“No, but he did.” She stared at his erection for a moment, and then shook her head as if to snap herself out of it. “So…the iceberg?”
“Being typecast,” he admitted. “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, Maggie. All I get are mindless let’s-blow-up-every-possible-thing-we-can films.”
She gave a dry smile. “Not that I have much experience in the movie 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,” he answered in frustration.
“Try harder.”
Amazement washed over him. Damn, Maggie Reilly really was something. The women he knew would’ve done one of two things— laughed it off and told him to enjoy the money, or made a heartfelt speech about how one day someone would recognize his talent and give him a significant role. Not Maggie. Nope, she told him to try harder.
Oddly enough, it was just what he wanted—and needed—to hear.
She yawned again, the delicate muscles in her face stretching with fatigue. “You’re right. I’m tired,” she announced. “No beach walking tonight.”
They were both still naked, but Maggie didn’t seem to mind. Without an ounce of bashfulness, she stretched her arm out and fumbled on the end table for the remote control.
“I haven’t watched TV in ages,” she confessed with a tiny smile.
Although Ben would have liked to indulge in a repeat performance of what they’d done a half hour ago, he decided to let Maggie enjoy herself. If watching television would finally make her relax, he was willing to do it.
When she flicked on the TV, however, what flashed across the screen was not a mindless sitcom or movie of the week, but Ben’s face.
“Hey, it’s one of your movies,” Maggie exclaimed. Before he could object, she raised the volume and the crack of gunfire filled the bungalow. “Huh. You’re right about all the explosions.”
Seeing his latest film play across the screen left Ben weary, but Maggie seemed to be enjoying it so he stayed quiet. He pulled her closer, wrapping one arm around her, and then turned his gaze to the movie, inwardly cringing at every loud blast and the sound of screeching tires from the car chase he’d loathed shooting.
The film dragged on, and next to him Maggie’s naked body grew warmer and her breathing evened out. She’d fallen asleep. He tried to fight back that prickle of insult but it was hard. Hell, his movies sucked so bad they even made Maggie, the workaholic energizer bunny, fall asleep. That hurt more than he’d ever admit.
Trying not to jolt her, he slowly reached for the remote control next to her sleeping body and flicked off the TV. Then he reached for the lamp beside him and turned that off too. Darkness draped the room, save for one clear shaft of moonlight that poured in through the sheer curtains.
With a sigh, Ben closed his eyes and touched Maggie’s hair again.
Just as he started to drift off, her soft voice broke through the silence in the room.
“You’re a good actor, Ben,” she murmured before making a breathy little noise and falling back into slumber.
Chapter Ten
“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this,” Maggie declared the next evening.
She collapsed on the bed, her stomach full from the eight-course dinner they’d just indulged in and her skin pink from the hours they’d spent in the sun earlier in the day.
“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.”