Starstruck: Hollywood Heat, Book 3 by Ashleigh Raine Page A

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