The Redhead Revealed (2) (15 page)

“Love, you know why. Let’s just get through your film premiere, and then we can discuss the potential of ruining your fan base over me, huh?” I tried to joke, as he ran his hands through his hair.

“Whatever you want, Grace,” he said, sighing heavily.

I knew this was tough on him. It was tough on me too. But we’d promised Holly we’d remain inconspicuous, and I intended to keep my promise. Besides, I knew how much they’d hate me, and I tended to think Jack was being a little naïve in his opinion that his female fan base would be so accommodating of him dating a woman in her thirties.

I shook my head. Not tonight, Sheridan. No bad thoughts tonight. Put it in The Drawer.

We got a table outside so we could relax and watch the tide roll in. The evening air was cool, but refreshing, and I was glad I’d pulled on the red flannel Jack always had with him. We spent the evening laughing and drinking beer, getting him ready for the onslaught tomorrow evening would surely bring. There was a huge crowd expected at the premiere, and although he was getting more used to dealing with crowds, it still made him nervous. He still didn’t truly grasp how much his fans loved him, or why they loved him, for that matter. He insisted it was just because of the series, that they were in love with the character. I tried to explain that yes, that was probably it at first, but the pandemonium that ensued with each public appearance could only be explained by his innate charm and self-effacing personality. Not to mention that the boy was stunning.

And the fact that he didn’t get that? Even hotter.

We made it through dinner with no paparazzi and only two autographs, which, according to him, was a light day. We drove back to my house, the moon now shining brightly over the canyons as we played each other songs on our iPods. We needed to sync them up, as we were always arguing over who got to pick the next song and always switching them back and forth.

When we got back to the house, I went around and turned off the lights while he made sure we were locked in for the night. I was in the bedroom plugging in my phone charger when he came in with his own bag.

“Is it cool if I hang a few things in the closet?” he asked, pausing by the closet door.

“Of course. You don’t have to ask, you silly Brit,” I answered as I unpacked a few more clothes and placed them in an almost-empty dresser. I never had moved my clothes in. The ones I hadn’t taken to New York were still in boxes or in storage.

He disappeared into the closet, and I was tempted to follow him in there, but I wanted us to have some quiet times tonight—not another repeat of closet sex, Santa Barbara style. Although that was highly enjoyable.

I realized I hadn’t brought my nightshirt with me, but I spied one of his many T-shirts and slipped that on instead. I was surrounded by his scent, and it made my head swim a little. Hard to explain why that was so comforting. When you don’t see someone for weeks at a time, it’s weird what you fixate on. I was enthralled by the scent of him. I’d roll around in it like a kitten in catnip if it were an option. I missed it that much.

We talked while we got ready for bed, falling back into the pattern we’d established when we spent all our nights together. He brushed his teeth while I put on my lotion, then he watched me brush my teeth. He sat on the counter while I spit out my toothpaste and handed me my little cup of Scope when I was ready. We talked about everything and nothing, catching each other up. He discussed his plans to remodel and make room for the giant shower he still insisted upon, which I informed him sounded great. Provided he pay for it.

I told him about the Time billboard Leslie and I walked by each day when we went for coffee. We discussed at length the fish and chips he had at dinner that night, and the difference between porpoise and dolphins. A pod of something swam by during dinner, and we continued our argument about what made the two different and which we’d seen.

This discussion finally came to a close when I climbed into bed. I dug the remote out from under the pillow, and he shut off the lights. He wore his normal bedtime clothing: boxer briefs. Tonight they were a dark charcoal gray. I wondered if he’d noticed I had trouble keeping my toothbrush steady when I saw him strip down. He walked across the room toward the bed and, with a graceful turn, slipped beneath the sheets. He’d grown thoughtful in the last few minutes, no longer responding to my Flipper jokes.

“Hey, George. You still with me?” I poked him with my big toe as he settled under the covers.

“Sorry, Gracie. Yes, I’m still with you.” He smiled, but something wasn’t right.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, sweeping his hair back. He relaxed under my touch and scooted closer to me in bed.

“Nothing’s wrong. I’m just glad you’re here,” he said as he snuggled up against me. He laid his head on my chest, and when he was comfortable, I began to play with his hair like I knew he liked. I scratched his scalp and worked the knots out, making his curls soft and silky. He sighed contentedly. “I’m glad you could make it back here for this.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” I whispered into his hair, kissing softly.

