The Redhead Plays Her Hand
Page 25

“I’m so in love with you, Grace.” He looked down at me, my sweet, broken, wonderful boy. “And I’m dying to kiss you.”
I raised up on my tippy toes as he leaned down. “I’m kind of dying for you to kiss me.”
His lips feathered against my own, tentative, gentle, but warm. I smiled against his mouth, knowing this would not be the last conversation we had about everything that had happened, but knowing this wouldn’t be the last kiss either.
We kissed. We kissed for two minutes or two hours, I haven’t the foggiest. We kissed long and deep, sweet and wicked. We kissed until my leg cramped and his arm fell asleep in the sling. And then we kissed some more. I fell in love with his mouth all over again, wanted to crawl inside and live there for an indeterminate amount of time.
Would be humid, like living in Florida.
Don’t spoil this. I’ve earned some schmaltz.
And when his mouth began to move, tracing the tiniest of kisses along my eyes, fluttering against my eyelashes, sneaking over and nibbling on my ear in a way designed to make me come unglued, I knew there was not, could not ever be, another man who would know my body so well. And I knew where this was heading. And it would be good, so very, very good. Which is why I was completely surprised when he whispered in my ear, “Let’s go home, Crazy.”
My eyes popped open, my neck snapped up from its position somewhere behind me, where it had fallen when he turned my spine to goo. “You want to go home now? Drive all the way back to L.A.?” I asked as he nuzzled at me.
“Mmm-hmm,” he told the spot just below my ear.
I looked around, looked behind him, out the window. The entire city was still laid out before us, the lights so bright they burned. He was right. We could do the bright lights, the big city. We lived in a town that was built on lights, on stars. But we were a canyon couple.
“Yeah, let’s get out of here.” I nodded, holding his hand and pressing one more kiss on his now love-swollen lips.
It was almost midnight, but we packed up his things as quickly as we could, settled up his giant bill downstairs, and were back in my car before one. He drove, and we rolled the windows down and let the wind blow in as we headed home.
I chuckled as we sped down the darkened highway, thinking about a movie I’d seen a long time ago.
“What’s funny?” he asked, bringing my hand to his lips.
“I was thinking about the movie Less Than Zero, ever seen it? Robert Downey Jr.? Andrew McCarthy? They’re best friends. Robert’s character gets in trouble in Vegas, and Andrew has to drive out there in the middle of the night to bring him home,” I answered getting giggly.
“Nope. Never saw it.” He shook his head as I laughed again.
“Well, let’s just say I’m glad I didn’t find you sucking dick to pay for your crack habit.” I snorted as the car swerved.
“Grace!” He swore as he brought the car back between the lines on our side.
He was quiet for a moment while I cackled.
“I’d never do crack,” he deadpanned as I laughed again.
It felt good, to laugh with him, to crack up and giggle and be silly.
“How’d the movie end?” he asked when I was under control again.
“Um, not well.” I looked out the window to the desert, cold at night.
“Not well?”
“Nope.” I rolled up the window. “He died. Drug overdose.”
We were both quiet.
“You know that’s not what happened, right? I mean, I just went a little crazy. No one’s addicted to anything. You know this, right? I went on what I think your generation would call a bender.” He illustrated with quote fingers.
“My generation?” I scoffed, rolling my eyes. I sat for a moment, then turned in my seat to face him. “So you don’t think you have a problem? I’m not pressuring, just asking so I understand what we’re dealing with here.” I held up my hands in a nonjudgy way.
“No, I know why you’re asking. You have every right to ask. And the answer is no, not a problem, just a shitty way of dealing with what’s been going on. I need to learn to handle this better, without partying so much. I can’t promise I won’t be a little hard to live with from time to time, but I’m willing to try handling this in a different way.”
“Well, hell, I could try handling this a different way too. I’m no expert.”
“I don’t know. You seem to be doing pretty well with all this. Don’t think I didn’t notice how my girl went and got all famous on me. I’ll need to get your autograph sometime soon,” he teased.
