The Redhead Revealed (2) (12 page)

I’d watched daily as his confidence grew, and the mobs increased. He’d had to start traveling with security, and each night his hotel was crawling with Joshua-lovers. He used aliases at each hotel, never checking in under Jack Hamilton. Once he used my name—a dangerous little game. A few times he used a combination of Holly’s name and my name, and then? Then he really starting having fun with it.

In the same week, in different cities across the country, if you were looking for Jack Hamilton, you could have found him under the names:

George McHair

Johnny Nuts

Sheridan McGeorge

And, my personal favorite:

Sophia Patrillo

Finally, he was in New York. I was on pins and needles all day, not only because he was here, but because I didn’t know when exactly I was going to get to see him. Rebecca was in town as well, having joined him for part of the movie tour, and we’d tentatively planned to meet at an Italian restaurant for dinner. He was once again in a hotel, this time the Plaza.

Nice.

We texted most of the day. He was all over town—on The Today Show, at Seventeen magazine, MTV Studios, radio stations—you name it and he was there, ending the day with a Super Sexy Scientist Guy event at the Museum of Natural History. One of his last texts made me blush…a lot.

Grace

I’m going to fuck you until you can’t see straight tonight.

Are you ready for that, Crazy?

Sweet mother of pearl…

George

Get. Over. Here. As. Soon. As. You. Can.

Make me see God!

Last one:

Grace

Will pick you up at the theater at 9 for dinner.

Will be in a black town car.

Panties are unnecessary.

That motherfucker. I still had four hours of rehearsal. How the hell was I going to get through this?

***

As I clicked my phone off, I giggled a bit. I could feel my face flushing. He never failed to get a reaction out of me, which was exactly his intent. As I smiled to myself, I noticed Michael watching me. He nodded to my phone.

“What?” I asked, still flushed.

“Hot date?” he asked, taking the seat next to mine.

“Um, well, yes. He’s only in town for a day, so we’re going out for dinner. He’s so busy right now. You should see the schedule they have him on.” I brushed my hair back from my face and tucked it into a sloppy bun, my constant hairstyle these days. There was one piece that never quite made it in, and I was forever fussing with it.

“That’s good. I mean, good that you get to see him for a night,” Michael said, watching me futz with my hair. “Your schedule’s been pretty busy too. Is he going to make it back out for the show?”

The curl fell out again. I pushed it back. “He says yes, but who knows with the amount of press he’s doing. He’s heading to England for the London premiere, and then to France. So I don’t know. I know he’ll try.” I sighed, feeling myself slump in my chair a little.

“Well, you’re going to be amazing. I know he’ll want to see that,” Michael added, still watching me struggle with my stupid curl.

“Thanks. We’ll see. I’m starting to get really nervous,” I admitted, making my eyes huge to mask how nervous I truly was.

“You’re not going to ruin another pair of my shoes are you?” he asked.

I immediately laughed. When we were in college, I had the lead in a musical—my biggest role since junior high. Michael was running the light board for the show, so he watched us rehearse each day. He’d offer me his critique each night as we walked home. His opinion was always important because as much as he enjoyed my singing, he was never just a Yes Man. He always gave honest feedback.

Opening night I showed up at his apartment, shaking. I was so nervous that when he opened the door, I threw up on his shoe. After he removed the unfortunate Adidas, we sat on his couch and listened to Toad The Wet Sprocket. He wrapped his arms around me and told me everything would be fine. That I would kick ass and take names. That I should never second-guess my talent. To trust myself.

In the end, I did kick ass. But I still tend to get nervous on opening night.

“Well, we’ll see won’t we?” I said, smiling as I returned to the present. “It’s been almost ten years since I’ve been on any real kind of stage, so I’d steer clear of my mouth.” I laughed, and the curl fell out one more time. “Blasted hair,” I muttered. We both reached for it at the same time.

He got there first. As I stared with wide eyes, he tucked it back into my bun, his hand lingering maybe just one second too long.

In that second, things began to change for us.

He looked at me with those brown eyes I remembered from all those years ago. Those brown eyes that used to light up when we’d laugh together. Those brown eyes that would deepen when we argued.

