Midnight Encounters

  “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 a
rch 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.”

  “Good.”

  He led her across the lobby toward a set of heavy oak doors flanked by two large men in tuxedos. At their approach, the men pulled the doors open with a graceful swoop and gestured for them to enter. Seeing as they were dressed like they were going to the prom, Maggie expected to walk into a grand ballroom. To her surprise, it was a casino.

  And not the kind of casino you saw in Las Vegas tourism commercials, with flashing neon lights and ear-piercing sounds jangling out of slot machines. Small and sophisticated, this one offered a fair amount 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 was serious yet relaxed, and it practically oozed money.

  “Do you like to gamble?” Ben asked as they crossed 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? she almost added, but stopped herself just in time. A man as wealthy as Ben wouldn’t understand, anyway.

  “Trust me. You’ll like it.”

  They paused in front of a table, and a man in a black suit approached and exchanged a few words with Ben. They spoke in murmured tones, but Maggie caught the word “markers” and then raised her brows at the number “two thousand”.

  As the bow-tied card dealer doled out a stack of chips and placed them in front of Ben, she leaned over and whispered, “Did you just ask for two thousand dollars worth of chips?”

  “Yep.” He split the stack in half and pushed one pile toward her. “This one’s yours.”

  She gulped. “I can’t take your money. What if I lose?”

  “Then you lose.”

  Her throat tightened with irritation. “I won’t be in debt to you, Ben.”

  “Call it a gift.”

  “A thousand-dollar stack of chips is not a gift.” Setting her jaw, she pushed the red circles back toward Ben’s pile. “I can’t accept it.”

  He paused for a moment, and then sighed. “Fine, be difficult. We’ll play as a team.”

  “And I don’t keep a dime of the winnings,” she added, her tone firm.

  “And you won’t keep a dime of the winnings,” he echoed grudgingly.

  The card dealer’s lips twitched, and Maggie suspected he found the entire exchange amusing. He’d probably never encountered a woman so willing to kiss a thousand bucks goodbye.

  “Ready to play some cards?” the man asked, glancing from her to Ben.

  They spent the next hour at the blackjack table, with Ben explaining the game to her with the utmost of patience. After a few big wins, Maggie started to relax. She smiled at the tuxedo-clad men who joined them, sipped a glass of champagne, and stared at a familiar-looking woman in a gold sequined dress for ten minutes before Ben finally whispered that she was the lead anchor for NBC’s evening news.

  “You do watch the news, don’t you?” he teased.

  “Sometimes.”

  The laugh he gave sent a flurry of shivers up her spine. “Don’t you feel alienated sometimes, being so out of touch with the world?”

  She shrugged. “I’m too busy to feel alienated.”

  He tweaked one of the wavy tendrils framing her cheeks. “We really need to talk about this jam-packed schedule of yours.”

  Maggie’s reply was cut off by the sound of a throaty female voice squealing, “Benjamin?”

  An unbelievably tall, unbelievably beautiful woman with raven hair and sparkling blue eyes sauntered over in an indecent red dress and a pair of three-inch heels. Before Maggie could blink, the giant sexpot threw her arms around Ben and splattered kisses on his cheeks.

  “Benjamin! It is you!” With her heavy South American accent, it sounded more like “Ben-ja-meeen, eet eeez you!” Something about the way the woman’s eyes twinkled suggestively hinted that this beauty knew Ben on a very intimate level. In fact, at a closer examination of the black-haired beauty’s face, Maggie realized she was the supermodel at Ben’s side in the picture she’d found on the Internet.

  “Sonja,” Ben said in a warm voice, gingerly disentangling himself from the woman’s embrace, “I should’ve known I’d run into you here.”

  “Well, of course. This is my second home. Do you remember when we summered here, Benjamin?” Sonja licked her bottom lip, a move so blatantly sexual Maggie wanted to tear out the woman’s tongue.

  Meow.

  “And who is your lovely friend?” Sonja added.

