Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 59939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
I protest. “I didn’t do anything.”
“No, but he did.” She stares at my cock for a moment, and then shakes her head as if to snap herself out of it. “So…the iceberg?”
“Being typecast,” I admit. “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. All I get are mindless let’s-blow-up-every-possible-thing-we-can films.”
She smiles dryly. “Not that I have much experience in the film 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,” I answer in frustration.
“Try harder.”
Amazement washes over me. Maggie isn’t like any other chick I’ve been with. The women I know would either laugh it off and tell me to enjoy the money, or make a heartfelt speech about how one day someone will recognize my talent and give me a significant role. Not Maggie. Nope, she tells me to try harder.
Oddly enough, it’s just what I want—and need—to hear.
She yawns again. “You’re right. I’m tired,” she announces. “No beach walking tonight.”
We’re both still naked, but Maggie doesn’t seem to mind. Without an ounce of bashfulness, she stretches one arm toward the end table and fumbles for the remote control.
“Let’s watch a movie,” she says. “I haven’t watched a movie in ages.”
Although I’d prefer a repeat performance of what we’d done a half hour ago, I decide to let Maggie enjoy herself. If watching movies will finally make her relax, then why not.
But when she flicks on the TV, the first thing that flashes across the screen is my face.
“Hey, it’s one of your movies,” she exclaims. Before I can object, she raises the volume and a crack of fake gunfire fills the bungalow. “Oh, wow. You’re right about all the explosions.”
Seeing my latest film on the screen leaves me weary, but Maggie seems to be enjoying it so I stay quiet. I pull her closer, wrapping one arm around her, and turn my gaze to the movie, inwardly cringing at every loud blast and the screeching tires from the car chase I loathed shooting. I do most of my own stunts, and I went home that night covered in bruises and needing to ice my ribcage.
The film drags on, and next to me Maggie’s body grows warmer and her breathing evens out. She’s fallen asleep. I try to fight back a prickle of insult, but it’s hard. My movies suck so bad they even make Maggie, the workaholic Energizer bunny, fall asleep. That hurts more than I’ll ever admit.
Trying not to wake her, I slowly take the remote control next to her sleeping body and turn off the TV. Then I reach for the lamp beside me and turn that off too. Darkness engulfs the room, save for one clear shaft of moonlight that pours in through the sheer curtains.
With a sigh, I close my eyes and stroke Maggie’s hair again.
Just as I start to drift off, her soft voice breaks through the silence in the room.
“You’re a good actor, Ben,” she murmurs, giving me a little squeeze before she falls back asleep.
23
Maggie
“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this,” I declare the next evening.
I collapse on the bed, my stomach full from the eight-course dinner we just indulged in and my skin pink from the hours we spent in the sun today.
“Get used to what?” Ben closes the door and heads for the plush leather armchair near the bed. He drops into it with a contented sigh.
“This.” I wave my 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… I keep that part to myself. His ego is already big enough.
“And to think,” he says 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.”
My head comes 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 brings a smile to my lips. Earlier I told Ben I hadn’t played tennis since high school, and although he’d griped and grumbled the entire time, he spent two hours on the court with me. Which was really sweet coming from a man who could barely serve the ball without hitting the net. Still, his pitiful tennis skills—and candid admission of inadequacy— were seriously charming.
I prop myself up on my elbows and sigh. “I’m too full to move. I’ll shower later.”
“No time. We’re on a schedule, Red.”