We’d been such great friends. We spent countless hours alone together—doing laundry, watching movies, cooking dinner—but the friendship we had was never anything more. Although I had very strong feelings for him that were definitely more than friendly, he seemed not at all interested in me romantically, so I kept them to myself.

But when I was onstage it was a different matter entirely. Every so often I would catch him looking at me, when his guard was down. The way looked at me when I was singing gave me hope that someday he might come to return my more-than-friendly feelings. I was head-over-heels in love with my friend Michael, and I wanted nothing more than for him to want me in the same way.

And then, that night came. In those brown eyes I had once, just once, seen my love for him mirrored back. Those brown eyes had closed tightly in passion during our one night together.

I’d thought of those brown eyes occasionally over the years, wondering what had happened to him and where he was. And now I’d come to know those brown eyes, trust those brown eyes, all over again. This time in New York.

Those brown eyes now looked back at me with confusion and trepidation and…something else? Was I imagining it? Was I just seeing what I wanted to see?

Wait, did I want to see that?

My phone beeped, and the eyes changed.

He pulled his hand away from my face as I looked at my phone.

I smiled sheepishly. “Holly,” I said.

He nodded and stood up. He started to walk away, then seemed to pause for a split second before continuing on. I pressed ignore on my phone and settled back into my chair, stunned by the rush of emotions I felt.

What the hell was going on? Michael was looking at me in a way that, well, I would have loved to have him look at me.

Ten years ago.

Not now.

Right?

I shook it off. I had to. I threw myself into the last part of rehearsal, losing myself in the show and the work of creating Mabel. This ate up the rest of the evening, and All Things Michael were locked safely in The Drawer to be forgotten.

When we finally broke for the night, it was only a few minutes before nine, and I was anxious to see Jack. I’d brought along some clothes for dinner, and I quickly changed—abandoning my regulation yoga pants and cami for a heather-gray wool wraparound dress Leslie and I had found at Bergdorf’s a few weeks ago. I paired it with knee-high black boots, giant hoop earrings, sassy red lipstick, and a huge smile.

I waited for him in the lobby of the theater, saying goodbye to some of the other cast members as they left. Several of the guys from the crew wolf-whistled at me, and I grinned. It was nice to know I could still clean up pretty well.

Michael walked out and said goodbye quickly, stopping at the door. He looked back as if he was about to say something, but then continued through the doors.

I was still pondering this development when my phone buzzed. It was the Brit.

“Hi,” I answered.

“Hi yourself. Are you ready?” he asked in a low voice.

“I’m ready. Where are you?” I asked, smoothing my dress once more.

“I’m outside in the car. I can see you in the lobby, Grace,” he said, voice almost a whisper.

“You can see me, can you? What am I doing?” I asked, bending over to pick up my purse from the bench, making sure to stand up slowly, arching my back and pushing my chest forward.

“Mmm, I love it when you bend.” He chuckled darkly.

“Now that’s one I haven’t heard before.” I laughed as I buttoned my calf-length camel leather coat over my dress and wrapped a red cashmere scarf around my neck.

“Fucking Nuts Girl, you know what it does to me when I see you in red.” He groaned.

“Well, then, you’ll love what’s underneath this dress,” I said, loving that he could see me and I couldn’t see him.

I put a little extra bounce and sway in my hips as I walked across the lobby toward the glass doors. They automatically swished open, and as the crosstown bus pulled away from the curb, I saw him.

He was leaning against the town car, looking like a wet dream come true. Black jeans, black v-neck sweater, leather jacket. He gave great lean…

“You look beautiful, Crazy,” he murmured as I walked toward him.

“You look crazy beautiful,” I answered.

I took the cell phone from his hand and closed it. I shut mine off and placed them both in my bag. I leaned in, placing my mouth very close to his right ear.

“There’ll be no need for phones tonight. I plan on engaging in a little personal, one-on-one communication, yes?” I kissed the spot right below his ear that I knew drove him out of his mind.

He groaned, hands coming up to pull me the rest of the way to him. He was already hard, and I moaned at the realization. “I missed you,” he growled, his hands on the small of my back, pressing his body against mine.

