“You were totally right when you said I push happiness away. You knew it before I knew it. There’s a part of me that doesn’t really believe I deserve good things,” I said. “That’s going to take some time to change. I clearly have a lot more work to do.
“But I never wanted anyone but you. You have to believe that. For weeks I’ve been searching for the right time to call you and beg you to take me back, to apologize for being so shortsighted and not realizing that every single solitary thing I’ve ever wanted in a man is in you.”
I’d left my seat by this point and was on my knees in front of him. The tears had begun at Rent and hadn’t stopped since.
He was perfectly silent, just taking it all in. When he started to speak again, I stopped him.
I still had one more confession to make—one that could break him. This was where he’d either stay in this with me or decide it was too much.
“There’s something else I need to tell you. I know in my heart if we’re ever going to get past this, I need to be totally honest with you. About everything.” I took a deep breath.
Say it. Be strong. You have to tell him.
“A few weeks ago, I went out with Michael,” I said.
The color had drained from his face. His eyes were almost gray.
“We went out for dinner, and then he came back to my place,” I continued, my throat beginning to close.
I couldn’t finish. I couldn’t not finish.
You can do this. Tell him. Come clean.
“What did you do, Grace?” he asked, his voice gruff and almost inaudible.
I breathed deep.
“Did you fuck him, Grace? Did you? Oh, God, you fucked him, didn’t you?” he snarled suddenly, standing and leaving me on the floor. I scrambled after him.
“No, no, it didn’t get that far, I swear!”
He whirled toward me. “Did he kiss you?” he hissed, his face stormy.
“Yes,” I whispered.
“Did he touch you?” he asked, his voice a low growl.
“Yes.”
He put his hands on me.
“Did he you touch you here?” he asked, placing his hands on my breasts.
I started to sob.
“Did he?”
I nodded. I nodded in horror at what I had done, what I’d allowed to happen.
He stared at me, and I saw the tears. He had tears.
He sat back down, head in hands.
“This is so fucked-up,” I heard him murmur, and I went to him. I was going to fight for this.
“Jack, I’m telling you because I don’t want to keep anything from you, not anymore. When I was with Michael—” I started.
His eyes closed as he winced. Without another thought, I clasped his hand. I needed to feel him, and instinctively I knew he needed my touch as well. He calmed a bit, and I continued.
“You may not want to hear this, but I need you to know. I need you to know how close I came to throwing this away, but I stopped! I stopped because I realized I don’t ever want to feel another man’s hands on me. Not ever.”
I lifted our hands between us and looked at them. I felt his hands grasp mine more tightly.
“These are the hands I want to hold, that I want on me, and around my waist, and in my hair, and holding my boobies when I go to sleep at night,” I said fiercely, no tears anymore.
Jack seemed captivated. He held one of my hands in both of his, and I raised my free hand to his face, brushing his hair from his forehead, then letting my fingertips graze his lips.
“This is the mouth I love—the only mouth I want on me,” I said.
He sighed heavily, tension either beginning to leave his body, or starting to build again.
I dropped my hand to his chest and worked my way inside his jacket. I rested my palm flat against him, and I could feel the warmth through his shirt.
“This wonderful heart right here?” I said, tapping his chest. The side of his mouth quirked up a little. “This is the heart I need. And if I have this—and a little schmaltz—I don’t need anything else in the world,” I said. He finally smiled, the smile that had changed my life months ago.
But then his face changed. “But what about everything that you said? What about the nine-years age difference?”
“I don’t care. Clearly you are more emotionally mature than me, so we balance out.”
“What about the fame, the cameras, the photographers? What about people finding out about us? What about the next time someone posts a picture of us and says something nasty about you?”
“I’ll deal with it like an adult.”
“What about Michael? What if you decide you want to be more than friends with him again?”
“That’s a fair question. And he will likely be around—we’re working together. But know that there could not be anything other than friendship between us. I thought he was back in my life for a reason, but I know now that reason is nothing other than being a friend and the creator of the show I’m in. That’s all there is, and that’s all there ever will be. I know this, he knows this, and now you know this. I belong to you, if you’ll have me.”
After what seemed like an eternity, he smiled again.
“So screw lunch. Let’s go fix this,” I said, tugging on his hand. He finally stood, but once again, he pushed me away.
My heart sank. What if everything I’d said wasn’t enough?
I was still determined. It didn’t matter what I had to do. I was never letting this man go again.
“I need to tell you something too, Grace,” he said, sinking back into his chair. He took a deep breath.
“Tell me what?” My heart began to pound a funny beat, as though it knew something my brain hadn’t quite caught on to yet.
“Back in L.A, well, something happened with me too,” he said, and I knew without question what he was going to tell me. The pictures in the magazine with the blonde. He’d done what I’d done. I don’t know how I knew, but I knew.
“After the movie came out and I got back in town, well, I went on a bit of a bender,” he said, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. I took my seat once more, waiting to hear what he needed to tell me.
Breathe . . .
“I was so mad at you, Grace. So mad, and I was drinking so much and . . . other things were happening, and I just was out of my mind, totally out of my mind. One night, one thing led to another, and, well, I went home with someone. Totally random. It meant nothing, but . . . oh, God, Grace, it was awful.”
