Midnight Encounters

  Chapter Eight

  Whoever said fate was a cruel mistress had no idea what they were talking about, because apparently fate was very much on Ben’s side. He may have gone behind Maggie’s back to get her out of work, but he’d totally forgotten about her volunteer work. Fortunately, fate stepped in after she’d dropped that I-volunteer-four-days-a-week bomb in his lap. Okay, well, maybe not fate exactly, but an itchy childhood ailment that had irritated him immensely when he was six years old.

  Gotta love the chicken pox.

  He was actually surprised Maggie hadn’t put up more of a fight after her tidy little schedule shot up in flames. He’d expected her to, but she’d yet again impressed him with her graceful admission of defeat.

  Instead of hurling more excuses at him, she’d calmly walked into her bedroom and packed an overnight bag, and now they were seated in the back of a cab headed to the airport. Much to Ben’s delight, he had two whole nights to make her realize he was exactly what she needed.

  Call him arrogant, call him a presumptuous ass, but he’d spent enough time with Maggie Reilly to know the woman needed a wake-up call.

  From him.

  Who are you really helping here?

  Ben bit the inside of his cheek, momentarily startled by the little accusation in his head.

  Maggie. He was helping Maggie, right?

  Or was he starting to feed on the way Maggie made him forget about his mess of a life?

  He’d never been one to duck and hide when troubles arose, but these past few days with Maggie reminded him of what life before fame had been like. It brought back memories of growing up in Ohio, of being able to take a girl out without it winding up in the tabloids, of being able to sing along to the Beach Boys without a sound bite popping up on the Internet. And damn it, he wanted to hold on to that unburdened feeling for as long as he could, to think about someone other than himself for a while. He didn’t know where it was all heading, but for the moment he needed to be around her. Needed that feeling of being a regular person.

  And he would be helping her. He’d told her he’d give her all the sex she wanted, and he’d done that, but it was becoming unsettlingly obvious that Maggie needed more than sex. She needed fun. Relaxation. A life.

  “Where exactly are we going?” she asked, jarring him from his thoughts.

  “It’s a surprise.”

  “Did I mention I don’t like surprises?”

  “No, and mentioning it now won’t get you any answers.” He reached over and squeezed her lower thigh, then tried to ignore the jolt of desire in his groin. “Trust me, you’ll like it.”

  She had better like it. Ben had pulled so many strings he could officially put the New York Philharmonic out of business. If Maggie didn’t appreciate what he was doing for her, he’d owe a few big names some big favors.

  After the cab driver dropped them off at the International terminal at La Guardia airport, Ben helped Maggie out of the taxi and slung her overnight bag over his shoulder. “Ready?”

  “How can I be ready when I don’t know what to be ready for?”

  He grinned and pulled the rim of his Yankees cap low to his forehead. Where they were going, he probably wouldn’t get recognized, but better safe than sorry, his mom always said.

  They were met at the end of the taxi stand by an airport employee, who ushered them onto a small private shuttle. As they drove away from the terminal, Maggie shot him a puzzled look.

  “Seriously, where are we going?” she repeated.

  “Be patient, Red.”

  She made a little irritated sound and closed her mouth. A few minutes later, they pulled up in front of a large private hangar, its doors open to reveal a white and gold Gulfstream IV. Sexiest jet ever built, in Ben’s opinion.

  Maggie’s eyes were two green saucers as she stared at the sleek plane. “Please don’t tell me this is yours.”

  “I’m not that rich,” he replied in a mild tone.

  As they followed their airport guide out of the shuttle, Maggie couldn’t take her eyes off the plane. Whether or not Ben owned it suddenly became a moot point. That he knew someone who did was enough to leave her wide-eyed and speechless.

  People actually lived like this? She’d always known it, but seeing it was an entirely different matter all together. Seeing it also brought a tiny spark of resentment to her gut. She had nothing against someone who could afford his own private jet, but it was just a reminder of everything she didn’t have. Not that she aspired to be a jet-setting billionaire who went through hundred dollar bills like Tic Tacs, but it would be nice not to worry about saving her pennies to pay for basic essentials.

  The person who owned this plane probably only worried about when it would be time to trade in for a newer model.

  As Ben exchanged a few words with the pilot, who’d stepped out of the cabin at their arrival, Maggie swept her gaze along the length of the jet. In gold lettering, scrawled across the side, were the words “Papa G”.

  Jeez, did this monstrosity belong to a mobster?

  She seriously hoped not.

  “We’re good to go,” Ben told her, shifting her overnight back to his left shoulder so he could put his arm around her again.

  She managed a nod and followed him up the steps leading into the cabin. Inside, she openly gaped at the surroundings. There were about twelve seats in the cabin, white leather, with gold seatbelts that—God, those couldn’t be real diamonds studded along the buckles. Instead of a tray that folded out of the back of each seat, each pair of chairs faced another, and bolted onto the floor between them were honest-to-God poker tables. With green felt and everything.

  “Who owns this?” she blurted out.

  Ben shot her a tiny little grin. “Papa G.”

  “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 me
an, 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?

&nbs
p; 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.