I smiled and wrapped my arms around his neck. “George, you have no idea,” I said, kissing him greedily on his perfect lips.

“How fast can you eat dinner?” he asked between kisses.

“That depends, but pretty freaking fast. Why?” I asked, as he began to kiss my neck. My hands dug into his hair with wild abandon.

“Because as soon as we’re done with our dinner plans, I’m taking you straight to my hotel, taking everything off this glorious body, and ravaging you until you’re incoherent,” he said, licking the little hollow at the base of my neck.

I actually shook when his words met my ears and my brain processed what he’d just said. “Hell, love, all I really need are some crackers and a glass of water. Then we can have the hotel boom-boom,” I said, my eyes rolling back in my head as he began to unbutton my coat, his mouth never leaving my skin.

Then I became aware that we were standing in the middle of a very crowded sidewalk only blocks from a Time billboard. I knew this because Leslie and I walked three blocks out of our way to see it when went for coffee.

A crowded sidewalk, and I am making out with Jack Fucking Hamilton. I pulled away—his lips actually still attached to my neck, hands busily prying at the buttons on my coat. “No, no, Sweet Nuts. Dinner first, buttons later. Besides, isn’t Rebecca meeting us there?” I asked, struggling to maintain control. I could feel my resolve slip a little when he stuck two fingers between the buttons on my coat to graze my breast through the dress.

“Yes, she is. But she would understand. She knows how much I’ve been missing my Grace,” he whispered in my ear—in the Queen’s English for pity’s sake.

As much as my body wanted to simply have him ravage me up against the side of the car, my brain began to function just enough to pull away again and hold up one hand.

“Okay, pony boy. Listen up. We’ll drive to dinner, and we’ll have the dinner. We’ll hang with Rebecca. We’ll decline dessert, we’ll decline any after-dinner drinks, and then we’ll leave. We’ll go straight to your hotel, and I’ll let you begin to do things to me in the elevator on the way up to your room. Deal?” I watched his eyes light up as I came to the end of my sentence.

“Okay, deal. But no appetizers,” he said, holding open the door to the car.

“No appetizers,” I agreed, stepping in.

Once we were situated, he told the driver where to take us, then raised the divider, separating us from him.

“Grace?” he said, sliding closer to me on the leather seats. He smelled uncommonly good. The Hamilton would be hard to keep away tonight.

But who ever wanted to keep away the Hamilton? Certainly not this girl.

“Yes?” I answered, reaching out to stroke his cheek.

“You said nothing about the car ride to the restaurant and whether I can do things to you in here.” He grinned, smirk highly evident.

Damn.

“No, I suppose I didn’t.” I sighed resignedly, his hands already moving under my dress. My breath hitched as his fingers traced a circle on my upper thigh.

“We have about twenty-five blocks to play. Up for a little slap and tickle?” He smiled, watching my reaction as he eased his hand higher, closer.

“Oh hell, love, that’s something you literally never need to ask. Always yes. Yes to slap and tickle.” I kissed him deeply.

We may have been a little late for dinner.

The Redhead Revealed

Chapter 9

Rebecca and I had a blast getting caught up, and Jack just shook his head while we carried on over dinner. She told me all about the stalkers, the Time fans coming to his appearances, and the paparazzi trailing him constantly now. Because he had me otherwise occupied in the car, I’d failed to notice the car following us, carrying his new security guard. The guard now went out with Jack for high-profile events, and for not-so-high-profile events, like a simple dinner. That would take some getting used to.

We got to the restaurant rather quickly, so there was no chance for actual sexy times, just the promise of the sexy times. The panties had very nearly come off though, and I was now hypersexual. Everything was turning me on: the way he drank his wine, the way he twirled his pasta, the way he licked his lips to catch a plop of sauce. And was it me, or was he massaging that breadstick?

I had to excuse myself from the table. I needed some air. He was seriously driving me crazy. Rebecca followed me to the ladies room.

“Is he trying to make you self-combust?” she asked, raising an all-knowing eyebrow in the mirror.