“Autograph this. And keep your eyes on the road,” I warned as he tried to lean in for a kiss. “Just promise me you’ll talk to me next time you’re feeling it, okay? The pressure? Just tell me. We’ll work it out, but you have to talk to me, okay?”
He was quiet, watching the road. A slow grin crept over his face, and he looked back at me. “You know you’re the mature one in this relationship now. How the hell did that happen?”
“I’m a girl, Jack. We’re born more mature,” I said primly, settling back into my seat.
He huffed, muttering something about maturity and age as we passed a sign that said:
LOS ANGELES 100 MILES
I stole his hand from his lap and held it the rest of the way home.
It was almost dawn when he pulled into our driveway, the sky just beginning to tinge pink at the edges. We grabbed our bags and made our way to the front door. I turned the key and stepped inside, but he hovered just outside, on the doormat.
“What are you, a vampire? You need an invitation to come in?”
He looked at his feet, shuffled a bit. “Thanks for coming to get me.”
I took his hand and pulled him inside before he tugged back.
“Really, Grace. Thank you,” he said again before stepping in and locking the door.
“You’re welcome.” I leaned into his side as we took our bags and headed back to the bedroom. The room was in disarray, just like I’d left it. “I kind of took off the other night when Holly called me. I actually had to come back inside when I forgot my shoes.” I chuckled, taking them off now and throwing them into the closet. I was so tired, my brain hurt.
He followed my lead, taking off his shoes, and sat on his side of the bed. With comforting familiarity, we slipped into our normal routine. I crawled into the bed on my side, he on is, and we met in the middle. Pulling me into his nook, he cradled me on top of him, his arm around me, nose in my hair as he kissed my head.
“Love you, Grace.”
“Love you too, Jack.”
With my head on his chest, rising and falling softly as we both slipped toward sleep, I offered up another silent thank-you that I had him back where he belonged. And when the dawn finally broke, we were asleep in our bed. Jack was back.
I woke up sometime in the afternoon, based on the way the light was streaming in through the windows. I smiled as I stretched under the sheets, feeling the warm body next to mine and knowing who that warmth belonged to. Turning over, I was met with green, green, green. My sleepy eyes met his dreamy eyes, those dreamy green eyes that were full of love. Oh, hello, and something else.
“Hi.”
“Hi, yourself,” he murmured, dipping his head down to nuzzle me with his nose, drawing a path up my neck, then replacing it with his lips. I drew in a breath at the feel of his mouth on me, my fingertips tangling into his hair, which was now just long enough that I could dig in. Feeling a tickling just below my chin, I giggled as his mouth began to move lower, down toward my collarbone.
“Hey! Hey, you!” I pulled his head back up and held his face in my hands. “Can you do this?”
“Can I do this?” He rolled his eyes, humphing as he went back to his original path.
“No, no, no. Not can you do this. Can you do this, with your arm? Don’t you need to be careful?”
In answer, he rolled over, taking me with him. As the covers drifted down and I perched on top of him, I felt his answer pressed exactly where I needed him. “You’ll just have to be on top, Crazy.” He pulled apart my shirt, button by button, as I nestled my h*ps into his.
“I can see you’ve thought this out, George.”
“You have no idea how much I thought about this.” His gaze smoldered as he parted my shirt and revealed me. And the green goes dark . . .
“Hello, girls, I’ve missed you.” He grinned wickedly, ghosting his fingertips over my breasts, taunting and clearly delighting in the feel of his hands on me, on my skin.
Arching into his hands, with my shirt hanging down low on my arms, I let my fingertips come down and move across his body, reacquainting myself with his long, lean torso, the sprinkle of hair on that blessed happy trail, the muscles that flexed as I moved closer to Mr. Hamilton.
“Mmm, Grace . . .” He moaned as I brushed against him, scooting backward on the bed and away from his hands. He leaned up on his good arm as I tugged on his boxers, lifting up just enough so I could pull them down. I sucked in a breath at the sight of him, smooth and firm and exactly what I needed.