He looked at me with tears in his eyes, and I saw once more what I’d done to him.
“I tried, Grace. I was so damn mad at you, but, Christ, I missed you, and this girl, she was so beautiful, and she smelled like coconuts, you know? She smelled like coconuts, and that reminded me of you, but they were awful coconuts—synthetic, and syrupy sweet, and not at all like my girl, and I just—I didn’t, I mean, I did things, but I didn’t . . .” he rambled, so torn up inside.
I couldn’t take it anymore. I’d heard enough.
I came around the table and knelt in front of him again, then I lifted his head so he’d look at me. He looked so very sad and so very young in that moment. I pressed my fingers to his lips to stop his words and leaned in. My heart was thumping wildly.
“I don’t care. I don’t want to know. Do you love me?” I asked.
“What?” he asked, his voice muffled by my fingers, looking at me with wide eyes.
I chuckled lightly and removed my hand, cupping his cheek with my fingers. “Do you love me?” I asked again.
He was quiet for a moment, and I couldn’t breathe. My world stopped in that instant.
“I do love you, Grace, of course I do. But—”
I was on my feet and in his lap in a nanosecond. I pressed myself into his arms and kissed him square on the lips. This was my man, and I needed his mouth on mine—right now.
“Then I don’t care what you did,” I told him. “They can cancel each other out. I don’t want to
know the details. Please don’t ever tell me.” Then I kissed him again. This time he kissed me back hungrily. His hands found my hips and pulled me against him, pulling me home.
We kissed eagerly, passionately, and I forgot everything except his lips, the scratch of his stubble, and the feel of his hands on me. My fingers found his hair and dug in. I scratched his scalp, and he sighed into my mouth at the sensation.
I heard a scuffle, then a muffled giggle. I turned to see a few ladies from the hotel restaurant peeking in, then all but one immediately scrambled out the door. The one remaining blushed deeply.
“We just came to see if you were ready for your lunch, Mr. Hamilton,” she said, clearly feeling his star power.
I looked back at Jack, and he nodded slightly to say it was my choice.
“I think we’ve decided on a little room service instead, right, George?” I asked, grinning cheekily at him.
“Whatever the lady wants.” He grinned back at me as I led him past the still-stunned hotel employee and out the door. He then led me to the bank of elevators next to the banquet center. As we waited for the elevator to arrive, we began to kiss. At first slowly, tiny little pecks, but they quickly grew into wonderfully sloppy kisses.
An elevator arrived just as the doors to the adjacent banquet room opened, and dozens of women from the Greater New York Area Quilting Society poured out after their buffet lunch. And there they found their Super Sexy Scientist Guy groping an older redhead. Shocked whispers turned to swooning frenzy in less time than it took to blink. Phone cameras appeared instantly.
“Grace, we need to get out of here,” Jack whispered in my ear, trying to shield me from the cameras as we hurriedly stepped into the elevator.
I laughed out loud. Nothing was gonna kill my buzz. “Ah, fuck it, George. C’mere.” I giggled and jumped up into his arms. I wrapped my legs around him and kissed him. Like it was my job.
He responded without hesitation, kissing me back with equal force as the doors closed. The quilting bee took plenty of pictures, and I didn’t care for a second.
This was my life, his life, our life, and we might as well get used to it.
seventeen
Jack held me the whole way up in the elevator, refusing to put me down. We kissed slowly and leisurely, exploring each other’s mouths again, with serious attention to detail. When we got to his floor, he swung me up onto his back and carried me piggyback down the hall.
“Wow, swanky digs, Hamilton,” I said as I took in his suite from my perch on his back.
“Nothing but the best for this guy,” he said, closing the door and locking it behind us.
“I’ll say,” I responded softly, laying my cheek against his shoulder and squeezing his waist with my legs.
He walked me over to a big chair in the corner and dumped me unceremoniously.
“Hey!” I exclaimed.
He settled himself on the floor in front of me on his knees, his hands holding on to my legs. His fingertips made little patterns on my thighs.
“We need to finish talking,” I said gently, tracing his cheekbones and jawline with my fingertips. We seemed to need the physical contact.
“I know.” He sighed and laid his head in my lap.
I scratched his head.
He made Jack’s Happy Sound.
We sat like this for a while. Just being.
“Grace, I want to ask you something,” he said, his voice a little muffled by my thigh.
“Ask me anything.” And I meant it. No more secrets, no more half-truths, no more keeping anything from him.
“Did you mean it when you said you thought we were in a little sex bubble? Is that really all you think we are?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
I sighed. “I was out of my mind when I said that. I do think we were in a bubble when we first were together in L.A., but only because everything was so fast and concentrated—and it was fantastic. Then I left. And we never got to see each other. There was never a normal progression to our relationship. Amazing, but not normal.”
It was his turn to sigh. But I put my hand under his chin and turned him back toward me.
“Here’s what I realized, Jack. What’s normal? That’s one of the things I was concerned about—this need to be normal, to be defined. Is it normal for two people so far apart in age to fall in love? Nope, but we did. Now think about everything else. Neither one of us is living a normal existence. Everything about us—our lives, our careers—is the opposite of normal. And how amazing is that?”
