Starstruck: Hollywood Heat, Book 3 Read Online Free

entrance door—also known as the kitchen door since all the servers took the same path to the restaurant floor. No matter the size of the audience, acting, becoming someone else, playing a character—or in this case, a real person—was always a thrill. She loved performing, even at a “cheesy” dinner theater, as some of her coworkers called it.
    The faces of classic Hollywood were plastered in posters along every wall. There was a small stage on one side of the dining room, open seating in the middle and more private booths along the outer rim. Gene Kelly tipped his hat with a wink and a grin as Jenna’s Marilyn passed by. “Go get him.”
    Jenna gave him a hip bump. “You know it.” She had a feeling George and Ricky both knew something she didn’t, but she continued toward table 61.
    A guy sat alone at the table, his back to her, wearing traditional vacation attire—a navy-blue baseball cap, black T-shirt and faded blue jeans. Rarely did they get singles in here though. She’d bet ten bucks that his girlfriend—or boyfriend—was in the bathroom.
    Sauntering up to the table, Jenna pouted her lips into one of Marilyn’s trademark sexy-yet-innocent smiles. “Welcome to Stars,” she purred, “where Hollywood…”
    Her mind went blank, the rest of the standard welcome speech forgotten as the man lowered his sunglasses and peered up at her with familiar green eyes. His lips perked at the corners. “Hey, Jenna.”
    “Micah? What are you doing here? I mean, not that I mind. I just didn’t expect to see you. Here. Now.” Was she blushing? Sheesh, she needed to get her brain turned back on pronto.
    “We got interrupted earlier. I wanted to talk to you more, see you again.”
    She smiled at him. No, she was pretty sure she beamed. Like she was radiating light and heat and happiness, stronger than the sun, and she probably looked ridiculous.
    Or maybe she didn’t, because he was smiling right back at her. The press always said he had a million-dollar smile. Clearly they needed to add a few more zeros to that figure.
    “I’m glad.” Talk about an understatement. She was buzzed, jazzed and tickled pink—no, brighter and more lively than that. Fuchsia.
    “Did you get placed in any other scenes today?”
    Oh crud. He still felt guilty. The way his jaw tightened when he asked the question said it all. She lifted one shoulder in a no-big-deal shrug. “No. I got dismissed about twenty minutes after I last saw you.”
    He exhaled roughly, his agitation revealed in the way he skimmed a hand back and forth over the tabletop. “Dammit. I’m sorry.”
    “Hey. No more apologies, remember?” She knelt until she was eye to eye with Micah, resting her arms on the edge of the table. “Today was not a bad day. Not even a little bit. I have no regrets.”
    His hand stopped next to where her arms lay, and fingertips skimmed along her bare forearm in the lightest of touches. Was this touch accidental too, a cosmic reenactment of their first up-close-and-personal moment when they’d tried to share the same space at the same time with interesting consequences?
    No. Because he was looking at her too, staring at her actually, his eyes shining with an intensity that was hard to define. A need.
    A delicious heat curled in her stomach, and her heart started beating faster than a hummingbird’s wings.
    No doubt about it, this time Micah’s touch was entirely on purpose, but it resulted in the same outcome. It knocked her off her feet—metaphorically at least. Physically she stayed put. It would take an act of God to rip her away from Micah.
    An act of God…or a stage manager on a mission. Clipboard in hand, Ricky approached at a brisk pace. “Marilyn, when you’re done here, the family at table 43 has asked for a photo with you. And I need you on in five.”
    She stood back up and somehow managed to find her voice. “No problem.” The lie was barely past her lips before Ricky made a beeline for another customer.