I trailed my hand up the inside of his thigh, listening to his breathing change as I got closer. I leaned down to press the tiniest of kisses on the very tip of him. He bucked off the bed, groaning at the slightest touch. I smiled to myself, then put us both out of our misery.
As I took him into my mouth entirely, the words he uttered through clenched teeth were equal parts obscene and nonsensical. Nice to know I hadn’t lost my touch. His hand buried itself in my hair, urging me as I took him in again and again, swirling my tongue and paying special attention to that area riiiiight there . . .
“Fuck, Grace. Fuck.”
Exactly.
Slipping out of my panties faster that you could say “Get it,” I crawled back up his body, straddling his h*ps as he grabbed my curves and guided me down onto him.
Jack. Inside. Perfect.
Frozen in place at the exquisite, I let him fill me, took him in and felt him touch every part of me. We were both still, just letting the moment wash over us. His eyes bore into mine, his hand tightening on my hip as he slid deeper, inch by perfect inch, to penetrate me completely.
“Brilliant,” he whispered, his accent breaking the silence and sparking me back to life.
“Brilliant,” I agreed, and began to move.
Rocking over him, letting the sounds he made guide me, I slid him in and out, pressing and pulling into me. I matched him groan for lusty groan, arching my back as I rode him, first slow and then faster as the tension built. His hand snuck down between us, twisting and seeking and making the dots behind my eyelids begin to blur into a firestorm.
“You. Feel. Incredible,” I panted, his fingers now holding steady with that luscious pressure that detonated some-where deep inside me, rocketing me forward onto his chest as I split into a thousand pieces and fell apart. And as I fell, I saw the face I loved, that beautiful face set tight in passion. Jaw clenched, forehead furrowed, lips chanting my name over and over again as he exploded inside me.
Jack. Inside. Perfect.
When I could lift my head again, my body spent and deliciously sleepy, he rolled me over onto my side, snuggling in behind me and throwing his arm over top, creeping out of the sling just enough to grab a handful.
“I missed this,” he whispered in my ear, letting out a contented sigh.
I burrowed deeper, wrapped up and warm. “Me too.”
Now Jack was back.
twenty
Jack was back, but all was not roses and tidy strings neatly tied up. He’d made an ass of himself but good, and he had some work to do. Over the next few days, all the chickens came home to roost, and he had more problems than he’d bargained for.
He had to start with Holly, who, while glad he was safe and seemingly off his bender, had gotten the brunt of his nasty while in Vegas, and she let him have it. She came over the night after we got back, and I hightailed it right out of the room when I saw how this was going to go. But he needed to hear it; he needed to know how his actions had affected people. And he did know it. He told me later he was okay with her yelling at him because he knew he deserved it. He also knew she wouldn’t yell if she didn’t care.
They came to an agreement about future promotions: that he would have more control over events and interviews he agreed to. He would do what he needed to do to promote his projects, but he’d have final say in how extended he was.
The conversation with Lane went much easier, in the way conversations between two guys almost always do. Lane came over a few days after Jack was back, took one look at the now barely there black eye and bruises, and started laughing. Slapping him on the back, Lane followed Jack out to the patio, and I could hear them trading insults within minutes. Honestly.
The real trouble Jack had got himself into was legal, and there was a lot of it. The club owner, that guy’s partners, and at least half of the people who were there that night were suing for damages. Hospital bills, loss of income, property damages—they saw the opportunity to go after a celebrity, and go after him they did. But he handled it. He met with his lawyers and began the process of settling out of court for most of the charges. He didn’t face any criminal charges, and for that we could be thankful. No embarrassing trial, no media circus. It could be managed as privately as possible.
The media? They had a field day. They printed accounts from people who were there that night and posted as many pictures as they could from all the nights when Jack looked drunk and disorderly. Most of his fans stuck with him, however, posting letter after letter in chat rooms and on message boards. They told him how much they loved him and how they hoped things were getting better.