The Unidentified Redhead

Page 12

When the host called my name, I climbed on stage with my guitar. I had picked two different songs, and I was happy with my choices. Watching Holly and Nick applaud for me, I let the familiar feeling that I got from performing take me. It always made me a little high. I closed my eyes, found my center, and when I finished the intro, I opened my mouth to sing.
That’s when I saw him. He was by the bar, several feet away from Holly and Nick, and he was staring at me, smiling. I sucked back my breath with a whoosh and grinned back at him, feeling my tummy flip. I was so knocked out by this guy—it was seriously twisted how into him I was.
So I began to sing, and I could not tear my eyes away from his. They penetrated me, all the way down to my tingling tiptoes, and it was all I could do to get through the song. I focused on the lyrics, asking with my eyes if he was up for this, for all of it, for all of me. I had chosen “Strong Enough” by Sheryl Crow, and the song was perfect for tonight.
His gaze locked on mine through it all, nodding his head along with me, as the words in the song asked him all the questions that it was way too soon for me to actually ask. He stayed with me throughout, and when it was over, he applauded louder and longer than everyone else did, even adding a few wolf whistles. I thanked the audience, handed my mic to the host, and strode purposefully through the crowd. I was taking what I now considered mine and damn the consequences.
“Grace, that was amazing—” I silenced him with my mouth, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling his face to mine, forcefully meeting his lips with my own. With my free hand, I grasped his wrist, placed his hand on my ass, and pushed him up against the bar. His eyes were wide with surprise, but quickly mirrored back my own growing need.
I couldn’t think, I couldn’t hear, I couldn’t focus on anything except this man in front of me and the fact that, if I couldn’t feel him, and very soon, I would quite literally burst. As I pressed my tongue against his frantically, I felt his hands grow urgent, pulling me closer against him, and I was ready to mount him on the freaking bar. Luckily, there was enough of my brain working and enough of his British manners to prevent this, and as we became aware that the clapping had shifted from my singing to our very public groping, we separated, although reluctantly.
I looked at him, blonde curls messy and sexy, and I nearly lunged again. As it was, I had already started trying to kiss his neck when I felt Holly’s hand on me.
“Grace, there’s a lot of people watching. And there are at least ten girls that recognize Jack. Settle,” she warned, attempting to step between us. Jack wasn’t having any of it and kept me tucked against this side.
“Fuck all that, Holly. I don’t care who they recognize,” he said, his hands still roaming across my h*ps and working their way up and down my back. I heard Holly exhale, and I dragged my eyes away from Jack’s long enough to look around. She was right. There were at least three groups of girls staring at us, and one was pulling out her phone.
“Shit,” I swore, backing away from him, leaving him alone at the bar. He grimaced and tried to pull me back.
“Hold on. Just wait a minute. Holly’s right,” I started. He tried to interrupt, and I placed a finger over his lips. I heard the fangirl posse closest to us collectively hiss.
Holly watched me closely. I removed the offending finger slowly, as to not antagonize the seething posse. I continued. “Holly’s right, and I think Holly would also like to remind me at this time that she and Nick are going out for a late dinner, isn’t that right, Holly?” I turned to look at her, as a slow grin began to creep across the Brit’s face.
“We are?” Holly asked, looking confused. Nick just looked happy to be standing so close to Jack and was trying to accidentally-on-purpose touch his elbow with his own. None of this was lost on Jack, by the way.
“Yes, I believe you are. And I also believe that you will be gone for at least two hours,” I added.
“Two hours?” Jack interrupted, looking insulted. “A really good, thorough, dinner will take at least three to four hours, maybe even longer.
It depends on how hungry you are, how satisfied you want to be. You might even want multiple courses … in fact, I can guarantee, when I have dinner … I usually cannot stop at just one. I practically insist on multiples. Courses, that is,” he finished, surreptitiously snaking his arm around my waist and pulling me back against him. His eyes were on fire as he looked at me, and I could no longer feel my legs. What was directly above my legs however, I could feel intensely.
