Starstruck: Hollywood Heat, Book 3 (12 page)

“It is.”

“And you want to smash it into hundreds of little pieces for the cookies?”

“I do.” He proceeded to do just that, using a meat tenderizer to bash the crap out of the helpless chocolate bar. Jenna broke into infectious giggles when he pretended to be Thor wielding his hammer to slay the vicious chocolate monster, and she got him in turn with her dead-on Julia Child impersonation as she added the chocolate bits to the dough.

He hadn’t had this much fun in his kitchen…ever. This house had felt like his since his real-estate agent first showed it to him, its dated elegance and understated glamour hidden beneath shoddy seventies remodeling. He’d made an offer within the hour and moved in within the month, and he’d spent the last three years rebuilding the house bit by bit.

Today, with Jenna making dessert in his kitchen, this house he’d slaved, sweated and bled over finally felt like a home.

“I think these might be the sparkliest cookies I’ve ever made.” She dropped a gold-specked ball of dough onto the cookie sheet.

“It’s like Tinker Bell or a lameass vampire died in the bowl,” he agreed. Unable to resist, he swooped in for a taste, first of Jenna’s lips—mmm-mmm good—and then of the dessert, which he’d stolen a sample of while distracting her with the kiss.

“Hey, I saw that.” She raised an eyebrow at him as he ate the pilfered treat off his finger. “So,
thief
, was it good?”

“I’d let you call me a lot worse for another bite.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, did you want a taste?” Scooping up another finger full, he held out his dough-covered digit, crooking it to draw her closer.

“I never say no to dessert.” When her expression grew wicked, he knew he was in trouble. One soft hand circled his wrist, holding him still, as that luscious mouth closed over his finger…

And sucked.

And nibbled.

And sucked again.

Christ, each wet tug on his finger made his dick even harder, like he had a direct, electric line between those two needy extremities. No doubt she knew exactly what she was doing to him too. He could see it in the way her eyes stayed locked on his, even when they grew heavy-lidded, even as she scraped her teeth from base to tip.

“Mmmm…” she moaned appreciatively. “Mmm…mmm.” She withdrew her naughty mouth from his cock, um, finger—dammit. “That’s good dough. I bet the cookies’ll be even better.” With a slight, knowing,
devilish
expression playing over her face, she returned to scooping little balls of dough onto the cookie sheets, like there wasn’t something else she should be doing with her hands, her mouth, her body.

The little tease was going to pay. He stifled his grin to avoid warning her of what she had coming.

Heat washed over both of them when she opened the oven door and set the cookie sheets inside. Door closed again, she set the timer. “Okay, nine minutes until they’re ready.”

She let out a surprised squeal when he scooped her off her feet and swung her around, setting her on the countertop across from the stove where there was more room to play. “Nine minutes for me to make you come.”

“I had a feeling you were going to exact your dessert revenge on me.”

“I never say no to dessert.” He repeated her earlier refrain as he leaned in close. “I plan on enjoying every bite.” He nipped up the sweet curve of her neck. “Savoring every taste.” He layered teasing bites along her jaw. “And licking up every…” he ran his tongue over her slightly parted lips, tasting her panted exhalations, “…last…” he stole into her mouth for a long, leisurely kiss, “…drop,” he finished.

“That sounds like a lot to get done in…” she glanced over his shoulder, “…six minutes and forty-two seconds…forty-one…forty…”

“I’ll get you off with time to spare.”

“Someone’s cocky.”

“Someone’s horny.” He paused. Chuckled. “And by someone I mean me. And hopefully you too.”

“Yes. How’d you guess?” She wiggled her hips. “Hurry. Twenty-nine, twenty-eight…” She huffed out a laugh when he tugged her to the edge of the counter and slid his hands beneath her skirt.

“Lift your hips,” he ordered. “Underwear’s outta here. Now.”

Fingers beneath the waistband of her panties, he dragged the fabric down her legs as she held herself up. “They’re damp.” He fisted the silky red material. “You wet for me, Jenna?” Lord knows he was fucking hard for her, had been for most of the night.

“Maybe you should go find out.” She said it cheekily, but the rapid rise and fall of her breasts as she sucked in air showed how much she wanted this.

