Matched to the Movie Star (Seeking Curves)

“I live in this hotel. It’s not permanent. I just got back to L.A. It's just easier to stay here than to try to return to my old life. But I’m not married. I’ve never been married. I’ll do whatever I need to do to prove that to you, Lee.”

“You’ll do whatever it takes to prove it?” I ask, studying him. I want to believe he’s telling the truth. I just hope that I’m not fooling myself.

“Yeah, I will,” he says, but looking less sure and a bit more worried.

“I’ve always wanted to go on a daytime talk show. This way, you can take a lie detector test and—"

He kisses me again, effectively shutting me up, which I think is his plan. The kiss is more intense than the first. Hungry and full of desire. His hands grip my waist as I wrap my arms around his neck, locking him to me. His touch feels like it's burning through my clothes, my body aching in response. I want more.

I need more.

His hands explore up my sides until they rest on my sides, just skimming the soft underswell of my breasts, making my nipples ache for attention. When he moves to cup one, the shock of being touched has me pulling back, gasping for a breath.

“You really need to stop doing that. I keep losing my train of thought.”

“That’s why I keep doing it,” he groans, his voice thick with desire.

“I refuse to spend the night here,” I mumble, looking around. It’s small, with one bed; the comforter is worn, having seen better days. It gives me the heebie-jeebies thinking about even sitting down on it. The light on the wall casts an eerie orange glow making the old peeling wallpaper look even dingier.

“I’m sorry. I suppose I should have thought of that. I just wanted to stay away from the main city, wasting money, while I figure out what I’m going to do next with my career.”

I study him closely. He’s very careful in his wording, but I think I can read between the lines.

He’s broke.

There can’t be any other reason why a sane individual would want to live in a place like this. So, here was the explanation for that bad feeling I’ve had in the pit of my stomach. Eugene is broke. That could possibly mean he doesn’t have an actual job. Still, there’s a chance I’m judging him. I really like him and that means I need to give this a chance. Maybe he just needs a friend. I could give him a few days to see what this is between us. That way I could learn about the man he is and if he really is just starting over and getting on his feet again. When I look at him, I just can’t see a man who doesn’t have goals and plans. Maybe I’m being stupid, but that spurs me to make a last-minute decision.

“This might sound a little crazy, but you should pack up your things, and you can crash at my place for a day or two,” I offer, not giving myself a chance to rethink my decision. If he thinks it sounds crazy, it sounds even crazier to me. I barely know this guy, and I’m about to let him into my house.

“Are you asking me to move in with you?” he asks, his eyebrows raised in surprise.

“You can stay in my guest room,” I say, rolling my eyes. “There will be absolutely no sex. That’s off the table now.”

“I don’t like that option.” He shakes his head, but he’s still smiling.

“Tough titties,” I mumble, staring at him. He stands there in shock for a second as my words sink in before he starts laughing.

“You’re crazy,” he says, giving me a pointed look.

“I get that a lot.” I throw up my hands. Oh, well. At least he’s seeing it now, right? “If it makes you feel any better, even if you stay here, sex is still off the table because it's obvious that you have things to sort out.” I wave my hand around as if the room itself is exhibit A.

“Will you still be willing to stroke my clown nose once I get my shit sorted out?” he whispers seductively, dipping his lips very close to me ear.

I shiver as goosebumps move over my body. That should be a warning, but I stupidly ignore it.

“Most definitely,” I admit, completely turned on. It should feel weird having a prospective date moving into my guest room, but it doesn’t. I’m actually looking forward to being able to get to know him better. No more worries about late-night phone calls, only late nights talking in person. He walks off toward the bathroom. My heart races with excitement.

“Where are you going?” I ask, confused that the conversation ended so abruptly.