“Mmm, Jack,” I sighed, my eyes opening to take in the dark night, the stars above me twinkling, as the star below me thrust, low and deep.
I gasped as he pulled me up flush against him, my hands clasped behind his neck, his arms locked around me as I stared down into his eyes. His brow furrowed, and he was frantic, groaning as he drove on and on, not stopping, my cries echoing throughout the night as he ravaged me. He angled his hips suddenly, and then he was there, pressed perfectly against the spot, that spot that he alone knew and knew well enough to coax out something so intense.
What Jack Hamilton was capable of doing to my body could not be defined. I came apart in the Southern California night, strung out and unaware of anything in the universe other than the feeling of him inside me, exactly where he should be, his own body taut and tight as he groaned through his own little piece of pleasure. The star had exploded.
He clutched at me, shaking as I shattered, face nuzzled into my breasts as his breath came as heavy as he did.
“Love you, Grace. Love you . . . so much,” he sighed moments later, eyes sleepy and sex filled as he gazed up at me. I kissed him again and again, brushing my lips across his nose and eyelids, feeling the stubble of his new haircut rough against my mouth.
“Love you too, Jack,” I murmured as he gathered me closer still, unwilling to leave my body.
The canyon was finally quiet. I put my star to bed.
five
I woke up the next morning pleasantly sore and rolled away from the wall of man who made me so. He grabbed for my breasts in his sleep, finally searching out a pillow instead and settling back. I perched on my hip, watching him as the morning sun danced across his frame, highlighting the red in his slight beard. I ran my hand across his newly shorn hair, delighting in the feel of it against my palm as he leaned into me, even in his sleep.
I thought back to the night before, color flooding my cheeks as I remembered how out of control we both were on the dance floor. Usually the voice of reason when it came to public displays of affection, I’d thrown all caution—and very nearly my dress—into the wind last night. Steps away from where the paparazzi had been waiting, I’d let the most beautiful man into my knickers. I had to be more careful. But when his hands were on me, it was hard to remain in control. Still, the thought of all those Hollywood chippies surrounding us last night—all of whom had fast phone fingers and could have tweeted our soft-core porn shots around the world . . .
You’re in the right town if porn is what you’re into.
I shuddered again at the could-haves and the close calls and continued my survey of Jack’s sleeping self. I found those green eyes locked on me.
“What are you thinking about, Crazy?” he purred, his voice still thick with whiskey and sleep.
“When did you wake up?” I asked, curling into his side and relishing in his warmth.
“Just a minute or so ago. What are you working yourself over about so early in the morning?”
“Early? It’s almost noon, Jack.”
“I’m an actor. That’s early.” He grinned, pinching my bottom. “What’s got you so twisted up already?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re worrying. You’ve got frown lines on your forehead.”
“Remind me to tell you about things to never talk about with your older girlfriend.” I winked before he pushed me back against the pillows and nuzzled his way into my neck. I scratched at his head while he played absently with my breasts, sending the tiniest of shock waves down to the tips of my toes.
“Just thinking about last night. Kind of strange, huh?”
He hummed Jack’s Happy Sound into my skin. “You mean when you let me get into your knickers?”
“Which time?” I laughed as his hands became less absent and more determined.
“You were quite the bad girl, Gracie,” he whispered into my neck, hands beginning to dip lower and lower.
“Hey, handsy, don’t you think we need to talk about last night?” I asked, trying to distract him, which was never easy to do.
“About what?”
“Um, let’s see, we were almost attacked by photographers.” I laughed, lacing my fingers through his and bringing them safely above the covers.
He stilled. “What is there to talk about?”
“Listen, I know you’re more used to it than I am, but I still think it’s a bad idea for us to be photographed together. Holly says—”
“Oh bollocks what Holly says. It’s ridiculous that I can’t even go out dancing with my girlfriend without it becoming a major event.”
“Major event?” I asked as he rolled away.
He grabbed his phone from his nightstand and scrolled through. Finding what he wanted, he handed it to me, sitting up in bed.
I looked and drew in a breath.
