A cheeky comment involving her initiation into the Mile High Club bit at his tongue, but Stu answered the phone before he could say it.
“Fuck, Ben, where are you now?”
“The Bahamas,” he replied nonchalantly.
“Wonderful. Absolutely frickin’ wonderful for you. It warms my heart that you’re sun tanning on a beach while I’m working my ass off here.”
“I thought you convinced the media I wasn’t abducted.”
“I did, but they still think you’re up to something fishy. The prostitute angle is old news. So is elopement with the mysterious hotel chick. Now the consensus is that you’re shacked up with another married broad.”
“I was never shacked up with a married broad before.”
“Of course not.”
Ben’s jaw tightened. Funny how Stu had been his agent for nine years and counting, yet the man still didn’t have faith in him.
“There have been a few positive developments, though,” Stu added, his tone all business now.
“Yeah, like what?”
“Two high-budget screenplays landed on my desk, and the studio contacted me about a sequel for McLeod’s Revenge.”
“Are you joking? McLeod’s Revenge Two? The guy already got his damn revenge, what more is he after?”
“Who cares? It’s money in our pockets.”
Was it possible to loathe one little phrase this badly? He was so sick of talking about money. What happened to artistic expression? Thought-provoking, quality scripts? Challenging roles?
“Oh, and Alan Goodrich wants to meet with you.”
Ben almost dropped the phone. “What?”
“He called to set up an appointment.”
“Business or personal?”
“Seeing as you were screwing his wife, I doubt he wants to meet up so he can offer you a part in his new World War Two epic.”
“Goodbye, Stu.”
Ben hung up the phone before he said something he’d regret. His insides were tight with rage and churned with the slow boil of injustice he’d swallowed back for months now. If he wanted to, he’d phone up all the major tabloids and set them straight about Gretchen, the inheritance and the reasons behind the whole goddamn mess.
But he didn’t want to.
Let the world think what they wanted of him. Let them say whatever they felt like saying about him. His private matters weren’t anybody’s business but his own.
“You okay?”
Maggie’s soft voice brought him back to the present. She stood at the bathroom door, a towel wrapped around her waist and tucked under her breasts.
“I’m fine. Just checking in with my agent.”
He stood up, tried to act like nothing was wrong, and probably succeeded. If there was one thing he was very good at, it was acting.
“Did I hear you talking about a movie sequel?” Her expression displayed curiosity. “That sounds cool.”
He strode toward the armoire and rummaged around until he found a pair of swim trunks. Keeping to his word, Marcus Holtridge had also supplied him with a stack of clean clothing. Jeans, Tshirts, boxers, even a crisp black tuxedo draped on one of the hangers.
The tux gave him an idea, which he stored in the back of his brain as he quickly peeled off his shirt and unzipped his jeans.
“I guess it would be cool,” he said in response to her remark, “if I wasn’t turning down the part.”
“Why would you turn down—” Her voice halted the second he dropped his pants.
Grinning at the tantalizing blush on her cheeks, Ben slowly slipped into his swim trunks, tugging at the material when it snagged over his growing erection.
“You have no shame,” Maggie grumbled, openly staring at his cock.
“Nope.” He tightened the drawstring and stepped toward her. “Now what do you say we get in the Jacuzzi and finish what we started on Papa G’s jet?”
Maybe it made her the slut of the century, but Maggie had never been so excited to be naked before.
Well, not fully naked. She was wearing that indecent string bikini as she lowered her body into the hot bubbling water, and Ben had his trunks on as he quickly joined her, but they didn’t need to be naked for her to know they were about to have wild, sweaty, hot tub sex. She honestly couldn’t wait. Since she’d met Ben, she’d had sex in more new places than she could count—the shower, the kitchen counter, the living room floor, a private jet, for god’s sake. Might as well add hot tub to the growing list.
“I want to tear that bikini off with my teeth.”
“What?” Maggie shivered despite the near-boiling water lapping against her body.
Ben shot her an endearing smile. “Did I say that out loud?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Can’t fault a guy for being honest.”