He grinned. “Fuck normal.”
“Yeah. I don’t want normal. All I want is you, George.”
He rose to his knees, bringing himself within kissing distance. “We still need to talk about some things,” he said, his green eyes beginning to darken.
“Yep,” I said, sliding down a little in the chair to get closer to my Brit.
“I want to hear more about this—what did you call it? Baby train? I want to hear about this baby train you may or may not be on,” he said, his hands slipping below me and hitching my legs up around his waist.
“Mm-hmm . . .” I snaked my arms around his neck as he lifted me out of the chair. He began to walk me toward the bedroom.
“And we need to have a very long talk about what we’re going to do if you get freaked out again,” he said, his eyes the color of the sky before a big, fat, Midwestern summer thunderstorm. In other words, really fucking dark.
I shivered a little. “I’m not gonna freak again. What if you get freaked?” I asked as we moved into his room.
He rolled his eyes as he held me above the bed, then dropped me. His eyes raked me up and down, and I scooted to the edge of the bed, wrapping my arms around his waist and resting my head against his tummy. I inhaled deeply, breathing in that inherent Hamilton scent, and I felt warm and toasty instantly. I inhaled again and he chuckled, bringing his hands to me, brushing my hair back from my face as I looked up at him. I rested my chin on his belt buckle and gazed at him as he traced his fingertips across my forehead, my eyelids, my cheeks, and finally my lips.
I parted them and took his thumb into my mouth, sucking gently. I pressed down slightly with my teeth and delighted in the lust that tore through his eyes at the sensation. I brought his thumb deeper into my mouth, tasting the salt of his skin, and I knew I wanted to take care of this man for the rest of my life.
I reached up and grasped his shoulders, pulling myself up, dragging my body against his along the way. Then I turned him so he was against the bed, and in one swift move, I removed his shirt and tossed it to the floor. He smiled, and I grinned back as I began to work at his jeans. I quickly pulled them down and helped him step out of them, along with his shoes.
I stepped back, tearing my sweater over my head and disposing of my bra. I stood before him, watching his eyes grow even darker as he took me in. Finally, I nudged my skirt down, stepping out of my panties so he could see all of me.
“Brilliant,” he breathed, and I pressed myself into his arms, kissing him deeply with everything I had. I trailed my hands to his boxers and pushed them down as well, again helping him step out of them.
We stood, gazing at each other, our eyes taking in all that we’d almost let get away—all I had very nearly thrown away. I reached behind him, grabbed a pillow, and dropped it at his feet. I pushed him backward to sit on the bed and placed his arms around me, pressing his head against my belly, hugging him close. His hands held my body, face nuzzling at my skin as I ran my hands through his hair. He began to kiss my tummy, dancing soft, wet kisses left to right, his nose dragging deliciously across my skin.
But this was about him.
I dropped to my knees and looked up at him. He cradled my face in his hands as I perched on the pillow, totally bare and full of love. “I could not love you more,” I whispered, and took him in hand. I stroked the length of him, fluttering my fingertips along his smooth skin, feeling the softness over the hard, silk over steel.
He closed
his eyes and grinned that crooked grin as he felt me tending to him.
I kissed him sweetly and tenderly, then gently took him inside my mouth. His hands continued to hold my face, with just as much tenderness. I took him in slowly, exquisitely, and as he hit the back of my throat, he moaned. I withdrew slowly, following with my hand, squeezing gently and taking a quick look up at the perfection that was my Jack.
His head was thrown back, strong jaw clenched as he let me take care of him. I took him in again, swallowing and sucking and making my mouth tight around him. I swirled my tongue around his head, and then underneath, tickling gently while my nails dragged up and down the inside of his thighs and across his abdomen, eliciting a truly magnificent groan.
I let my teeth graze his length as I withdrew again, and as my hands took over for my mouth, I watched him. “Look at me, love,” I prompted, and he opened his lust-filled eyes. There was my green. His hands dug into my hair as I took him in my mouth again, and he groaned as he watched me pump him in and out of my mouth, faster now and with conviction. I sucked, swirled, teased, tantalized, and loved him as only I could—and only I would, from now on.
As his hips began to buck faster and his hands became more urgent, I could feel myself becoming aroused by his arousal and the sweet sounds he made before he came. I moved with him, taking him in deeper and deeper and letting my hands take over what my mouth could not.
His hands were constantly in my hair, guiding me, moving me with him, and I knew he was seconds away from his release. Selfishly, I wanted to watch him—there’s nothing in the world more beautiful than the sight of my Jack coming. But this was about him, and making him feel this as intensely as possible, so I kept my mouth around him while I felt him begin to shake.
His breath came fast and loud, his groans grew guttural, and just before I brought him to where he needed to be, he moaned my name.
“Grace,” he said, the word falling from his lips as he came brilliantly.
I stayed with him the entire time, caring for him while he moaned above me, his hands lazy in my hair as his breath slowed. Then I kissed up one thigh and down the other, smiling into his skin.
The Redhead Series Page 44