TMZ. Pictures of us first from when we tried to leave together. I was mostly hidden behind him, but you could see the red hair.
Hearthrob Jack Hamilton seen at Bar the Door last night. Is this the elusive redhead? Later that same night, he was snapped leaving the same nightclub with frequent party boy Adam Kasen, a blonde, and a brunette. Way to go, Sexy Scientist Guy . . .
He looked irritated in the first shot, drunk in the second.
“You left with Adam?” I asked, placing my hand on his back.
“It made sense at the time. Bryan thought it was a good time to go, Adam needed a ride, and we thought it would pull the focus from the earlier shots. Guess I was wrong. Now I’m leaving a nightclub with star fuckers.” He groaned.
Interesting. He’s never called himself a star before.
But he is. He’s a bona fide Hollywood movie star.
“I think I’m going to stay home next time you go out on the town, Jack. Not really my scene anyway.” I sighed, handing him his phone back.
“Probably best until your series premieres. Then you’ll have people trying to take a shot at you too,” he said over his shoulder.
“I doubt that’s going to happen. I’m lucky to have this job, but my career is never going to go in the direction of yours.”
“You don’t know that. Why would you say that?” He turned around so he could see me.
“I just mean that, well, you’re Super Sexy Scientist Guy. Women love you. They go insane when you show up somewhere. That’s not really the same thing as having a new series no one has even seen yet.” I leaned up on one shoulder so I could touch him. “Besides, if I get too famous and we come out publicly, that means they’ll come up with one of those combo names for us, like Grack or Jace.” I grinned as I watched his face clear.
“Or George and Gracie.” He smiled, reaching out to sweep his fingers across the necklace he gave me, the word schmaltz facing out, but our secret names facing in. George loves Gracie.
“No one knows about that,” I whispered, his hands sweet and gentle now. He leaned in and kissed me quietly, succinctly, our foreheads coming to rest together. We sat for a moment, just breathing each other in.
“Okay, Sweet Nuts, as much as I would love to schmaltz around this bed all day, I have to get my ass to the gym. Mama needs to hire a trainer,” I announced, moving away from his hands as he lay back down. I slipped into my nightie on the end of the bed and ran my hands through my hair.
“Wait, what? A trainer?”
“Oh, yes. Operation Cheekbone is in full effect. We start shooting next week, and I need to lose about fifteen pounds by yesterday, so say good-bye to this, mister.” I pulled up my nightie and slapped my tummy. I used to be so shy about my body being on display, but falling in love with Jack had been the best confidence booster ever. If he loved my body, shouldn’t I?
You’d think so . . .
“Operation Cheekbone? What in bloody hell is that?” he exclaimed from his place against the pillows.
I took a moment to take in the sight. Long and lean, tanned and sprawling, he could be shooting a magazine cover as we spoke.
“Well, the producers hav
e been watching the pilot we shot, and it would seem that I need a little more cheekbone, which translates to about fifteen pounds or so. So I’m hiring a trainer to kick some ass.”
“That’s a bunch of crap, Grace.”
“Yes, well, be that as it may, it’s different for women in this town—especially at my age. So I’ll do what I need to do. No biggie.” I leaned over him to give him a kiss.
“I’m making a shit ton of money with this next movie, Crazy. Let’s quit working and move to London. We’d never need to leave the bedroom.” He winked at me as I moved toward the bathroom.
“Love, it took me years to get back here. I’m not letting fifteen pounds stand in my way. Now get your British ass in here.” I laughed, dodging the pillow he threw at me.
We showered. It took more time than I planned.
It always does . . .
I was on my way to the gym when my conscience called.
“Did you see the pictures?”
“Yes, Holly, I saw the pictures. What can I do about it?” I asked as I rolled my eyes.
“Nothing now, asshead, but we do need to work on the deer-in-headlights look you always seem to have going. Doesn’t fly now that you have your own TV show.”
My heart still fluttered when I heard her say that.
“I was totally caught off guard. Lay off.”
“You’re dating Jack Hamilton. You can’t ever be off guard.”