“Spread your legs.” He’d barely gotten out his directive before she’d done just that, but the flirty red skirt of her dress was doing its job, covering all the parts he wanted full access to. That wouldn’t do. “Lay back.”

Jenna reclined on her elbows, a splash of red against the yellow and black tiles, blue eyes dancing as she looked at him. “Four minutes thirty-seven seconds…”

“Thirty-sex, thirty-five…” he continued for her, twisting the skirt in his fist and lifting it out of the way so nothing barred his view of her pussy, all glistening and pink and swollen. She was wet for him. Needy. Ready. Wanting. Desperate. All the same words he could use to describe his state of mind and body since meeting her. And suddenly, four minutes twenty-five seconds wouldn’t be enough time. Twenty-five years wouldn’t be enough.

He wanted all of her, her heart, body, soul, in his kitchen, in his home, in his life.

He pressed his face to her stomach and kissed the dimpled indent of her bellybutton, then moved lower, breathing in the scent of her warm, wet heat. “God, Jenna. What you do to me.”

“Micah…” she whispered, her hand curling over his where it was still bunched in the fabric of her skirt. “Please…”

He couldn’t deny her anything. Didn’t want to.

He swiped his tongue through her folds, pushing past the silken layers, drinking her in. Her panted moans and the ache between his own legs urged him deeper, until he was fucking her with his tongue the way he wanted to be fucking her with his dick, owning her with his mouth. Or was she owning him? Because nothing but her pleasure mattered. Hearing her lust-filled cries, feeling her arch and rub against him. It was a drug. Pure craving.

Her legs circled his back, feet bumping his shoulder blades, her body lifting to the rhythm of his tongue and fingers. With three fingers now he thrust into her, pushing for the sweet spot inside, while his tongue teased her sweet spot on the outside, her clit, knowing both together would take her over the edge.

Her back arched off the tile, and she cried out his name as her pussy contracted around his fingers, her clit spasming beneath his tongue. He drank in the soft shudders of her orgasm as she trembled below him, and when she’d calmed, he lifted her into his arms and cradled her against his chest.

“Move in with me,” he whispered into her hair.

The oven buzzer rang out behind him.

Jenna didn’t say a word.

Chapter Ten

Jenna’s entire body, from her knees to the roots of her hair, was trembling, from both the orgasm and Micah’s follow-up sucker punch of a question.

Move in with him? As in pack up her apartment and show up on his doorstep with a U-Haul full of her mismatched dishware, heavy furniture and one brand-new, unopened shower curtain? As in leave-notes-on-the-fridge-for-each-other, clothes-mingling-in-the-hamper, pick-a-side-of-the-bed-we-now-share living together?

Her voice was shaking when she said, “I need to get the cookies out of the oven.”

“Jenna…”

“Hold that thought. Just…” She wiggled from his hold. Cookies first. Then she’d…well, she had no idea what would come after that, but it would be better with non-burnt cookies, no doubt. She fumbled for the oven mitts on the counter next to the stove and somehow managed to get them on without dropping them. “Gotta get the cookies.”

Too late. Hands shielded by a flimsy dishtowel, Micah dragged the cookie sheets out of the oven and laid them side by side on the stovetop. He balled the dishtowel up and tossed it next to the sink before turning to face her again. “Now can we talk?”

The kitchen filled with the familiar, comforting scent of fresh-baked homemade treats. If Jenna closed her eyes, she’d be back at home baking cookies with her mom, talking about boys and life and love. She could use her mom’s advice, because Jenna sure didn’t know what to do. She hadn’t planned on falling in love with a boy she’d only known a few days who was inviting her to move in with him after giving her a mind-blowing orgasm in his kitchen.

Okay, even in a fantasy talk-with-her-mom scenario, she should probably leave that last part out.

“Well, I guess I learned what makes you speechless.” Micah crossed the distance and picked up her hands, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles into her flesh.

“I should warn you, it doesn’t happen very often.”

“That’s okay. I like the things you say. I like the way you see the world. I love the sound of your voice.”

“You’re buttering me up.”

“Is it working?” He lifted their clasped hands so he could kiss the back of hers.

“Maybe.” She took a deep breath. The sweet cookie scent calmed her. They’d made those cookies together and they were having a great date and she was letting one little—okay, not little, more like potentially life-changing—statement interrupt their night. “Did you mean what you said?”

