“Gracie . . .” he said, in that accent, in my ear, and I felt every molecule in my body reach out and call to him.
He quickly removed my shorts and pressed his hand between my legs. I cried out at the feel of his fingers as they moved into me. I struggled to drag his boxers down as well, needing to feel him flush against me, with nothing in between. His hands left me for mere seconds, and when he returned, I could feel his warm skin press against mine in the most heavenly way. We both made quick work of my shirt, tossing it to the floor. He remained behind me, and as he worked me with his fingers I rocked my hips against him.
“Inside, please. I need you inside,” I cried.
And he obliged. He slid into me, invading me completely. He anchored my hips with his hands, and as I pushed back against him, he stopped his motions, then pushed in again, making us both crazy.
“God, I missed this,” he said softly, and I nodded in response.
I couldn’t speak. The feeling of him back inside my body was overwhelming, and I was stunned silent.
We kept a slow pace, our hips moving together, our hands entwined as he kissed my neck, my shoulders, my back, my cheek. I turned my head so I could take his sweet tongue in my mouth, gazing into his eyes as he worshipped my body with his own. Making me his once more. We moved and slipped and slid and rocked, and what was mine was his.
His hands clutched my breasts once more, circling fingers and pinching and teasing and tantalizing me with his love.
My hands were lost in his hair. I kept my body flush against his as I lost myself in the waves of pure, intense pleasure that worked their way from the tips of my toes to the center of my being.
“I love you, I love you, I love you,” I whispered, and I began to shiver and shake in his arms, in his embrace, with him inside me. He drove into me, chanting my name in my ear as he felt me coming around him. I was silent as my own tiny universe cracked open and left me floating. I was aware only of his love, his touch, and the feeling of him as he stayed in my body, in my mind, in my heart.
He collapsed against me, cradling me to him as tightly as our bodies would allow. He told me he loved me again and again, and I smiled into my pillow as I felt him kiss me. Bliss.
Moments later, he rolled away and sat up. He stretched and messed his hair with his fingers. As he scratched his head, I could see how long his curls had gotten. He gazed around the room, then glanced down at me.
“Hey.”
“Hey, yourself,” I answered, smiling up at him.
“Did I totally ruin dinner?” he asked sheepishly, looking at the clock on his side of the bed. His side.
“Yep. You owe me thirty bucks for the steaks, moneybags.” I laughed, poking him with my toe.
“Grace, what’s this on the nightstand?” he asked.
I grinned and didn’t need to look. I knew what it was. I’d put it there. “What does it look like?”
“It looks like a bowl of candy.”
“You’re a genius. That’s exactly what it is.” I laughed, sitting up against him and peeking over his shoulder. There, on his nightstand, was a crystal dish with individually foil-wrapped candy.
“You’re sharing candy, Nuts Girl?” he asked incredulously.
“Yes. I’m tired of being the emotionally stunted one in this relationship. I’m an adult, and I can share. Besides, I have my own. On my side,” I said, pointing to the identical dish on my nightstand.
“Wow, that’s progress.” He whistled, laughing at me.
“I know!” I said, launching myself at him and stealing a candy from his dish.
“Hey!” he said as I unwrapped it.
“Shhh,” I answered, placing the chocolate between his lips. “Don’t say I never gave you anything.” I smiled.
He grinned that sexy half grin and kissed me sweetly. He tasted like s’mores.
The next morning in the shower, we discussed our plans for the coming days.
“So, I’ve got interviews this afternoon, and then I’m supposed to go to this party thing at some restaurant, but I can get out of it if you want me to—the party, not the interview. Spin ’round,” he said.
I turned so he could rinse my hair. As soon as it was clean, I grabbed some shampoo and began to wash his hair.
“No, it’s cool. I’m having dinner with Holly tonight, so I’ll just see you back here afterward. At some point we need to pick a menu for this holiday shindig. Anything particular you want? Okay, rinse, please,” I instructed, trying not to notice the way he was rubbing my nipples persistently.
