Starstruck: Hollywood Heat, Book 3 (9 page)

Moaning, Jenna bucked back against him, her sheathe convulsing around him. Micah came, his cock locked tight in her body, his mouth pressed to Jenna’s shoulder, the words he couldn’t yet say out loud murmured into her flesh.
Want you, need you, love you…

They stayed that way for a minute, maybe longer, wrapped together in warmth and afterglow. Soon he had no choice but to pull away or the whole condom point would be moot anyway.

“I am
never
going to look at any surface in this place the same way again.” Her skirt fell into place as she straightened, hiding the evidence of their frantic lovemaking. She picked up the flowers and the vase, and walked the few steps to the sink, humming under her breath. Other than slightly swollen lips, she looked almost normal. Unruffled.

That bothered the hell out of him. He wanted everything they did to affect her as deeply as it did him. He was upside-down, raw emotion inside and out. She’d climbed inside him and was opening up all the doors he’d slammed shut to keep himself from getting hurt. Used. Discarded.

And Jenna was arranging flowers in a vase, acting like they hadn’t, only minutes ago, almost fucked bare and damn the consequences.

What if he was in this deeper than her? What if—?

She smiled at him, and the what-ifs stopped mattering. She kissed him, and the doubts disappeared. “I need to go freshen up a little.”

He only nodded, not sure he was capable of speech quite yet. After snatching her panties off the floor, she strolled around the corner into the bathroom.

He tied off the condom and tossed it into the trash then finished putting himself back to rights. At least physically. What the hell had gotten into him? Was he really in this deep?

Hell to the yes.

Jenna’d been right on when she said emotions were scary. It was a lot easier to act the part. He could punch walls, throw things and break down on cue, then move on as soon as the director shouted “cut”. In real life, he didn’t know if the next scene was going to be a love scene or a fight scene. Didn’t know what to prepare for.

No risk, no glory, right?

That wasn’t necessarily a comforting thought.

He wandered into the main room of Jenna’s apartment. When he’d spent the night, he hadn’t paid attention to his surroundings. Jenna against the wall, Jenna on the couch, Jenna in the bed, Jenna in the shower…nothing else had mattered.

Even though the place was tiny—her entire apartment would fit in his living room with space to spare—it was neat and comfortable. The furnishings were clearly older—in some cases probably older than Jenna—but they were well taken care of. Much of it was oak, some pine and cherry. Good quality. Not the pieces he’d expect to find in a tiny rundown building in the middle of Van Nuys.

Then again, neither was Jenna.

One of the pictures perched on her dresser caught his eye. Was that Jenna…in a turtle costume?

Micah made his way across her apartment to get a closer look at the image. Yep, that was a younger Jenna, dressed as a turtle. Her smile was still the same, even with a mouthful of shiny silver braces. A woman stood next to her, arm around the green turtle shell, looking proud and happy, wearing a carbon copy of Jenna’s smile. Had to be her mom. Next to that, another picture of the same woman and Jenna in a flapper dress. A young one of Jenna in a tutu balanced on her mom’s hip. Three more of Jenna dressed as Marilyn, a sorceress with a crystal ball, and some sort of futuristic-looking cancan getup, ruffles and all.

“You’ve discovered my wall of fame,” Jenna said, laughter in her voice. She picked up the turtle picture. “This was my first paying acting job. A commercial for a local childcare center up in Northern California where I used to live. I was fifteen. It played on one of the community-access channels. I don’t think it actually convinced anyone to sign their kids up to attend the center though. But I had fun.” She stroked a fingertip down the edge of the frame.

“Your mom?” Micah asked, pointing at the woman in almost every photo with Jenna.

“Yeah. My biggest fan. She never missed a single one of my performances.” Even though Jenna was smiling, she seemed…wistful, and a knot tightened in Micah’s gut. Jenna had spoken about her mom in past tense, and her next words confirmed his thoughts. “She died last year. Cancer.”

“Oh, Jenna, I’m sorry.” He took her hand, because the words weren’t enough.

She squeezed his hand. “Thank you. It’s okay, though. I mean, of course I miss her, I’ll always miss her. I was blessed to have the most awesome mom on the planet. She was my best friend, my roommate, my support system, my late-night-talks, share-everything-with girlfriend, and I got to spend twenty-five amazing years with her, learning from her, becoming who I am because she believed in me and supported me in everything I did. I’m here, working in Hollywood, because of her. So no matter what it takes, no matter what I have to do, I’m going to succeed. For her and for me.”

