“Micah Preston,” Sam and Maddie said in unison.

Wow. She was stunned.

It had been forever since she’d thought of Micah Preston as anything more than a Hollywood icon. Yes, he’d transfixed her in their brief encounter years ago and she’d dared to hope for a while that she would see him again—that he would call. When he didn’t, she was disappointed, but what could she do besides move on? She hadn’t even known his full name.

Except, nearly a year after their encounter, she’d come face-to-face with him on the cover of her Entertainment Weekly. Micah Preston, Break-Out Sensation, it had read. Then he was everywhere, on every magazine cover, in every movie. Hot and handsome as he was the night they met, his face on the screen sending Maddie’s heart into palpitations.

But seeing Micah everywhere in such a different context than the one she knew him in made it easy to distance herself. And the more she learned about him, the less she cared for him. Especially disgusting was the fact that Micah Preston was a playboy. In every picture that the paparazzi took, he had a different stunningly gorgeous broad on his arm. Though Maddie had been easily seduced by him, she’d never done anything like that before or since. Apparently it was Micah’s M.O. Typical actor. And she, like most technical crew, had learned early in her career to stay clear of the talent. Their egos generally left little room for anyone else.

Still, as Micah and his bodyguard approached her, a strange nervousness overtook her. She usually didn’t care much about making an impression, but she wished she had time to look in a mirror. She was in stupid sweats, a ratty tank top, and no bra—her comfy traveling clothes, for heaven’s sake. And now she was going to be face-to-face with a man who’d made her orgasm with his fingers. Would he be embarrassed that he’d hooked up with the likes of her? And what would she say to him? How on earth would she manage to not sound like a bumbling idiot?

Lord, strike me down now.

“Hey, man,” Sam said. “Looks like we’re ready to go. This is—”

“Madalyn Bauers,” Micah finished, his eyes on her. At least, she thought his eyes were on her. She couldn’t quite tell through the sunglasses he had slid onto his face after leaving his fans.

Maddie’s heart flip-flopped at his attention and the way he said her name. It rolled off his tongue like music. “Um, hi.”

“You two already know each other?” Sam asked.

Micah shook his head and pointed to the sign Sam was still holding. “I just assumed.”

Maddie swallowed. He didn’t remember her. Most goddamn adventurous night of her life and he didn’t even remember her. Sure he’d had a million girls since her, but she thought he’d at least think there was something familiar about her.

Well, that sucks.

Refusing to show her disappointment, she held up her chin and thrust out her hand. “Actually, it’s Maddie. Pleasure to finally work with you, Mr. Preston.”

“Mr. Preston? It’s Micah.” He grasped her hand firmly. “And that guy is Fu—um, Chris, my bodyguard.”

Maddie tried to keep the shock of Micah’s touch unregistered on her face. And did he hold her hand a little too long or was that her imagination? Whichever, it felt nice.

“Micah it is,” she said. He let go of her hand and a fleeting thought of never washing it again crossed her mind.

What am I, a schoolgirl? She was totally being ridiculous. Yes, seeing Micah again made her dizzy and warm in all the right places, but he was nothing more than a random boy who’d felt her up years ago at a wild party and never called afterward. Nothing to be excited about now.

She turned to Sam, avoiding Micah’s face as she pivoted. “Are we ready to go? I’d love to settle in and get to the set. I’m sure Adam could use me as soon as possible.”

“Sure thing. Let’s motor. I’m not parked too far.”

On the walk to short-term parking, Maddie stayed with Sam so she wouldn’t have to watch Micah’s backside tease her. Behind her, she heard him on his phone, but she couldn’t help putting a little sway into her own stride in case he might be eyeing her.

“Ha-ha, got some fries with that shake?” Chris asked, strolling up behind her.

Crap. She blushed.

He leaned in so only she could hear him. “Don’t worry about it. Common occurrence with Micah. I don’t even think some chicks notice they do it.”

She didn’t know how to respond. “Thanks for, uh, pointing my shimmy out, Chris.”

“No prob. And everyone calls me Fudge.”

“Fudge. Awesome.”

When they reached the vehicle, Maddie caught a glimpse of her reflection in the window as Sam loaded the bags into the trunk of the blue SUV. Her long brown hair was piled in a mess on top of her head. Her sunglasses, thankfully, hid the circles under her eyes and the red spot on the side of her nose that she knew from experience was the beginning of a zit. She looked, well, jet-lagged. She removed the scrunchee from her hair and finger-combed through her tresses before pulling it into a ponytail—a minor improvement. Maybe it was best that Micah didn’t remember her.

“Here, I got that for you.” Sam pulled open the back door for her.

“Thanks.” Chris, er, Fudge, had already taken the front passenger seat. That left Maddie in back with Micah. Shit. She should have moved faster. Sighing, she climbed in the backseat and let Sam shut her door.

As soon as she was seated, Maddie pulled out her phone. Bree was so going to get it. She knew all about Maddie’s encounter with Micah seven years before, even though Maddie hadn’t told her initially. Leave it to Bree’s crazy eye for all-things-hot-guy-related to spot Micah in a movie trailer sometime later.

“Didn’t you totally get it on with him at our graduation party?” she’d said.

So much for Bree being too drunk to realize what was going on.

Maddie had spilled the details—all the details—how he made her body sing, how she hadn’t known his full name, how he hadn’t called afterward. Bree knew full well that Maddie would have wanted to know he’d be on this shoot.

Maddie’s text said it all. Micah freakin Preston???!!!??? You are so dead…

She dropped her phone onto her lap and leaned against the passenger door, leaving as much space as possible between her and the spot where Micah would sit. She watched him out her peripheral vision as he slid into the backseat next to her, his thigh muscles bulging through his tight pants. God, he was positively scrumptious. No wonder half the women in America had a crush on him.