Jenna climbed the steps, took the microphone and poured all her attention and voice on the lucky bastard the stage manager had pointed out to her. “Happy Birthday” had never sounded so sexy before, not even when Marilyn sang it to JFK. Micah would’ve given his left nut to be the birthday boy currently appreciating Jenna’s regard. With a final flourish, she ended the sexy serenading. The crowd clapped, and the men at birthday boy’s table whistled and cheered.
The guy she’d been singing to met her at the stairs and held something out to her. Was that a phone number?
Jenna thanked the man and accepted the item, and Micah felt like an ass. Unless the guy had scrawled his contact info across the currency, he’d only given her a tip, and a well-deserved one at that. With a final wave to her audience, Jenna disappeared behind a swinging door labeled Cast.
Micah rubbed the back of his neck. He’d never been this upside-down over a woman before. Would he have gotten into a pissing contest with that man if he’d been giving her his number instead of a tip?
Oh shit. A tip. Should he leave her money too? Would that seem sleazy, or would it look like he was just being polite, showing his appreciation for her performance? And if he was to tip her, how much? How could he put a dollar value on this without looking like he was trying to buy her?
Maybe if all he’d wanted was a song from Marilyn…
Maybe if he didn’t want that smile, that body, that spirited mind…
Oh hell, this could get him in a world of trouble. If money exchanged hands, he needed to make damn sure no one thought he was paying for favors, or he’d end up plastered on the front page of TMZ’s website.
But double hell, he knew how hard it was to make a living in Hollywood. He’d been blessed in that respect, but the majority of working actors didn’t make enough to survive on, and he doubted that Stars paid her much of a salary. What if tip money was the difference between homelessness and paying rent?
When the stage manager walked by several minutes later, Micah got his attention.
“Can I help you, sir?” the man asked.
“I’d like to leave a tip for one of the performers.” That was simple enough, right? Straightforward. Not likely to be confused with trying to buy her time or affection. “Jen— Marilyn Monroe,” he confirmed.
“Would you like me to call her back out here so you can give it to her—”
“No.” He shook his head, as if the emphatic no hadn’t made it clear enough. Before the stage manager could offer up any other suggestions, Micah got to his feet, slid his wallet out of his back pocket and flipped through it until he found a hundred-dollar bill. “I’d like it to be anonymous. Can you make sure she gets this?”
“Not a problem, sir.” The bill disappeared into the stage manager’s hand, and he turned away to continue on his rounds.
Micah breathed a sigh of relief, which turned into a sigh of pleasure when Jenna pushed through the cast door. She was back in street clothes—a pair of black jeans and a purple T-shirt—and her dark hair tumbled around her shoulders. The Marilyn stage makeup had been washed off, and she looked fresh-faced and absolutely beautiful. He wanted to take her home right now and spend the next several hours getting to know everything that made her light up with laughter, before discovering what made her light up with passion.
When she saw him standing at his table waiting for her, her face brightened in the way that hit him in the solar plexus every time. Before she could walk toward him, the stage manager intercepted her.
Oh no. No, no, no. The man handed Jenna the money that Micah had just given to him. He’d been so distracted by her appearance he’d left his wallet in his hand. So much for anonymous.
He tucked his wallet into his pocket, praying luck would be on his side and she wouldn’t notice the money trail led right back to him.
Chapter Four
“Hey, Jenna, I’ve got your part of tonight’s tips.” Ricky pulled a wad of cash from his pocket and peeled away a small stack, several fives and a bunch of ones. “Oh, and this too.” He plucked a bill off his clipboard and placed it in her hand.
Jenna stared at the hundred-dollar bill. That was a tip? “Um, you sure you didn’t just hand me someone’s dinner payment?”
Ricky gave her a sassy smirk. “You, my dear, have a fan. Anonymous,” he finished in a mock whisper.