Micah’s chest constricted at the fierce determination behind Jenna’s statement. He wasn’t an idiot—he had connections in this industry that would take years for her to acquire. He could make a phone call and get her name and face in front of people who mattered.

Except he wanted to be the one who mattered most to Jenna. Not who he knew or what he could give her.

Five days ago that would’ve been the warning he needed to walk away from Jenna.

Five days ago he hadn’t been in love with her.

Chapter Eight

Jenna felt a bit like Cinderella. Or maybe Alice in Wonderland. There were definitely some fairytale qualities in her life right now. She’d fallen down a rabbit hole and found a prince. Now she just had to avoid losing her shoes or her head. She was already well on the path to losing her heart.

She looked at Micah. The lights from the passing cars and streetlights played over his face, making his green eyes shine and the angles of his cheekbones and sexy, stubble-laden jaw stand out in sharp relief. He’d dressed trendy casual—gray slacks, gray sports coat paired with a beige T-shirt underneath. Rolling out of bed in the morning, wet in the shower, however or whenever, he was absolutely beautiful. He wasn’t only beautiful in the looks department though. Every moment they spent together he made her feel special. He seemed almost too good to be true.

“What are you thinking about?” Micah said, shooting a glance her way. “I want to know what put that smile on your face so I can make sure to repeat it often and always.” The words didn’t match his tone. He looked and sounded serious, bordering on somber. He’d been quieter than usual since she’d told him about her mom. Nothing like talk of cancer and death to put a damper on the evening.

“You.”

He shifted his focus off the road and on to her, a dark question in his eyes. “Me what?”

“This silly perma-grin on my face?” She tapped the corner of her mouth. “It’s this strange side effect of being around you. I kind of get ridiculously happy. Like right now, I have no idea where we’re going, but I don’t care. I’m with you and the destination doesn’t matter.”

Micah slowed the car to a stop at a red light. Leaning over the center console, he scooped a hand behind her neck, tugged her to him and kissed her.

And wow, it was one heck of a kiss. An amnesia-inducing kiss. The intensely powerful kind that made her forget her name and where she was, and she didn’t care. She just wanted to keep kissing Micah because it was just. That. Good.

He pulled his mouth away—darn it—but he kept his hand on her neck, his fingers rubbing delicious circles into the top of her spine. Melting into the buttery-soft leather seat was a definite possibility.

His gaze had returned to the busy L.A. streets, but his mouth tilted up at the corner. “So if I said I’m taking you bungee jumping…?”

“I’d say I’m glad I put my panties back on.”

“Damn. There’s a downside to that plan.” He eased his hand from her neck and moved it to his upper thigh, where it was clear to see she wasn’t the only one affected by that kiss or the memories of how she’d come to have her underwear off in the first place. He tugged on the front of his pants.

“No, no. This plan has serious possibilities. Would this be tandem bungee jumping, because an excuse to be strapped to you? Sign me up.”

“While I like where you’re going with this, tandem bungee jumping is illegal in the States.”

“Well, crud. I think this plan might have too many flaws. Maybe we should skip the jumping and just get strapped together.”

“Strapped together, huh?” The look in his eyes promised such wicked pleasure, her internal temperature edged toward inferno status. “We’re going to a little place my agent turned me on to, straps, ropes and chains not included. Though I’m tempted to skip dinner and take you to my house right now.”

“Okay.”

A needy rumble vibrated from deep in his throat. “You’re gonna kill me, Jenna. You know I want you, I can barely keep my hands off you, but I also want you to see that this—what we have—is about more than sex for me. So dinner. Then my place.”

“All joking aside, I want to spend time with you, the where doesn’t matter.” She put a hand on his leg, avoiding his erection because she was trying to be good. “But still, let’s eat fast.”

His laughter washed like warm sunshine over her. No more talk of sad things. Tonight would be just about them, celebrating life,
Sexy M.D.
’s renewal and being together.