During this last exchange, Nick had begun to breathe rather heavily and was now leaning on the bar fanning himself. Holly’s eyes even got a little glazed over listening to Jack, to say nothing of the bartender, who was now leaning across the bar, looking quite beside herself.
I peeled myself off the Brit, looked at Holly and said, “OK, you heard the man. Dinner, right now, you two … at least three hours. If you come home before that, I make no promises that you won’t see a little ass.” I turned back to Jack and said, “You and me, let’s roll.” He grabbed my hand and started to pull me toward the front door.
Hol y stepped in front of him. “Hey, can I be your manager for just a minute?
It’s not a good idea for you to be photographed with anyone, and there could be cameras out there. Not to mention, you know, those girls are all watching you like a hawk. It’ll be all over the internet tonight if you leave with Grace, especially holding her hand, which I personally think is sweet by the way.” She stopped briefly to flash a quick smile at me. “You should stay here for a few minutes, talk to them, let Grace get out of here. You can meet her at my house in just a little while.”
Jack looked back and forth between me and Holly, listening. He thought for a minute and glanced at me. I shrugged. I didn’t care. I just needed the man so badly at this point—it didn’t much matter how it happened.
“I’ll do this your way, but then you have to do something for me,” he told Holly, winking at me.
“What’s that?” Holly asked.
He pressed something in her hand. “Get dessert too. It’s on me,” he answered.
With that, he tapped on his watch, holding up ten fingers, staring devilishly at me. He bit down on that perfect lower lip, and as I felt my tummy go silly, he walked over to the first group of girls.
I didn’t see Nick swooning. I didn’t see Holly waving her arms across my field of vision, trying to get my attention. I didn’t see the seething posse begin to squeal as he made his way over to them to sign a few autographs. I only saw him, and then the asphalt in the parking lot as I ran to my car.
Thank God you waxed.
As I drove home, I began mentally checking off what I might need for my little British tryst.
Sexy lingerie ? Already wearing it.
Hot music for the background? Got it covered.
Clean sheets? April fresh.
Condoms?
Yep, and the pill too.
Wait, condoms? That was a trick question … are you sleeping with him tonight?
I put that question in the “Grace Will Make That Decision Later” box and focused back on the fact that yoga had made me very bendable, and I knew someone was going to be very pleased. Then I would most likely be very pleased.
He would be all about pleasing me.
I let out a hyperactive little squeal as I thought about how thoroughly I was about to be worked. I had the top down and the stereo loud as I drove through the streets of L.A. on my way to Mulholland, singing Dramarama at the top of my lungs. I was driving up Coldwater Canyon when I saw the headlights behind me.
They came up fast and did not back off. I could see a car swerving in my rear view mirror and could hear the engine revving fast. I pressed my foot on the accelerator and maneuvered higher up the mountain. When I took a tight curve, I saw the car get even closer and I realized that it was an old, beat up MG.
It was Jack. He was driving like a bat out of hell … and gaining.
He was pushing me to drive faster.
I smirked in my mirror and put my left hand out of the window. I motioned to him with my hand, telling him to “Bring It!” I shook my hair out of the ponytail I usually wear when I drive with the top down and heard him honk in appreciation.
He was chasing me like Kelly McGillis chased Tom Cruise in Top Gun.
Tires were squealing, brakes were being stomped, other drivers were yelling and pissed. I was already breathing heavily in anticipation of what was waiting for me when we finally got home.
He continued to chase me up the hill, and when I got closer to the driveway of Holly’s house, he swerved up next to me and sped ahead, getting into the spot first. He had parked, jumped out, and was halfway to my car before I had even killed my engine. Music from my stereo screamed into the night as he stalked over to the car.
“You’re f**king nuts!” I yelled, watching him walk toward me.
“I thought you needed a little push,” he answered, closing the distance in three quick strides. I turned my keys off and didn’t even have a chance to move from my seat before he had my hair in his hands, running through it. The music cut off sharply.
Silence.
