He was by far the best lover I’d ever had. He was confident and sure. Extremely in tune with both his body and mine. There would be no forgetting last night. And that was what I was most afraid of. I’d be forever comparing every man to Ben. Which was exactly why I shouldn’t have let last night happen. I silently cursed myself. How could I work around this man all spring?
I could hear Ben’s voice and I mustered the courage to enter the makeup area. I didn’t know where we stood after last night. I begged him to f**k me and then promptly ran out of his room. I felt like an idiot. That was exactly what I didn’t want to happen—an awkward morning-after run-in. We had to work together in close proximity for the next few months. I needed to keep my head on straight. I pushed my shoulders back and headed behind the curtained off makeup area.
As soon as I saw him, all my sexual thoughts were obliterated. He looked like hell. Dark circles lined his eyes, his hair was a mess, and he was slouched over in his seat. My heart squeezed in my chest.
“Don’t play with your breakfast,” Fiona scolded, standing over him.
Ben looked up, almost as if he sensed my presence. He had arranged his pills into a smiley face on the table in front of him.
His green smoothie from hell sat untouched beside him. I wondered if he woke feeling the effects of the vodka like I had. Poor guy. No way could I stomach a handful of pills or that drink. Why the hell did he let Fiona do that to him?
Thankfully, my upbringing kicked in and I didn’t even have to think. He needed taking care of. He was hung over. Too much vodka last night. And by the looks of it, too little sleep. I jumped into southern hospitality mode and strode to the catering table, returning with a plate of toast and a steaming cup of black coffee. It was the exact thing that had cured my hangover a few hours before.
I moved his green drink aside and set down the plate and mug. “You need to eat something.”
His tortured gaze met mine and he smiled weakly. “Thank you.”
Fiona huffed and walked away, muttering something under her breath about processed carbs.
Whatever. She could bite me. I was raised better than that. My momma would have a fit if she saw what they were feeding this man. Pills and blended vegetables were not a proper meal.
Ben lifted the slice of buttered toasted to his mouth. “I’m not supposed to have this, you know.”
“Eat up. It’ll make you feel better.”
His eyes danced on mine, communicating so much. He clearly wasn’t used to people taking care of him. Just him as a person and not as a model. His eyes slipped closed as he took a sip of the strong coffee, and he let out a soft moan of bliss. I knew that would do the trick. The man was human, after all. And no human should be forced to endure pureed spinach and kale on a hung-over stomach. I studied the pills spread before him in the shape of a smiley face. The eyes were two golden caplets, vitamin E I assumed, and the rest appeared to be vitamins, too, leaving me to wonder about all those prescription bottles I saw in his room. Did he only take those in private? What were they for?
“You’re trouble, you know that?” he asked, finishing the coffee and toast.
“You like it,” I flirted.
He cracked a smile. “I know.”
He watched me refill his coffee, and I couldn’t help but notice there was a softness there I hadn’t seen before. That softness was every bit as seductive as his hard body.
Little by little, Ben was letting me in. I could sense that the real him was just a regular guy, looking for a connection. The thought tugged at me. Everyone took from him. No one gave. They wanted photos, autographs, endorsements; girls wanted to sleep with him, Gunnar was dying to turn him g*y—but no one was signing up to selflessly give him the simple acceptance he craved. I wasn’t sure why, but my taking care of him this morning was a bigger gesture to him than getting naked in his bed last night.
He wanted to just be . . . not be the Ben Shaw, the man, the legend. That must have been what he was trying to tell me last night. Maybe I had a shot with him after all. Or I’d had one too many vodka-waters and believed what I wanted to.
Momma would love nothing more than for me to settle down with a nice guy. She reminded me of that each time we talked. What she didn’t understand was that all the nice guys I’d dated were just so boring. It made me want to try something different, something new and exciting. Nice guys never sent my pulse racing with a sexy text, or used a toy on me until I was begging to be f**ked. The memories of last night refused to fade. Would never fade, I was sure. Visions of us moving together against his sheets danced through my mind as I tried to distract myself from staring at Ben.
Just act normal, Emmy. Riffling through my purse, I handed him two new pills to add to his collection. Pain reliever. “Here. Take these. Then go make pretty pictures.”
He smiled. “Okay.”
I looked down, unable to handle the full force of that megawatt smile he used just for me. I forced myself to find something to do while Ben was shuffled off to hair and makeup.
Thirty minutes later, my body was instantly aware when he entered the set.
Seemingly recovered—with a little more color in his cheeks—Ben looked amazing. He stood in the center of the studio against a white backdrop while two stylists fussed over him. One played with his hair, which was styled into a perfect mess. Bedroom hair. Another tucked his shirt halfway into the designer jeans to show off the impressive bulge in front. She said something to him and he chuckled softly, then stuck one hand down his pants and adjusted himself. Holy crap. Did she just tell him to adjust his junk? I almost laughed, if it wasn’t for the overwhelming memory of that beautiful, large cock. The fact that I now knew it intimately . . .