“I want a traditional American Christmas dinner, so make what you’d normally make,” he replied, releasing me so he could stand under the water.
I began to lather up with shower gel and offered him some. “Okay, then I need to head to the store today and start getting shit together. We only have two days.”
“Let me know what you need help with; I can always pick up some things on my way home tonight.”
“What the hell are you going to drive, by the way? Your car is toast, and I need my car today.”
He grinned sheepishly and stood under the water again. He didn’t answer.
“What’s going on?” I nudged him out of the way so I could rinse off. He smirked. “What did you do, George?”
“Well, I might have bought a new car. It’s being delivered today. I hope you don’t mind, but they’re bringing it here,” he said, shutting off the water and getting out. He grabbed two towels and handed me one as he started to dry off.
“What did you buy?” I asked, wrapping my robe around me and putting my hair up in a turban.
“Just something sporty.” He looked sheepish again, and also a little guilty.
“How cute are you?” I asked, setting my lotion bottle down so I could admire him fully. His towel hung low on his hips, and he ran his hands through his damp hair, making the curls jump and twist the way I loved.
“Why cute?” he asked, looking at me in the mirror.
“You feel guilty for wanting to drive something new, don’t you?”
He looked down again. “Yeah, a little,” he admitted, and his cheeks turned pink.
I turned him around to face me and wrapped my arms around his waist. His hands found the small of my back and settled there.
“You deserve everything you have, and everything that’s coming to you. Enjoy it, love. If you want a fun car, then get a fun car. It’s okay to have fun with this, ya know.” I kissed his chest and then rested my head against him.
His chin settled on the top of my turban. “I am having fun,” he said.
“Good,” I answered, and hugged him more firmly.
Soon after we stood in my driveway, admiring a bright, shiny, new silver Porsche convertible. He was grinning.
“Wow, this is fun,” I said, walking around and admiring it.
“Mmm-hmm,” he said, sliding in and twirling the key ring around his finger. “Wanna go for a spin?”
“Hell yes!” I cried and jumped in. He slid on his Ray Bans, and we were off. We drove Mulholland for a while, then made our way back down the canyons. We were close to his apartment.
“When’s the last time you were at your apartment?” I asked as we pulled into a gas station. We needed to put the top up, now that we were back in town. A redhead in the front seat was just asking for a TMZ headline.
“Hmm, what month is this?” He smiled as we finally figured out how to operate the top. “Actually, right after the movie came out, some fans posted my address on the Internet, so now there are always a few girls outside waiting for me—when I’m there,” he said. “They’re usually pretty cool. They just want to say hi when I come out in the morning to get the paper. Sometimes I talk for a bit. It hasn’t gotten too out of hand, and I’ve been traveling most of the time anyway.”
“Ugh, that’s so weird.” I shivered in dramatic disgust.
Top in place, he returned to the driver’s seat and his hand made its way back onto my knee. I smiled, and we
were off.
“They’re not really pushy—other than the fact that they’re stalking me outside my apartment—but it would be nice to go home and not have to deal with that,” he said, his voice dropping just a bit.
I knew better than anyone how grateful he was for his fan support, but he needed some anonymity as well.
“No worries, love. I can handle it,” he said, kissing my hand firmly as we drove through the streets of Beverly Hills.
Once home, I started to make a list of the things I needed at the grocery store, and he settled onto the couch. Within seconds I heard the TV click on. I smiled at how at home we both seemed here. I went in to see if he wanted to come to the store and got pulled onto his lap. I kissed him soundly and told him I was heading out.
“Do you want to come with me?” I asked, nuzzling his ear until he cried uncle. “We could dress you up in a hat and glasses. I might even have a wig around here somewhere.”
“No, I think I’ll stay here. I can help you when you get back.” He smiled and ruffled my hair.
“I’m going to be making piecrust,” I said, snuggling into his arms.
“Okay, sounds good,” he replied.
