They talked about movie premieres and stunt work as they polished off the last of the fries. Michael took Leah home after that, and felt like he was walking on air, or had just shot down class-V rapids, or had leapt from a plane into thin air.
When they reached her house, Michael walked around to her side of the car, slipped his arm around her waist like old times, and walked her to the door.
“You want to come in and officially meet Brad?” Leah asked.
He smiled, touched her nose with his knuckle, and shook his head. “It’s probably best we do this one step at a time.”
“You’re probably right. That’s a little too much for one day—reconciliation, Brad, and a stack of pancakes.” She laughed.
Michael did, too, but before she could step away, before she could speak, he touched his lips to her cheek and heard her catch her breath. He kissed her forehead, the bridge of her nose, and then lowered his head to kiss her lips.
Leah turned her face up to his. He slid his arm around her waist and pulled her into him, smoothed a strand of errant blond hair from her temple, and then slipped two fingers beneath her chin, forcing her gaze up so that he could see her, could see the glittering eyes that had haunted him for five long years. Leah smiled, touched her hand to his cheek, and whispered, “I remember, too.”
Michael spread his fingers across her cheek and lowered his mouth to hers. Her body instantly curved into his, and his blood rose up, making his arousal almost instantaneous as a familiar sensation of carnal pleasure began to build in him. It was all he needed, to feel her in his arms, to taste her lips.
He could feel the tension slip away from Leah’s body and touched the corner of her mouth.
He slipped his tongue inside her mouth, tasted a little bit of salt and sweet breath, which aroused him even more—desire was spreading through him too quickly. But he had so longed to hold her, so longed to feel her in his arms that he could hardly stand it now that he had her. With both hands he cupped her face and deepened the kiss, his tongue slipping over her teeth, against the soft skin of her mouth, twining around her tongue.
Leah pressed hard against him. Her hands slid up his arms, to his shoulders, into his hair, down his back. That loose strand of hair fell again and caught between their mouths, but neither of them cared. Michael was lost in the moment, lost in the erotic pleasure of that kiss—
The door suddenly flung open, and Brad the Pothead said, “Oh, hey. I didn’t know you guys were out here. Sorry.”
Leah’s body fell away from Michael’s; her hands fell away from his shoulders. “Hey, Brad,” she said.
“Okay,” Brad said, and shut the door.
With a laugh, Leah dropped her forehead to Michael’s shoulder. But his body was raging, and he buried his face in her neck. “Come home with me. Come home with me right now,” he breathed.
She lifted her head and brought her hands up between them, forcing his head up. Her eyes were shimmering with pleasure and delight, a look that could entice a man to move mountains. “I’ll see you later,” she said, and moved out of his arms.
As she opened the door and stepped across the threshold, she looked back at him once more, waved fingers at him as she closed the door.
Michael stood on that porch, staring at the scarred door for what seemed like ages before he finally made himself turn and walk to his car.
Chapter Fifteen
CONTINUING problems with the film’s budget kept Michael away for the first couple of days of boot camp that week. Leah saw him in the mornings, when he would invariably greet her at her car with a big smile and a bagel. He confessed to being worried that she had enough fuel for the paintball practice. And they chatted on the phone one night when Michael wasn’t swamped and could talk about planning an extreme hiking adventure to the Peruvian Andes for a group of Italians.
Leah regaled Michael with the ongoing tales of boot camp, the highlight being when Jamie single-handedly brought paintball to a grinding halt by screaming when she accidentally got her finger stuck in the trigger of the gun.
“Did it hurt that bad?” Michael asked, astounded.
“It didn’t hurt at all. But it ruined an appliqué on her nail she’d paid big money for, and that hurt.”
Michael sighed. “The guys were right. Women and war don’t mix.”
“Just wait,” Leah predicted. “When we start shooting, we will be one well-oiled machine.” She didn’t believe it for a minute. And she didn’t tell Michael about Nicole Redding. Everyone loved Charlene Ribisi, who had come for the required paintball practice, but they all agreed Nicole was a pain in the ass, unwilling to carry her own weight.
Michael also was true to his word and hooked her up with his friend, Beverly, the costumer, and arranged for Leah to visit Beverly’s studio Wednesday at lunch.