by Elle Kennedy
“And I don’t intend to.” Flipping her hair over her shoulder, Summer headed for the door.
“Wait,” she called after her friend. “One more thing.”
With a sigh, Summer turned around. “What now?”
“Do you know anything about an actor named Ben Barrett?”
“Hmmm…I think he was in that movie Tygue and I rented last week. He played this ex-SWAT member who had to save an old flame from a group of arms dealers.”
“Is he an axe murderer?”
“What? No. I just told you, he played a SWAT—”
“Not the character. The actor.” Maggie knew she was grasping at straws. “Have you ever heard anything about him being dangerous?”
“Why on earth are you asking me this?”
“Um, Trisha. She thought she saw him on the news for whacking someone.” Dear God, was she this desperate to find a reason not to let Ben stay at her place?
“Whacking? Oh, you mean, like mafia or something?” Summer chewed on her bottom lip. “I don’t think so. Only thing I know about the guy is that women love him.”
Wonderful.
“You want my advice, Mags?” Summer added. “Stop thinking about Trisha and movie stars, and have sex with your stranger already. You know you want to, so quit griping and just do it.”
“Just do it,” she muttered to herself. “Like the condom ad.”
“Nike.”
“Huh?”
“Shoes, Maggie!” Summer’s eyes darkened with disbelief. “That does it. You’re so absorbed with work and school that you’ve lost touch with the rest of the world. Look, do me favor and spend some time with a man who won’t fly to Fiji the second he zips up his pants. Tygue and I will be gone for a week, so maybe take advantage of that empty apartment and allow a few complications to murk up your life, okay? It’ll be good for you.”
Women didn’t say no to Ben Barrett.
It was simply one of those delicious facts of life that Ben had come to accept over the years. He was fifteen when he first realized the power he had over women. Fifteen when a few friends dared him to ask the most popular senior girl in school to the freshman prom, and not only had Ben walked into the high school gym with the hottest girl on his arm, but he’d also lost his virginity that night.
Needless to say, he wasn’t surprised when Maggie walked out of the bar at two a.m. and gestured for him to follow her.
Oh yeah, he still had a way with the ladies. They just couldn’t say no.
Yet while this fiery redhead was no exception, she was the first female he’d encountered who had 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,” he said, keeping his stride casual as he followed her down the sidewalk.
It was late, and the Saturday night crowds had finally started to disperse. In the distance, a thin mist shrouded the buildings and skyscrapers, and the spring air was chilled, causing Ben to zip up his leather jacket. When he glanced over at Maggie, he was pleased to see her nipples poking against the thin bra under the blue long-sleeved shirt she now wore. She’d also changed into a pair of snug blue jeans and tied her long red hair into a low ponytail, which made her seem younger.
If it weren’t for the frown on her face, she might have looked a little sweeter too.
“I’m not sulking,” she replied, the frown deepening.
“Sure you are.” He stuck his hands in his pockets and cocked his head at her. “I actually find it quite insulting.”
She stopped 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.”
He lifted a brow. “Considering we’re on the way to your apartment, I’d say that wasn’t a bad assumption.”
Her cheeks turned bright red. “The only reason I’m letting you stay over is because I feel sorry for you,” she huffed.
A laugh trickled out of his mouth. “Sure, babe. If you say so.”
They fell into step again, Ben still chuckling to himself and Maggie apparently using silence as punishment for his amusement. He wondered how she’d react if he told her he viewed her silence as a reward. If he told her she was the first woman who didn’t chatter his ear off. Or coddle him. Or try to seduce him to further her own ambitions.
Not that he didn’t like being seduced. Every now and then, however, he liked the challenge of doing the seducing himself, a rare feat, considering most women were ready to fuck him before he even asked. Hell, these days he didn’t even have to ask.
“This is it,” Maggie said, finally breaking the drawn-out silence as they came to a stop in front of an older-looking high-rise with large balconies.
She used a key to get into the lobby, then headed for the elevator without looking back to see if he was following. It was kinda cute, the way she pretended she was doing him a favor by letting him come home with her. He knew better, of course. The way she’d trembled against him during the kiss they’d shared earlier proved the attraction between them was so very mutual.
“So how long have you lived here?” he asked casually as they stepped into the elevator car.
Maggie shot him a dirty look. “Don’t make small talk.”
Taken aback, he said, “Why not?”
“Because you’re only wasting time.” The doors opened with a loud buzzing noise, and Maggie whisked out of the car, over her shoulder adding, “Neither of us has any illusions about why you’re here.”
Again her words startled him, so much so that the elevator nearly closed on his toes. He pushed forward before the doors shut and hurried after Maggie. Another first, having to chase after a woman.
“And what’s that supposed to mean?” He caught up to her right as she unlocked the door to her apartment and strolled in.
“It means we both know how this night is going to end,” she replied, mocking him with his earlier words.
Any other time Ben would have had a sexy comeback, but the second he entered Maggie’s apartment, he became speechless.
“This is where you live?” he asked, gaping.
“Yeah. Is there a problem?”