“You want to help me make piecrust?” I asked in disbelief.
“Sure. Why not?”
“Is there somewhere you want to go, friends you want to see? Aren’t you going to be bored? Making piecrust?”
“Are you kidding me? For the first time in weeks, the phone isn’t ringing, no one’s telling me I have to go somewhere, no one’s knocking on my door asking me for an autograph, and I can pick my nose if I want and not worry about it ending up on Perez. Making piecrust sounds about fucking perfect if you ask me.” He laughed and lay back on the couch.
“Okay, then. Piecrust it is. Want me to pick you up some Fatburger while I’m out?” I asked, extracting myself to grab my purse. I heard a moan behind me. I turned, and he was smiling hugely.
“Grace, I knew I was right to keep you around,” he said, winking.
“Yeah, yeah, I know.” I winked back as he threw a couch pillow at me. I paused when I got to the door and looked back at him. “Is it me, or did we just say the words pie and crust like seventy times?”
“We said piecrust a lot. Piecrust, piecrust . . .” he answered, saying it differently every time.
I left him mumbling to himself. With a giant grin I walked out to my car, which now looked a little paltry next to his Porsche, and slid in. I turned on the tunes and realized life really didn’t get much better than this.
twenty
Four hours, five piecrusts, and six orgasms later, I packed the Brit into his new car and sent him to his interview. Then I headed to Holly’s to pick her up. We were going to our favorite little sushi restaurant, tucked away up in the hills on Beverly Glen, for a girls’ night. When we arrived, we ordered dirty martinis and spicy tuna rolls, and told our waiter to keep them both coming.
We toasted each other, sipped, and sighed at the same time. Nothing was as good as a dirty martini, extra dirty.
“So all is well with the Brit, I take it?” she asked, sucking on an edamame.
“Things are fantastic with the Brit. So glad we worked our shit out,” I said, matching her suck for suck.
“You mean you worked your shit out.” She snorted into her cocktail.
“Yes, exactly.” I smiled at her. “I mean, I still have plenty of shit to work on . . .”
“Ya think, Little Miss Meltdown?” she interrupted, which I stopped by tossing a soybean at her head.
“I do have plenty of shit to work on. Thank you. But I feel better about it than I have in a long time. Even though my way of coping was a little too dramatic even for my taste, I think coming clean with Jack about it all was the best thing that could have happened to us. We talk a lot more now, about all kinds of things. It’s good for us.”
“Imagine, talking in a relationship. We are so evolved.” She rolled her eyes, and I reared back to throw another bean when she kicked me under table.
“Look at who’s evolved now!” I laughed. “So now that I have my shit worked out, when are we gonna see about getting you a man, huh?” I kicked her back.
“I’m fine. Don’t play matchmaker with me,” she warned, gulping down her cocktail and waving at the waiter, indicating we were ready for a second round.
“I just think it’s a shame that such a fine-looking piece of ass is going to waste. You need to get some, girl!” I sipped my drink, trying to tease out the olive.
She blushed a little, then tried to distract me by pointing out Randy Quaid over in the corner.
“Don’t go all Quaid on me. What’s up with the blush, please, Ms. Holly?” I prodded, setting my drink down with a flourish.
“What? I’m not blushing. It’s the spicy tuna roll,” she said, looking at the table.
“Idiot, they haven’t brought the tuna roll yet. Are you—wait, are you seeing someone?”
The blush deepened. She was now trying to get Randy Quaid’s attention.
“Don’t you dare try to bring Cousin Eddie over here while I’m interrogating you. Are you seeing someone? Fuck me, you are! Who are you seeing?” I asked, pointing a soybean at her.
“Ya know, you point food at people a lot. Just sayin’. And I’m not seeing anyone, okay?”
I sat back and looked at her. “You’ve been with a man, haven’t you?” I asked, dissolving into laughter.
She glared at me and sucked her soybean, hard.
“Oh man, who are you fucking?” I laughed harder, almost choking on a pimento.
