All she wants for Christmas is for Hollywood to love her again. But once she meets him, her Christmas list changes.
Jen’s only Christmas wish: Hollywood falling back in love with her. Meeting ex-Marine Gunner was a bonus. She likes that he isn’t impressed by celebrities or the movie biz. She likes that he’s funny and sweet … and drop-dead gorgeous. And she loves that he has no idea who her alter-ego is: Jen Fleming, Hollywood bad-girl and paparazzi target number one. Why ruin an amazing affair when he’s leaving after the new year?
But the closer they get, the harder she falls, and the more she wants to tell Gunner everything. Especially once he shares his secret with her.
Her new Christmas wish: Gunner accepts and loves her for who she really is.
His gaze traveled up, lingered on my belly button before gradually following the curve of my breasts. He swallowed again.
I squeezed between him and the countertop, reaching up for my recipe book. My rear brushed against him. I heard him suck in a breath, and swallowed my smile.
I put the cookbook on the counter and began flipping through the pages, carefully separating the ones stuck together. “Here,” I said over my shoulder. “This is it. My grandmother’s recipe. Sorry, Gunner, but you can’t possibly win.”
He pressed against me, leaning over my shoulder to read. His breath brushed my neck, making the hairs at the nape of my neck stand straight up.
I turned, refusing to give him the advantage. “We making yours or mine first?”
“I don’t think I care,” he murmured, staring at me.
I smiled. “Okay then. Me first.” I turned back, my hip sweeping across his groin as I bent to pull the baking sheet from under the oven.
He stepped back while I busied myself pulling together everything I would need. I was aware of his every movement, the way his eyes stayed on my body, the way his breathing was slightly unsteady.
When I had everything assembled on the countertop, I let my eyes meet his. I held out my apron. “Want it?”
His hand grasped my wrist, pulling me against him. “Yes.” His other hand gripped my rear, startling me. Hot, rolling heat plucked at my stomach and tightened my chest. I held the apron up in front of him, quivering as his hand slid up my arm.
“The apron,” I clarified. “For baking. We’re baking, remember?”
He took the apron and tossed it over his shoulder.
About the Author:
Sasha is part gypsy. Her passions have always been storytelling, Hollywood, history, and travel. It’s no surprise that her books include a little of each. Her first play, ‘Greek Gods and Goddesses’ was written for her Girl Scout troupe. She’s been writing ever since. She loves getting lost in the worlds and characters she creates; even if she frequently forgets to run the dishwasher or wash socks when she’s doing so. Luckily, her four brilliant children and hero-inspiring hubby are super understanding and supportive.
Please visit her website: http://www.sashasummers.com
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