Free Midnight Encounters by Elle Kennedy Page B

boxers? That realization alone was enough to soak her cotton panties.
    God, why did this man have to be so damn… sexable ?
    “Finished gawking?”
    His rough voice caused her to snap her head up. He was grinning at her, looking totally pleased by the fact that she’d been checking him out.
    “I wasn’t gawking,” she lied, breezing toward the fridge and getting out the orange juice. “I was just—”
    “Shhh.” He held up his hand to silence her, cocked his head toward the stereo, and started singing the first few lines of “Barbara Ann”.
    Open-mouthed, Maggie just stared at him, waiting until he tired of the song and turned his attention back to the sunny-side eggs sizzling in the pan.
    “I take it you’re a Beach Boys fan,” she said, sipping her juice. She then set down the glass so she could run her fingers through her frizzy, slept-on hair.
    It was slightly unnerving having him here, making breakfast in nothing but a pair of jeans. She and Tony never did the breakfast thing, or the morning thing, or any thing that didn’t involve hot sex followed by goodbye.
    “The biggest,” he replied, shooting her a toe-curling grin before reaching over to turn off the stove.
    Using a spatula, he dropped one egg on a plate, followed by a piece of brown toast, and handed it to her. “Enjoy.”
    When was the last time a man had cooked for her?
    Oh right. Never.
    Oddly touched, she took the plate, then the fork he held out, and settled on the lone stool by the counter. The kitchen was too small to be considered eat-in on any real estate listing, and Maggie was about to suggest moving to the dining room table when Ben picked up his own plate, leaned against the counter, and started eating standing up. Well. At least he wasn’t one of those celebrities who expected to be served while he sat on a throne.
    “You know, I dated a girl named Barbara Ann once,” he said after he’d swallowed a bite of toast.
    “Doesn’t surprise me.” She chewed slowly. “I bet you’ve also dated a Rhonda, and every other girl the Beach Boys sing about. You’ve also dated every actress and model in the eighteen to thirty-five demographic.”
    “What makes you say that?”
    “I Googled you last night.”
    “No, you didn’t. We slept in separate bedrooms.”
    She rolled her eyes. “Google, as in the Internet search engine, wise guy. I couldn’t sleep, so I researched you.”
    He polished off the rest of his meal and walked over to the sink. To her surprise, he washed his dish and set it to dry on the plastic tray on the counter, then left the frying pan in the sink to soak. Wow. Even Summer didn’t do her dishes this quickly, and Maggie had dubbed her the ultimate neat-freak.
    “Why couldn’t you sleep?” Ben asked, seemingly oblivious to the rest of her admission.
    “I just told you I researched you and you want to know why I couldn’t sleep?”
    “Yep.” He grinned. “So why couldn’t you?”
    I was too busy fantasizing about licking every inch of your body. “I was too tired.”
    “Right.” It was obvious he didn’t believe her.
    “Anyway,” she went on, hoping he’d leave it at that, “it turns out you’re quite the playboy.” He looked insulted. “I’m not a playboy.”
    “Sure you are. You travel the world and have causal affairs with gorgeous women. That makes you a playboy.”
    She didn’t mention that unwelcome pang of jealousy she’d experienced while reading about Ben Barrett’s conquests. Of all the things that annoyed her since Ben had insinuated his way into her life, the jealousy topped the list. Considering the only type of appearance Ben would be making in her world would be a cameo, she had no idea what to make of the claws that came out when she’d seen all those photos of him with other women.
    “Well, with you getting laid only twice a year, I can see why my reputation might intimidate you,” Ben teased.
    “Sometimes three times,” she corrected. Then she scowled. “You really