“It’s going to be crazy, I’ll warn you now,” he said, his voice darkening.

“Well, lucky for you, I happen to know all about crazy.” I smiled into his hair and resumed my stroking.

We were quiet for a few minutes as I scratched his head and kissed him every so often. His breathing deepened, and before I knew it, he was fast asleep. I looked down at him, his eyes closed. He looked so young in that moment, like a kid almost. He looked perfectly peaceful. I shifted slightly to turn off the TV. As he felt me move, his green eyes flickered open long enough to meet mine, and he smiled sleepily.

“Love you, Gracie.” He yawned and rolled me over onto my side. He pressed his body against mine, and his hands crept under my shirt, across my belly, and up to my breasts. With one in each hand, he kissed the side of my neck, sighed once, and said, “Fantastic.”

Then he promptly fell back asleep. I felt his warm chest through the thin cotton of my (his) T-shirt and his soft, yet possessive, grip, and I smiled as well.

“Love you too,” I whispered, but the only response was the tiny snore he always had when he was first asleep. I was out within five minutes, wrapped in Jack.

The Redhead Revealed

Chapter 11

The next morning we woke to the sound of phones ringing. Mine rang first, then his, and in the confusion we bonked heads in the middle of the bed.

“Ow!” I rubbed my forehead while I answered the phone. He mumbled a similar hello into his.

“It’s a big day for your boy, now wake the fuck up,” I heard Holly’s merry voice say.

“Asshead. So good to hear from you so early in the morning. Exactly how early is it?” I settled back against my pillow and squinted my eyes at the alarm clock. Jack had a perplexed and still-half-asleep look on his face, his curls everywhere.

“Holls,” I mouthed to him, and he rolled his eyes.

“Holly, why are you calling both our phones at—Christ, woman, it’s seven a.m.!” he exclaimed, lying back on his pillow as well. He yawned and rolled on his side to look at me. I smiled at him, rolling my eyes as well. Holly’s loud morning voice screamed through both phones.

“I wanted to make sure you were both up. This is a big, big day, and there’s no time for sleeping in. Besides, I need to be sure you’re up before I come over for breakfast. I’m bringing bagels and coffee, since I know you have nothing in the house,” she continued. Jack chose that moment to hang up on her. “Did he just hang up on me? I swear that boy is getting too big for his britches,” she said.

Jack chuckled, still able to hear her chirping. He let his eyes travel down my body, and they stopped on my leg, exposed by the tangled sheets. He grinned sexily, then danced his hand across my skin, starting at my ankle and working his way up. His hand dragged up my leg, making circles on my knee. My skin tingled.

I shook my finger at him as I attempted to listen to Holly. It was getting very hard to concentrate. His hand moved higher, ghosting across my thigh. Then he slipped lower on the bed, bringing his head down to my tummy and pushing up my shirt. I gasped as I felt his mouth brush my skin. It felt wonderful. Holly heard me.

“You okay, Grace? What’s going on?”

“Hmm? Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine,” I sputtered, as he grinned into my skin. He was determined to push it.

He looked back up at me, his chin resting on my belly as his hands snuck to the band of my panties and began to slowly push them down my legs. I shook my head no at him, and he nodded his head yes right back.

Demon…

He settled down lower on the bed and nudged my knees apart with his nose, grinning wickedly.

I mouthed the word “no” one more time, but he just rolled his eyes as if to say “oh, please.” His tongue touched me, and my back arched immediately.

That motherfucker.

Someone fucker, that’s for sure…

Holly had switched topics and was now going on about the dress she was wearing to the premiere. I tried, really tried, to listen, but between the tongue and the fingers and the lips and the vibrating moans he was directing at my oonie, I never stood a chance.

“Holls, I need to…wow…I need to call you….fuuuuck…back….Call you back…I…God damn!”

“Ah jeez, while I’m on the phone, Grace? I’ll be there in thirty minutes. Knock it the fuck off by then,” she instructed.

“Better make it….ungh…I…shit, that’s good…Make it an…hour—hour—hour—Jack!” I dropped the phone and my hands plunged into his hair as he made me come four mother-loving times in a row. It was so good, I almost blacked out. As it was, I lost the ability to see out of my right eye for most of the morning.