Anonymous? Could this be from Micah? Hundred-dollar tips weren’t exactly the norm. She glanced up at him as he pushed his wallet into his pocket, looking almost…worried? He’d wanted to leave her money without her knowing it was from him. How stinkin’ cute was that? Her heart gave a little somersault as she tucked the money into her purse.
Ricky nudged her with an elbow. “Seriously, girl. You have the best luck of anyone I know. Last week you get discovered by an agent, and this week you have the hottest man in the room as your personal fan. Can I brush up against you, see if your luck rubs off on me? Or better yet, can I brush up against him, see if he’ll rub off on me?” He wiggled his eyebrows.
“You’re awful. And I love you for it.”
“Of course you do.” He tugged on the silver star dangling from her black ribbon choker. “Looks like you found yourself a real one of these. You better not leave your Sexy M.D. waiting.”
“Shhh.” Trying to hide how ridiculously giddy the “your Sexy M.D.” declaration made her feel, Jenna looked around to make sure none of the patrons at the nearby tables had overheard Ricky’s pronouncement. “I don’t think he wants to be noticed.”
“Then he shouldn’t be so damn sexy.” Ricky waved her off. “Go. Get out of here. Enjoy yourself. Bring back a full report so everyone can hate you for your good fortune.”
Jenna narrowed her eyes at him in a pretend-menacing fashion, and Ricky just laughed. “If you don’t go grab him, I will,” he promised.
She snorted and bumped him with her shoulder on her way past. “See you tomorrow.”
“With stories?” he asked hopefully.
“Nope, nope, nope,” she replied in a singsong voice.
He sighed. “You’re evil.”
“Yep, yep, yep,” she volleyed back at him, before turning her full focus to Micah.
He’d pulled his cap down low to shadow his face, but even so, Jenna wondered how he could have gone mostly unnoticed all evening. Ricky was spot-on in his assessment. Micah was sexy. Standing there in his T-shirt and jeans, hands in his pockets, looking at her beneath the brim of his cap, he made her heart skip a beat. So although Stars wasn’t exactly a celebrity hangout, and the tourists expected to see Marilyn, James, Clark and Lucille, not current actors, Jenna couldn’t fathom why in the world all the women in the room weren’t drawn to him. That sexy man should’ve been batting them off with a stick.
He lifted the cap a smidge as she approached, enough for her to see his sea-glass-green eyes again. Goodness, they were gorgeous, especially, it seemed, when they were focused on her. Or maybe it was just the simple fact that having his full attention made her feel a little breathless.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey yourself, Jenna. You ready to roll?”
“Yeah.” They walked together toward the front door. She considered asking where he wanted to go, what he wanted to do, but she didn’t want to pressure him. Honestly, even if all they did was walk out the door, say their goodbyes and then he turned left and she turned right, she’d be okay with that. Him showing up to see her tonight was awesome enough.
Okay, that was totally a lie. She wasn’t ready to say goodbye to him yet. “How was your—?”
“You were fantas—”
They laughed, and he held open the door for her to pass through. “You first,” he said. “I’m on my best behavior tonight. Holding doors rather than knocking you over. Is it working?”
She gave him a considering look, murmured, “Hmm…” and nodded. “Although sometimes good behavior’s overrated.”
“That, I can work with,” he said softly as she eased past. When she stepped
outside, the cool night breeze washed over her heated face. She wasn’t blushing though—at least she didn’t think she was. This all-over warmth could be one hundred percent attributed to Micah.
Hat shading his eyes, he held the door for another exiting couple, and then walked to her side. “Where are you parked?” he asked.
“Behind the building.”
“Me too.” They followed the sidewalk around to the back of Stars.
She watched him out of the corner of her eye as they crossed into the parking lot. The cap kept most of his face in shadow, but the streetlight highlighted his jaw, and she had the absurd desire to reach out and feel the stubble there shining golden in the light. Down, girl. Instead, she fiddled with the length of purse strap hanging from her shoulder and tucked her other hand into her pocket. “Did you have a good dinner?” There, that was polite, hands-to-herself conversation. Go her!
