. “Mr. Barrett asked for you to meet him in the lobby at midnight. You don’t want to be late.”

Maggie glanced down at her bare feet. “But I don’t have shoes.” Denise pointed to the shoebox the hairdresser had left behind. “Sure you do.” Feeling like a kid on Christmas morning, Maggie made a beeline for the narrow box. She opened it, and unlike the hand-me-down gifts she’d received from her foster families over the years, this box contained something new and shiny. Silver, high-heeled sandals that matched the silver eye shadow Mimi had dabbed on Maggie’s eyelids. Ben had obviously planned everything to a T.

She slipped on the shoes and followed Denise out the door, oddly self-conscious as they left the spa.

Her heels clicked against the white marble floor beneath them, and her heartbeat drummed in her throat as they neared the majestic lobby of the Paradise Bay resort.

“I feel like a princess,” she whispered, shooting a nervous glance at the woman next to her.

Denise stopped in front of the marble arch leading into the lobby. “And there’s your prince,” she whispered back.

Maggie shifted her gaze and saw him. Leaning casually against one of the stone pillars in the middle of the large room, his hawk-like gaze drilling into her.

Her surroundings seemed to fade as their eyes locked, and she never broke the contact as she walked across the room toward Ben.

“You look…damn, Maggie,” he murmured as she approached. “You look beautiful.” Heat spilled through her at Ben’s speechless reaction. She had to admit, as out of her depth as she felt in the elegant dress he’d bought for her, she liked the effect it had. The neckline dipped so low that her breasts practically spilled out of the silk bodice, and that slit up the side showed a hell of a lot of thigh. It was the kind of dress meant to tease a man into submission, and though she’d never be a hundred percent comfortable dressing like a vixen, she liked the delight she saw in Ben’s dark blue eyes.

She also liked the tuxedo currently hugging his lean body, the way the black jacket stretched over his broad shoulders and emphasized his rock hard chest. With that classy tux and his clean-shaven face, he looked every inch the movie star he was, and again she felt like Cinderella as she accepted his proffered arm and curled her fingers around his biceps.

“Did you have fun at the spa?” he asked as they fell into step together.

“Yes.”