“I did, but I didn’t mean it to scare you.”

“I’m not scared.”

At his raised eyebrow, she repeated, “I’m
not
. I’m…overwhelmed.”

“Well let me underwhelm you then.”

“I don’t think that’s possible.”

Hand in hers, he led her over to the nook where he’d emptied his pockets and where she’d left her purse. Were they leaving again? Her stomach clenched at the thought that their date was ending before they could figure this out.

But Micah didn’t pick up his wallet, cell or keys. He tugged open the overhead storage cupboard and drew out a box, which he set on the desk. He dug through what appeared to be assorted house-related papers, bills, statements, etc. “A-ha!” Metal rattled as he pulled out a key ring and placed it in her hand.

“This is going to sound like a stupid question, but what are these? I mean, I know they’re keys, but…” She gave him a pleading, don’t-make-me-ask-the-question look. This was his script. She wasn’t ready to ad lib the lines.

He pinched one of the keys. “This one’s for the house.” He held up the next key. “This one’s for the roadster.” He went down the line, pointing out the keys to his truck, his gate, and other things she didn’t hear because her heart was beating too fast and the blood was rushing through her ears.

“Okay…” She licked her dry lips, wishing she’d taken him up earlier on that drink. A beer sounded pretty darn good right about now, and she didn’t even like beer.

“I’m not doing this very well, am I?” He rubbed a hand through his hair, making it stand on end, giving him that trademark, just-rolled-out-of-bed Dr. Dale Jameson look.

For some reason Jenna’s tension eased. That hint of vulnerability…that wasn’t Dr. Dale. He didn’t share that with the millions of viewers. That was pure Micah, her Micah.

And she loved him for it.

“Micah?”

“Hmm?”

“I don’t think you know the definition of underwhelm.”

He barked out a laugh. “Maybe not.”

“So while you’re completely not underwhelming me, how about you tell me what this…” she held up the keys, “…means?”

“It can mean whatever you want it to mean.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Shh.” He dropped a kiss on her lips. “Let me finish.”

She kissed him again, a bit longer this time, before he could get a word out. “Okay, continue.”

He shook his head at her, but he was smiling. “Those…” he gestured to the keys, “…they’re an all-access pass to my life. I want you to be able to borrow my car when Holly gives you fits. I want you to be able to come and go as you please…or you can come over with all your stuff and never leave. It’s up to you. So much of my life is spent in a world of make believe, where I say other people’s lines and live other people’s lives, and sometimes I forget who I am because of it. But this…you and me…this is real. I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow, or next week, or next year. I don’t have a script for this, and it’s exhilarating and terrifying. But that doesn’t matter. I just…I want you, Jenna. In my life. I want to be with you.”

She kissed him then, because this time he’d been the one to use up all the words. This sweet, kind, overwhelming, beautiful man. She dropped the keys, needing both hands to cradle his face, to hold him to her as she kissed him deeper.

When she finally pulled away, she ducked to retrieve the keys off the floor and set them on top of her purse. She didn’t need them now. She was already here.

“How about we try those cookies, hmm?” she suggested.

His eyes crinkled at the corners. “I’ll grab drinks. I admit I’m a purist. Gotta have milk with my cookies.”

“A man after my own heart. Is there any other way?”

“How about cookies, milk and a view?”

“I’ve got a pretty good view from here.” She admired the way his gray slacks pulled tight over his perfect ass when he bent over to pull the milk from the fridge. Snatching a cookie, she took a nibble. Mmm, chocolate and Micah.

He turned around, catching her ogling and munching. She wiggled her fingers in a carefree wave before taking a bigger bite.

“You’re shameless.” His voice rumbled with barely restrained laughter.

“Yep,” she said around a mouthful of cookie.

“I’ll be putting the milk back in a second.”

“I know. And I’ll be watching the return trip.”

This time when he bent over the fridge, he made a big production out of it, swiveling his sexy posterior from side to side. Jenna couldn’t stop laughing. Would this be what living with him would be like? Silly kitchen antics followed by frantic fuckings across countertops and other furniture? Cooking together, eating together, loving together? What was the downside to that?

Okay, she wasn’t a fool. They wouldn’t be living in a bubble. Life wasn’t easy or perfect. But it had been a lot better this week with Micah in it.