“Dinner was good. But the entertainment, that was fantastic. You were fantastic.”
Okay, now she was blushing. And beaming. And really wanting to throw her arms around him. She stopped walking and faced him, although her hands stayed firmly at her sides. Tackling him in a parking lot would probably be considered bad form.
“Thank you.” Her mother would be proud that even when starstruck, Jenna remembered her manners.
“So if I come back on my birthday, will you sing to me too?” He had the devil in his eyes, and his mouth was quirked up at the corners. Two could play at the teasing game.
Channeling Marilyn in expression and voice, she purred, “Oh, you like Marilyn?”
He stepped closer, so close she could see herself in his eyes, feel his breath brush her cheek as he said, “No. I like you.”
And then she couldn’t see anymore, she could only feel, because her eyes were closed and his mouth was on hers, and they were kissing. The softest pressure of his lips, not demanding, just sharing. Touches. Breaths.
And God, this man knew how to kiss. Not only with his mouth, but with his whole body. One of his hands came up to cradle her head, tangling in her hair, fingertips stroking along her neck. His other hand cupped her hip, his thumb sweeping back and forth. Even through the cotton she felt that caress, and she wished her shirt would ride up a few inches so he’d graze bare flesh.
Finally giving herself permission to touch, she lifted her hands to rest on his waist. He was so warm, his body tight and strong beneath her palms.
He pulled back and leaned his forehead against hers, their panted exhales mingling in the small space between their lips. He smoothed his hands over her back, along her shoulders and down her arms.
“Can I see you again?” he asked as he tangled their fingers together.
“Will there be more kissing involved?”
He huffed out a broken laugh and brushed his lips over hers. “Yeah, I can pretty much guarantee that.”
“Well then. I think we should make plans to meet.” This time she closed the distance between them and pressed their mouths together. “And soon.”
A sound between a moan and a sigh rumbled from his throat. “Not soon enough. My next three days are gonna be hell. Long shooting days. I’m in almost every scene. What about Saturday?”
“I work an early shift, but I’ll be out by two.”
“How about dinner that night?”
“I’d like that.”
Lifting their clasped hands, he kissed the back of hers. “Me too.”
It was a good thing they were holding hands, because Jenna still had that itch to touch him…everywhere. The limited tactile taste had only whetted her appetite. She needed to stroke his stubble-rough jaw, run her fingers through the hair flattened to his scalp… “What happened to your hat?”
His shoulders came up in a cute shrug. “Stuffed it in the back of my pants.”
“Real smooth.” Jenna chuckled. “And it’s a good thing, too, because I’ve already proven I might not duck in time.”
“Well, I am still on my best behavior.” Micah winked as he put the hat back in place. “Can I walk you to your car?”
“Sure.” She was tempted to prolong the evening by doing laps around the parking lot, but considering it would probably make her look a little crazy and a lot desperate, she took a few steps and stopped in front of her dingy, banged-up Sentra. “This is mine.” She unlocked her car and tossed her purse on the passenger seat. “So, Saturday night then?”
“Most definitely. Wait, what’s your number?” He pulled his phone out and keyed in her number as she told him, then tucked it back in his pocket. She did the same, dipping into the car to grab her green-rhinestone-star-decorated cell from her purse, so she could input his number. “Can’t wait.”
“Me neither.”
He grabbed the brim of his hat and twisted it to the side, before bringing his hands to her face and cupping her cheeks. Her eyes closed as his lips landed on hers for a sweet, beautiful, oh-too-short moment of bliss.
“Good night, Jenna.” He slowly retreated and drew his hat forward.
“Good night, Micah.” Still feeling the warmth of his hands on her cheeks, she sank into her car, barely noticing the duct tape holding the seat together scratching against her butt. Tonight had been awesome and called for loud music blasted from ancient speakers so she could sing at the top of her lungs. After she left the parking lot, though, since Micah was waiting only a few feet away, seeing her off.