There wasn’t a problem, per se, but Ben certainly hadn’t expected these surroundings. If he hadn’t seen Maggie unlock the door, he would’ve thought they were in the wrong apartment.
The place looked like somebody’s grandmother lived in it. Furniture, mostly plaid upholstery, all mismatched. The paintings on the wall depicted bland landscapes and the occasional kitten rolling around in a garden. Frilly pink tablecloths and doilies that looked handmade covered every table in the room, and Ben had to blink a few times to be sure, but he thought he saw photos of Cary Grant and a young Marlon Brando hanging over the television set.
The only item in the apartment that resembled anything modern was the steel drum sitting in the open-concept dining room, but he couldn’t quite figure that out either.
When he finished his wide-eyed scrutiny, he glanced over and saw the humor dancing in Maggie’s green eyes.
“C’mon, say it,” she taunted.
“What?”
“How tacky it is. We both know you want to say it.”
He might’ve been living in Hollywood for the last ten years of his life, but he’d grown up in Ohio with a mother who’d instilled good manners in him. “It’s not tacky,” he lied, hoping his tone sounded polite. “Did you decorate it yourself?”
Laughter bubbled out of her delicate 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.”
She laughed again, louder this time. “Relax, Ben. I didn’t decorate it. My roommate, Summer, her grandmother owns this place. When she moved, she made Summer promise not to change a thing.”
His ears perked. “You have a roommate?”
Maggie’s amused expression quickly transformed into a
nother frown. “Summer’s gone for the week—and she has a boyfriend. So wipe any notion of a threesome out of your head.”
How was it humanly possible that she kept catching him off-guard like this?
His nostrils flared as he pondered the best way to respond. Screw good manners. A remark like that merited nothing less than irate indignation.
“You really don’t think much of me, do you?” he returned, steel in his voice.
“I don’t even know you.” Apparently she was just as capable of steely tones.
“You’re right, you don’t.” Eyes narrowing, he added, “The reason I asked about your roommate is because I wanted to make sure we’d be alone.”
“Well, we are.” She crossed her arms over her chest and sighed. “So let’s just do this, okay?”
“Do what?”
“Let’s have sex.”
“No thanks.” He unzipped his jacket and shrugged it off his shoulders. “So, should I sleep on the couch or is there a spare room?”
“Excuse me?” She dropped her arms and let them dangle at her sides. “Did you just say ‘no thanks’?”
He tossed his jacket on a nearby armchair. “That’s right, I did.”
When he met her gaze, she had the gall to look confused. “You don’t want to have sex?”
“Not when you act like it’s a chore.”
Another sigh tumbled 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 with how we’re going to end up in bed together, and when I finally give in, you back out. Unbelievable!”
Shaking her head, she stalked past him and flew into the kitchen. A large window had been cut out of the wall, so he could see her every movement as she pulled the fridge door open so hard the items on the shelves clattered against one another. Ben hid a grin, enjoying the way she grabbed a carton of orange juice and slammed it on the counter.
She looked pissed and he loved it. Not that he got off on infuriating women, but this one deserved to have a few feathers ruffled. He was used to people assuming things about him, but Maggie was the first woman who’d ever openly challenged and criticized him. The first woman who acted like having sex with him was as appealing as a root canal.
“Why did you ask me to come here when it’s obviously not what you want?” He knew he sounded angry, but what annoyed him more was the faint twinge of disappointment he heard in his voice. If anyone should be disappointed, it was her.
She poured a glass of orange juice and then sipped the liquid slowly, as if contemplating her answer. He noticed that the fire had left her eyes, replaced by a flicker of hesitation.
“It is what I want,” she finally replied.
Her entire demeanor was so glum that his ego took a nice hit. “You sound so enthusiastic.”
She tightened her lips. “You don’t get it.” Turning around, she moved to the far end of the kitchen.
He couldn’t see her from where he stood, but he heard the sound of running water, then her soft footsteps as she returned to the main room. She played with the edge of her ponytail and the vulnerability dancing across her fair face chipped away at his anger.
“I don’t have much room in my life for dating.” She gave a self-deprecating smile. “Or sex, for that matter.
“And yet our first meeting took place in a hotel room, with you getting naked and hopping into my bed.” He took a step closer, but still kept a few feet between them. “Who were you supposed to meet, by the way?”
“Tony.” Her reply came out as a groan.
The spark of jealousy he felt at the sound of another man’s name on Maggie’s lips was not only unwelcome, but bewildering. “And who’s Tony?”
She stared down at her high heels as if they were the most interesting thing she’d seen in days. “Just a guy I meet a couple times a year.”
Ben faltered. “Not a boyfriend?”
“No. Like I said, I don’t have time for dating. Or sex,” she repeated.
As understanding dawned, Ben couldn’t fight an amazed laugh. “Are you saying you only have sex two times a year, with this Tony guy?”
“Sometimes it’s three,” she said, sounding defensive.