When he finally finished, he looked so damn proud.

As well he should be.

“Jesus, George. What the hell?” I moaned as he crawled back up my body, laughing at my noodle arms as I tried to hold him close.

“Don’t die on me now, love. Climb on up here,” he said, rolling onto his back and tucking his hands back behind his head.

I gamely pushed myself up, rolled my neck, and cracked my knuckles. “Climb on up here? Is this what you want me to climb up on?” I asked, gesturing to the very prominent Nice-To-See-You beneath his boxers. I brought him out to see the world on this fine morning. I gave him a quick stroke, then poked Mr. Hamilton with my finger to watch him wag back and forth.

“Are you kidding me with this shit?” Jack asked, raising one shaggy eyebrow at my shenanigans.

I sighed, then cracked my back, rolling my neck again. I really was trying to get some blood moving through my system again after those annihilating orgasms, but I also enjoyed torturing him.

He rolled his eyes. “Grace, you’re not a gladiator going into an arena, you’re about to shag your man. Your man, by the way, who just made you come several times. Now knock it off, and get on top like a good girl,” he said, still keeping his fingers laced behind his head.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” I fake-grumbled, planting a knee on either side of his waist.

“That’s what she said,” he teased, and I started to lower myself.

“Wait!” he cried, eyes wide.

“What the fuck, George? I’m trying to get my groove on here.” Oonie had sensed her Mr. Hamilton, and she was anxious to be reunited.

“Shirt off, please. I need to see those fantastic tits.”

Now I was the one rolling my eyes, but I obliged. I heard him hiss as he caught sight of them, then laugh as I got stuck in the T-shirt. It caught on one of the earrings I’d neglected to remove last night. The shirt was stuck halfway up my face, my nose propped up in a very Miss Piggy-like way. His laughter grew, and as he laughed, his hips rose. I shifted my weight, trying to get a better angle on my cotton prison, and Mr. Hamilton and Oonie took that very moment to embrace.

I was on top of him, naked, T-shirt stuck around my head, with Oonie holding tight to her Mr. Hamilton. I must have looked like a cross between a Muppet, Jenna Jameson, and the Flying Nun. Jack could not stop laughing, even as he groaned and pressed into me further.

“A little help here, please? And don’t start without me,” I said, trying to be fierce. Through the fabric I could see him finally unlock his hands and gently pull the shirt off. My nose was released, then my eyes. My ear was still caught, but when the shirt cleared my eyebrows he let go. He was laughing too hard.

“Stop it. Come on!” I said, the T-shirt now sticking straight up and out behind me like Erykah Badu.

“Fucking Nuts Girl,” he gasped between chortles. Tears streamed down his bright-red face.

“You think I won’t sex you up good with this on my head? Watch me,” I threatened, rolling my hips in what I thought was a tantalizing way, but made less impressive by the current ridiculous.

“What the hell else would I watch? This is the best show I’ve ever seen,” he said, resting his hands on my hips as I began to ride him.

“I will totally fuck you exactly like this, with this damn T-shirt stuck to my damn head,” I said, fluffing the shirt out like my hair.

“You’re already fucking me. Less talk. More fucking.” He groaned as I began to move faster.

Jack thrust into me with conviction.

I raised up on my knees, then sat back down fast, taking him into me hard. I felt him go deep, really deep, and I began to moan with him.

It soon became too ridiculous even for us to have this thing on my head, so we managed to get it off before we got off. He crumpled the shirt and threw it on the floor, his hands quickly returning to my hips, urging and guiding me.

“You feel so good, Gracie. Just…like…that…God…” he said, his eyes smoldering as he watched me.

“Mmm, Jack. Tell me I’m your good girl,” I breathed, watching his eyes widen.

“Fucking hell, Grace, you’re my only good girl,” he whispered, his left hand leaving my hips to palm my breast.

He rolled my nipple between his fingers and pinched it slightly. I cried out at the touch, and he increased his pressure. My skin was hot, crazy hot as the morning sun poured in the windows. His body was slick with sweat, and my hands snuck down to tease where we were joined. He watched as I stroked myself, grunting his approval at my touch.