She turned the key in the ignition, but her car only made its irritating fast clicking noise.
Well, she’d wanted to prolong the evening, but not by playing the damsel in distress. Fingers crossed, she turned the key again, but was met with the same lack of progress.
Crap.
She popped the hood release, got out and headed straight for the front.
“You need any help?” Micah asked, and even with the hat hiding his features, she could see his look of concern.
She shrugged like it was no big deal. “Holly does this sometimes. She’s been a bit moody since I moved to L.A.”
“Holly?” One side of his mouth tilted up.
“My mom named her. Told me that this car would get me wherever I needed to go—to school, the supermarket and even Hollywood.” She got the hood open and started jiggling the wires. “I don’t know why, but every time Holly does this, I wiggle all the wires and she starts. Just like a girl, right?” She got in the car and turned the key. Holly purred to life—well, more like choked and spluttered, but she was running and that’s what mattered. “See, all better.” She hopped out of the car to close the hood.
Micah looked at her, her car, and her again. “Can I follow you home? Make sure you get there okay?”
“I’ll be fine. You don’t have to go out of your way for me.”
“How do you know it’s out of my way?” he teased.
“How do you know it’s not?” she teased back.
Micah leaned in close. “Seriously. I’d feel better knowing you made it home okay. Plus, I need to know where you live so I can pick you up on Saturday night. See, win-win situation here.”
How could she say no to that? Besides, she wanted to spend more time with Micah. Not that him in one car and her in another constituted time together, but still. “I live in Van Nuys, fifteen, twenty minutes from here, depending on traffic. You really don’t mind?”
“Consider it a done deal.”
He should’ve given her more than a hundred bucks. That car was running on Jenna’s willpower alone.
Micah one-handed the steering wheel and scrubbed a hand down his face, keeping his gaze locked on the taillights of Jenna’s Sentra. No way would he lose sight of her now, not when they were driving through the Cahuenga Pass heading toward Van Nuys.
Fuck, the sweetest woman he’d ever met called the porn capital of the world home.
When she’d mentioned where she lived, he’d wanted to pick her up, tuck her into his car and take her to his place. She’d be safe there. He had plenty of space and an extra car in the low
er garage he never drove. She could borrow it whenever she liked. Hell, she could have it, since it was just gathering dust.
What the hell had gotten into him? He was losing his damn mind, ready to give her a car and beg her to move in with him before they’d even gone on a date. He needed to be cautious in case she wasn’t what she appeared to be. So he’d take baby steps. Spend time with her. Get to know what made her tick. What made her smile. Then he’d kiss those smiling lips. Make love to her. Talk to her some more. Make love to her again. Repeatedly.
Yeah, nothing wrong with that plan at all.
He followed her off the freeway at Sherman Way and headed north on Sepulveda Boulevard. He hadn’t been in this area of Los Angeles since he was a kid and his crazy uncle took him cruising on Van Nuys Boulevard. But that had to have been twenty, twenty-five years ago now. Since then, cruising had been made illegal due to all the gang violence. Why in the world was she living here?
Every apartment complex had a sign out front advertising cheap rates, move-in deals, claiming luxurious units. Since when were bars on the windows luxuries? Maybe her place wasn’t as bad.
Oh hell, it was.
She pulled through the back gate of a stucco fake-Tudor complex, and Micah swallowed hard. This was all she could afford? Now he really felt like an ass for only tipping a Benji. He should’ve contributed several so she wouldn’t have to live in this dump any longer.
The first few spaces were taken by cars that looked worse than hers. A group of guys were gathered around the rust buckets, adding to the large pile of beer cans on the hood of one of the vehicles. Couches and mattresses leaned against the two dumpsters beyond. Jenna parked under the carport and pointed toward an empty spot farther down.
His Silverado was too big, but he pulled in up to a rusted washing machine that had been dented by a few bumpers and smashed against the cinderblock wall. This was Jenna’s home sweet home?
Starstruck: Hollywood Heat, Book 3 Page 3