Another laugh tickled his throat. He tried very hard to swallow it back. For the first time all night Maggie had dropped her combative attitude. The last thing he wanted was to spark another fight by making fun of her, though in his defense, the laughter lodged in his throat was yet again driven by amazement, not ridicule.
“What exactly keeps you so busy?” he asked, genuinely curious.
She shrugged. “Work. School. Volunteering. And relationships always seem to get in the way.”
“I see.”
“That’s why I don’t understand this,” she blurted.
“This?”
“You and me. The attraction, whatever.” She rubbed her forehead with one hand, then her temples, then pinched the bridge of her nose, as if acknowledging the chemistry between them was nothing but a headache. “I don’t bring guys to my apartment. I don’t have flings. I don’t have time for flings. Especially with men like you.”
Against his better sense, a grin lifted the corners of his mouth. “And what kind of man am I?”
She bit on her lip. “The complicated kind. The distracting kind.”
His grin widened. “What is it about me that distracts you?” He closed the distance between them, planting his hands on her waist. “Let me guess. My rugged good looks? Or maybe it’s the way I kiss?”
“Ben—”
“No, wait, I figured it out.” He brushed his finger over her lips, pleased when he heard her sharp inhale. “I distract you because—much as it bugs you—I turn you on like no man ever has. Isn’t that right, Maggie?”
“No.”
He chuckled. “It’s okay to be in denial. And it’s also okay to feel disappointed.”
She pushed his hand off her mouth and stepped back. “Why would I feel disappointed?”
“Because the ship has sailed, babe.”
“What ship?”
“The sex ship.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “You blew it, Red.”
“Excuse me?” Both her reddish-brown eyebrows sailed up to her forehead, and Ben felt like kissing that indignant frown off her sexy mouth.
But he didn’t.
“You heard me. You missed your chance.” He poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue and fought back a grin. “I’m sorry to inform you I won’t be fucking you tonight.”
“You are the most arrogant—”
“Enough small talk,” he cut in with a pleasant smile. “Will you be showing me to my room or should I just take the couch?”
Chapter Five
Was it possible to hate a man and want to rip off his clothes at the same time?
Maggie had pondered the question for hours, but the answer still eluded her. What remained crystal clear, however, was that if there was a one-to-ten scale of sexual frustration, she’d be sitting at eleven right about now.
As the late morning sunlight streamed in from the open window blinds, she slid up into a sitting position and leaned against the headboard, wondering if Ben had slept as horribly as she had. Probably not. Knowing him, he’d dreamt about kittens and rainbows all night long, unfazed by everything that happened.
She, on the other hand, had spent eight hours tossing and turning and fighting the urge to jump out of bed and jump Ben Barrett’s bones.
God, she’d acted like a spoiled brat last night.
Try bitch.
Fine, so she’d call a spade a spade.
When she’d brought Ben back to the apartment, she truly had intended to follow Summer’s advice and have some fun. Easier said than done. They’d walked inside, and the first thing she’d seen was the pile of textbooks on the computer desk. The stack of bills on the hall table. The schedule tacked up on the fridge.
Then she’d looked over and there was Ben. A big sexy ma
n who made it clear he wanted to tear off her clothes with his teeth. A big sexy man who kissed like a champion and made her feel dizzy with desire.
That’s when the confusion kicked in. Somehow this cocky movie star managed to make important tasks like studying and earning a degree in social work seem secondary, and her body’s eagerness to betray her life’s goals had absolutely floored her.
To make matters worse, after she’d let down her guard and admitted she didn’t usually make time for sex, Ben had backed off. Just when she’d been ready to stop acting like an uptight party-pooper—fine, bitch—he’d promptly taken sex off the table and gone to bed. Alone.
What was up with that?
Yawning, Maggie glanced at the digital clock on her bedside table. Ten-thirty. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gotten up later than eight, and the knowledge that she’d wasted half her morning stewing over Ben’s rejection and her own stupidity wasn’t one she liked waking up with.
The faint sound of music finally drew her out of her warm covers. She wrinkled her forehead as she searched for her slippers, the fuzzy pink cat ones the kids at the community center had collectively bought her last year for her birthday. She found them in front of the closet, slipped them onto her bare feet and left the bedroom.
In the narrow hall, the music grew louder. Sounded like…The Beach Boys? Yep, The Beach Boys, she realized as the soft strains of “I Get Around” became clear. Then she made out a male voice humming along and nearly burst out laughing.
Priceless. Ben Barrett listening to “I Get Around”. Probably his life’s theme song.
She found him in the kitchen, frying eggs over the stove and singing along with the stereo, which he’d brought in from the living room and set up right on the splintered cedar work island in the middle of the room. The Beach Boys CD, of course, belonged to Summer, who still hadn’t mastered any of the songs on her drum.
She opened her mouth to utter a crack about making himself at home, but the words died in her throat the second he turned around.
He stood there, barefoot and bare-chested, wearing nothing but a pair of jeans that rode low on his lean hips. His dark hair demonstrated a serious case of bedhead, and the stubble on his chin was thicker, giving him a masculine sexiness that caused arousal to simmer in her belly.