“Okay, look, I’m not fucking anyone. There’s someone I’ve . . . well . . . who I’ve fucked a few times, but it’s nothing. I have needs from time to time, by God, so shut it!” she huffed, and sat back in her seat.
“Hey, girl, I get it. I’m glad for you. I just can’t believe you didn’t tell me. Why wouldn’t you tell me? Unless . . . wait a minute . . . do I know him?” I asked, eyes wide.
She slunk down in her chair and hid her face behind her hands.
“Does this man happen to have killer blue eyes and a very sweet disposition?” I asked, arching my eyebrow.
She nodded, still covering her face with her hands.
“And does he happen to have abs you could grate cheese on?”
She nodded again.
“I knew it! I knew it when I saw you two at the premiere. You’ve been schtupping Lane, haven’t you?” I screeched, and she finally lowered her hands.
“Grace, shut up,” she hissed.
The waiter brought over our second round.
“Lane, Lane, Lane. Well, I’m impressed. Well done, sister.” I nodded and raised my new glass.
“You think it’s okay?” she asked, looking guilty.
“Do you think it’s okay?” I asked right back.
“It’s more than okay. It’s amazing,” she said, smiling big.
I clinked my glass to hers. “Here’s to the hottest thirty-four-year-olds in this city, getting it on with two of the hottest young actors! Hell yes!”
She grinned back at me. “Actually, Grace, you’re thirty-three. I’m thirty-four,” she corrected.
“Oh, I know. I just wanted to make you say it.” She threw her napkin at me.
Over the next few hours she brought me up to speed on what had transpired between her and Lane. Apparently when she first met with him (right after I left for New York), there were definite sparks flying. However, she’d been concerned about representing two actors in the same film, particularly one who was branded so heavily. But she enjoyed their meeting so much that when he asked her if she wanted to grab a drink later, she said yes. She would never date a client, but since they’d agreed that her representing him wasn’t a viable option, she felt okay about it.
Later that evening, she felt more than okay about it. She confided that it was the most powerfully raunchy, explosive night of amazing sex she’d ever had. But she quickly concluded that was all it was, and she’d
tried to pretend nothing had happened. Poor Lane was lost in the signals and tried for weeks to get her to go out with him again. She continually refused, which explained the tension I’d noticed at the premiere. Finally, he cornered her after an event and she came clean.
That night, they struck a sort of sex-only accord—it wasn’t as if Lane was looking for a soul mate—and they’d been getting it on every so often ever since. I was happy for Holly, as she’d needed to get laid for such a long time, and by someone who knew what he was doing. And since neither was interested in pursuing anything beyond the physical, it seemed to work for them.
She was concerned about anything being leaked to the press about this arrangement, so she was reluctant to tell even me. I, of course, assured her I wouldn’t tell a soul—especially since I was one of the few who could empathize with her predicament.
We stayed at the restaurant long enough so I was okay to drive, then I dropped off the slut and headed back down the mountain toward my canyon.
The Porsche wasn’t there when I got home, so as I pulled in I made sure to leave him enough room in the driveway. I let myself in and headed toward the kitchen. I wasn’t quite ready for bed, so I poured myself a glass of red and slipped out to the patio. I sank into one of the comfy deck chairs and turned on the stereo. I’d taken a page from Holly’s house when I remodeled and had speakers installed throughout. I selected my “quiet sexy times” playlist on my iPod and settled in. The canyon was so still at night, even though mine was a well-traveled street.
I smelled the honeysuckle and lemons and relaxed into the solitude. Did I miss the hustle and bustle of New York? Eh, a little. But not enough to ever give this up. I sat quietly in the dark, in the quiet, in the wonderful. I soaked in the moon and the few strong stars that punctured through despite the city lights close by. I absently wondered why my cheeks hurt until I realized I’d been smiling for hours. And when I heard Jack’s new car purr softly into the driveway, the smile grew bigger.
The Redhead Series Page 47