  Maggie had to hand it to the woman. She made the phrase “lovely friend” seem like the most contemptible insult ever composed.

  “This is Maggie Reilly.” Ben’s features looked strained, his discomfort evident in his eyes.

  “It is wonderful to meet you, Maggie.”

  Damn, even her name coming out of Sonja’s lush red lips sounded like an affront.

  “Yeah, same here,” she replied.

  “And are you also a model, Maggie?”

  She swallowed, feeling horribly exposed as Sonja looked her up and down. “Actually, I’m a waitress. From New York.”

  There was a moment’s silence, finally broken by a long tinkling laugh from Sonja, who turned to grin at Ben. “So you’re—how do you Americans say it? Slumming it?”

  The callous words sliced into Maggie’s chest like a blade and caused her breath to jam in her throat. She no longer felt exposed. She felt gutted, humiliated, and even though nobody was looking their way, she felt like every eye in the room was glued on her.

  Her hands started to tremble. She wanted to reply with a catty comment, slap this Brazilian bitch the way she’d slapped Robbie Hanson when he’d called her a foster-freak back in the ninth grade, but for the life of her she couldn’t make her vocal cords work.

  So she did the only other thing she could think of. She straightened her back, lifted her chin and walked away as steadily as her legs would allow and with as much dignity as she could muster.

  “Oopsy. I seem to have upset your little friend.”

  Ben’s heart shrank in his chest as he stared after Maggie’s retreating back. Next to him, Sonja looked pleased as punch, which made him rethink every positive thing he’d ever thought of the woman. She was a snob, yes. Self-absorbed, totally. But he’d never taken her for downright cruel.

  “That was uncalled for,” he snapped.

  Sonja just laughed. “Oh, Benjamin, I was only—how do you say?—goofing around. Your friend is much too sensitive. This is why you need a real woman, caro.”

  The air sizzled from the hot sparks of fury he shot in his form
er flame’s direction. “I have a real woman.” He hooked his thumb at the exit. “She went thataway.”

  Without another word, he left Sonja by the blackjack table and marched out of the casino, quickening his stride when he entered the lobby and found it empty. One of the clerks at the front desk discreetly nodded toward the glass doors at the lobby’s entrance.

  Ben stepped outside just in time to see Maggie stalking towards the golf cart parked in front of the building. She looked so achingly beautiful in that green dress, so goddamn sexy in those strappy heels, that he had to restrain himself from pulling her into his arms. She wasn’t crying, but the look of ice she gave him when she noticed his presence clearly said ‘back off’.

  “Maggie…” he began timidly.

  She bunched the hem of her dress with her hands so it wouldn’t drag on the cement on her way to the waiting cart. “Don’t bother. It’s not your fault she spoke the truth.”

  He almost keeled over backwards. “What? You think what she said was the tru—”

  He quit talking when he saw her flop onto the back of the golf cart and signal the driver. Chest tight with anger, he pushed forward and leaped into the cart before it sped off.

  He shifted so that he faced Maggie and forced himself to take a calming breath, but it didn’t ease the tension constricting his jaw.

  “There wasn’t an ounce of truth to what Sonja said,” he snapped, stunned that Maggie would even suggest such a thing.

  “Maybe not. But it is something I’ve been wondering myself. What are you doing with me, Ben? You’re a big movie star, I’m a waitress. You’ve got ten million dollars in your bank account, I’m lucky to see a hundred in mine. You know Brazilian supermodels and bling rappers, I spend my days with poor and abused kids.”

  She let out a strangled sigh and scrunched up the material of her dress with one hand. “This isn’t me, Ben. This dress. Being pampered in a spa. Throwing away money at casinos. It’s not me, and you don’t seem to get that.”

  “I don’t seem to get it?” he echoed, growing angry. “Why would I? From the day we met I’ve been trying to impress you! Since nothing else seemed to work, I thought whisking you away to a tropical resort might.”