“Get out of the car, Grace,” he commanded quietly, holding my face between his fingers, pressing the tips to my lips. I kissed them gently and slid from the car.
When I turned from him to shut the car door, he was on me. Arms slid around my waist, hands slipped under my shirt, lips pushed against my neck, h*ps pressed against my own. The breath was forced out of me with a rush, quickly followed by a moan. He was everywhere all at once.
My hands found his hair, and I tugged his mouth toward mine, greedily kissing him with all that I had worked up in my head since the bar. He spun me, nudging me up against my car. My hands were wild, in his hair, on his face, gripping the back of his neck as he assaulted my own with his kisses. His hands moved to the front of my shirt, snapping two buttons almost instantly. I was suddenly reminded of where we were and I pulled back a little.
“Hey, let’s take this inside, Hamilton.”
“That’s the plan, Sheridan,” he whispered hotly against my neck, moving his hand down and applying pressure against my center. “I’m trying to get inside.”
“Oh. My. God,” I moaned, my words catching in my throat as my eyes rol ed back in my head. I pressed into his touch, deliciously increasing the friction. I was literally panting and beginning to see stars. He continued to twist and turn his fingertips, finding more and more ways to make me moan.
I was a screamer—always have and always will be a screamer, provided it is done right. When it’s off, I’m as quiet as a church mouse.
This man is going to make you lose your voice for days at a time.
I could feel myself beginning to build already, and I didn’t want the first time Jack made me lose my mind to be in my best friend’s driveway. My best friend’s guest bedroom, where I was currently residing? That, I was OK with.
“Hey, mister, come on. Let’s go in the house,” I directed, continuing to kiss whatever was closest to me. In this case, it was his ear.
“If you insist, but then you’re all mine,” he snarled, pulling me off the car and toward the house. There was a frantic moment at the front door when I couldn’t find my key, but once inside, my pants were damn near forcibly removed.
We raced toward the stairs, but as we climbed, our kisses slowed a little, becoming more and more tender, less frenzied. I walked him down the hall to my room and we stood in the doorway. The lights were on and we both hesitated in front of the door. Things were about to change, for the better, hopefully, but definitely change.
“This is my room,” I said quietly, almost shyly. I motioned for him to enter and he did. He looked around, checking the pictures on the dresser, the books on the shelf, the CDs by the stereo, finally settling on my iPod in its docking station.
“I’m dying to know what you have cued up.” He laughed, pressing play.
“No wait, don’t!” I started across the room, cringing at the inevitable.
Jack burst out laughing as old school gangster rap screamed into the room, and he sank onto the bed. The mood had shifted. There was still that smolder, that burn, but this was us after all. There would be laughing along with the loving. I stood in front of him, letting his hands slink up around me to hold my bottom as he nestled his face against my stomach. I could feel his hot breath on my skin and it tickled, pleasantly.
“Ah, jeez, Grace, you kill me. Only you would have this in your iPod.”
“Hey, man, I’m old school. Don’t make me bust out the Eazy-E and the N.W.A. I will go straight up gangsta on your ass. No one is more hardcore than a rich, suburban white girl,” I teased, pressing his face closer to me, running my fingers through his hair the way I knew he liked and scratching my nails through from the top to the bottom.
He made the sound, my new favorite sound, the “Jack’s Happy Sound” that I’d been replaying in my head for the last week. He smelled amazing, again that mix of sun, chocolate, pipe tobacco, and pure unadulterated Hamilton.
He kissed my tummy, turning his face up toward mine as he sighed again, seeming to be completely at peace. I loved that I could do that for him—make him look so peaceful and content.
But hello, what was this? Was he not as peaceful as I thought? He was unbuttoning my shirt from the bottom up, gently pulling it apart as I watched him, then he opened his eyes to look at me and I smiled. Taking in my black lace bra peeking through the linen, he sighed again.
“Grace,” he whispered, kissing me through my bra, bringing me to attention immediately. I laughed when I realized a fabulous, but not very mood-appropriate song, was still playing.