“We’re here,” he said a few minutes later, and she followed his gaze to see where exactly
here
was. The restaurant in question appeared to be about twenty feet wide with huge, dark-tinted windows making up the entire front, a cartoony red devil’s face near the top of each tall pane. Micah pulled the black Mercedes up to a kiosk. Three men in black pants, white dress shirts and red vests approached the car.

Valet? Not that she was necessarily surprised. Even Stars offered valet service on Friday and Saturday nights. But was this restaurant a Stars or a place where real stars hung out and they didn’t put prices on the menu and you had to be
somebody
to even walk in the door?

For the first time tonight, she felt a little nervous. Skipping dinner and going directly to Micah’s house sounded like an excellent plan.

No, no. She’d told Micah the destination didn’t matter, and it didn’t. Really. She could do this. A taste of how the other half lived. How Micah lived. It was only fair. She’d shown him her world, now it was time to experience his.

And hopefully she wouldn’t make a complete ass out of herself in the process.

A valet opened Micah’s door. Jenna grabbed the handle, but a second valet opened her door before she could and extended his hand to help her out. She accepted the offer with a heartfelt thank you, grateful that he’d stopped her from making her first faux pas of the evening. She’d never played the role of “someone” before, and apparently her improvisation skills were a bit rusty.

She stood on the sidewalk and waited as Micah talked with the valet. Tonight he hadn’t worn a baseball cap or sunglasses to hide his appearance. So he felt comfortable here, or he didn’t mind being noticed. And he was being noticed. The valets had all jumped to attention the moment they discovered it was Micah Watley in the car, and the number of “sirs” and “Mr. Watleys” being spoken was almost comical. Did he realize how hard these guys were trying to impress him?

Finished with the valet, Micah walked around the car toward her. His eyes lit up like she was the only person on the entire planet he wanted to see. Nothing like a jolt of masculine appreciation to help calm the nerves playing havoc with her insides.

“You look stunning,” he whispered against her ear. Settling a hand on her bare back, he inflamed those same nerves again, this time in a way that brought only pleasure.

“Thank you.”

As Micah guided her the few steps to the entrance, the third valet opened the door. “Mr. Watley.”

“Thanks.” Micah held the door for Jenna, and her heels clacked on the tile floor as she stepped inside ahead of him. The restaurant had an ultra-trendy vibe going for it. Lots of dark wood and chrome, votive candles on every table. The lighting was low and the place was full. Would they even be able to get a table?

“Welcome to Lucky Devils,” the hostess greeted with a practiced smile. Her eyes moved past Jenna, and the brunette’s entire demeanor changed. Her smile widened, and she stood taller. “Hello, Mr. Watley. It’s a pleasure to see you again. Let me get your table ready.”

“Thank you, Sasha.”

The woman beamed at Micah once more before turning on her heel and heading into the crowded dining room. Several patrons waiting against the wall and hovering around the doorway openly gaped at Micah. A few of them studied Jenna as well, and it didn’t take a brain surgeon or Dr. Dale Jameson to figure out they wanted to know who she was and why she was with Micah.

Okay, now she was nervous. Really nervous. Rampaging-butterflies-in-the-stomach, sweat-coating-the-palms, hoping-she’d-applied-a-thick-enough-layer-of-deodorant nervous. Other than when she and Micah had first met, every time they’d been together it had been on her turf. Her work. Her apartment. Her home ground where she was comfortable and knew how to fit in and that she belonged. By the dismissive once-overs she was getting, it was clear that, at least to these Los Angelinos, she didn’t belong with Micah.

“Is it always like this?” she said beneath her breath, aware that ears were tuned their way as well. “Do people know you everywhere?” She flinched at how naïve she sounded. “Sorry. That was a dumb question. Of course people know you. I sometimes forget you’re Micah Watley.” Oh Lord, she had major foot-in-mouth disease going on. “I mean, I sometimes forget you’re a celebrity, since you’re just Micah to me.” She forced herself to look up and meet his gaze, hoping her asshat behavior wasn’t making him think she was crazy.

He was smiling, but not only with his sexy lips. His eyes, his entire expression, radiated happiness. He leaned his forehead against hers and whispered, “I like being just Micah to you.”

A man in standard manager dress—white shirt, black tie—walked briskly over to Micah, his hand extended. The two shook hands. “Micah. Thank you for joining us this evening. Right this way please.”