Page 69 of Princes of Hollywood

The others haven’t come around while I prepare dinner. I imagine both Mason and Wyatt worked today. I’m not sure what else Roarke got up to, but he probably had to review his script too. Or whatever actors do to prepare for a role.

I’m not sure what time they expect to eat, but I finish cooking around six thirty. I bite my lip. Should I call for them? Is there a bell to ring? Maybe text them?

I only have the one number.

“What’s wrong, mouse?” Mason’s dark voice sends chills coursing down my back, half because he startled me and half because his voice makes my toes curl.

I turn around and he leans on the counter, watching me with those piercing eyes. My insides melt at the heat in them. How long did he watch me before he spoke?

“I don’t know how to let everyone know dinner is ready.” I shrug.

Mason stalks across the kitchen, closing the distance between us. My breath catches in anticipation. He tips my chin up. “I’m sure they’ll be down. It smells delicious.”

His gaze drops to my lips. Is he talking about the food?

When his thumb grazes my lower lip, I suck in a breath.

“Fuck, that smells good, poppet.” Roarke’s boisterous voice dispels the web Mason wove around me.

Flustered, I take a step back, and he lets me with a cocky grin. Each of these guys is different; maybe that’s why I find them all attractive. Or maybe they all are just fucking hot and my hormones didn’t stand a chance.

Grabbing pot holders, I lift the pasta bake off the stove to carry to the table. Wyatt and Aiden come from the direction of the stairs and join us.

“Did you make this, poppet?” Roarke hovers behind me as I lean over to set the pasta down. His hands curve over my ass, and I only flinch a little at the intimate touch. His need to touch me is becoming familiar.

“Yes.” I straighten and turn.

Roarke smiles, blocking my way.

“I need to get the focaccia.” I gesture to the island.

He tips my chin and brushes his lips across mine. I suck in a breath at the tingles chasing through my blood. “We need to spend some quality time together, poppet.”

His darkened blue eyes give away his intent with quality time. My cheeks burn, but he lets me slide past to bring the rest of dinner to the table. They all take their seats, and I sit beside Aiden, next to Wyatt.

Roarke spoons a huge portion onto his plate before passing it on. I did some research on the internet to figure out what I could feed these guys, as they all seem healthy. Their diet preferences all call for certain things. Feeding them might be a full-time job in itself.

I take a small portion, and Roarke gives me a disapproving look. I add some more, and when he smiles in approval, I almost preen.

While we eat, Roarke tells another story about a time on set when he had to work with the stunt coordinator. The producer was against him doing this particular stunt, but he insisted.

“Fifteen stitches and a broken ankle.” Roarke pulls his shirt aside to show the white scar right beneath his pec.

My fingers twitch to trace the line, and I lift my wide eyes to Roarke. He grins with that knowing look.

“Don’t worry, Mason won’t allow me to do stunts this time.” He winks before turning to Mason. “Pretty sure he’d lock me in my trailer before he let that happen.”

“Good.” I’d hate for him to get hurt.

Everyone’s plates are almost empty or empty. They ate most of the pasta and all of the bread.

When I begin to rise to pick up the dishes, Mason clears his throat, drawing my attention. I lower back in my seat.

He pushes his plate toward the center. “We need to discuss this situation.”

My heart trips over itself. Me and them and what happened today and what more we want to happen. There’s still this fear that they’ll decide they don’t want me.

“Why don’t I get dessert and we can talk then?” I stand and grab plates before anyone can tell me to stop.

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