“I know, I know. What’s up?”
“Just talked to David. They’re moving the shooting schedule up, and they want you on set at the end of next week.”
“What?”
“Yep, everything has been accelerated. They fast-tracked the show for a summer slot, which means they need to get all six episodes shot yesterday. This isn’t a problem, is it?”
“No, but Operation Cheekbone hasn’t even started yet!”
“I love it when you talk like someone from The Bourne Supremacy. What’s even stranger is that I totally got that.”
“I’m serious! I’m on my way to the gym right now.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’ll be fine. Are you getting a trainer?”
“Yes, but I don’t know how fast I can do this. Now I’m worried, although I suppose we can just shoot scenes with me walking with a large purse in front of me,” I joked.
“Exactly. They will work with what they have. Not a problem.”
Wow, that was a joke . . .
“Um, I was kidding about the large purse.”
“That’s funny because I wasn’t kidding at all,” Holly countered. “We talked about this.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know, but—”
“But nothing, Grace. I love you. Is this weird for you? Yes. But not for me. This is my job. Does it suck that I have to tell girls all the time to fucking lose weight? Yep. Do I have to tell girls who just a year ago were voted Best Looking in their high school yearbook that they’re too generic to make it in this town? All the time. I hate it, but this industry isn’t changing any time soon, and other than that I love what I do. So suck it up.”
I breathed in and out.
“You scared of me now?” she asked, her voice worried.
“I’m more scared that you just carried on an entire conversation by yourself, actually.”
She laughed. “Don’t hate me because you’re beautiful.”
“Okay, it’s getting a little thick around here.” I pulled into the gym parking lot. I saw three stunning girls walking in, sports bras and tiny shorts, legs for days and boobs for hire. Sigh.
“Love you, ya little fruitcake.”
“Fruit I can have. Cake has gone bye-bye.” I snorted, hanging up on her as she laughed. I watched the stunnings as they headed inside. I hated the gym. Even when I was losing all my weight, I’d worked out as much as I could from home or outside. But gyms were where the trainers were, so when in Rome . . .
Can’t eat pasta . . .
Yeah, yeah, yeah.
I repeated the words my own TV show, my own TV show as I headed in.
“I can’t go anywhere. I can’t even move.” I moaned.
“Not even to run and get something to eat? We need groceries, love. There’s nothing in the house,” Jack whined, pulling at my shoe.
I had collapsed when I returned from the gym, my entire body a wet noodle. I had been worked out. Hollywood style. When my trainer wasn’t admiring his abs in the mirror, he was sending me into another round of sprints or down to the floor to do kill-me-now crunches. He was good, no doubt. But clearly the devil.
“Get in your car and go get something. Leave me. I’m no good to you,” I cried, trying to lift my head off the couch and giving up immediately.
“Gracie, come on, walk it off,” he teased, pulling at both shoes now. I could feel myself sliding down the couch.
“Take your ass down the hill to the canyon store and get yourself a sandwich. Let me die,” I instructed, trying to kick him as he pulled me farther off the couch. Kicking used muscles, though, and that was impossible. Every muscle I possessed was now on strike.
“Oh, love, I won’t let you die,” he pronounced dramatically, finally succeeding in pulling me clear of the couch and thumping me into his lap.
“Ow! Ow! Ow!” I yelled as he wrapped his arms around me. Once I was settled, he ran his hands up and down my back, his fingers pressing into my skin in a soothing way. My muscles relaxed, albeit slightly.
“How many days are you on this crazy workout plan?”
“Chip has me coming in twice a day every day this week.”
“Your trainer’s name is Chip?” He laughed into my neck.
“Of course his name is Chip. Chip’s also an actor, you’ll be glad to know.”
“Is he good-looking? Do I need to be worried here?”
“He’s a juicehead, Jack. You have nothing to worry about. Besides, as sore as I am, I’m not even going to have the energy to keep up with you for a while, to say nothing of the likes of Chip Chip the Devil Man.”
“Oh, I’ll get you sorted out all right. I can’t have my girlfriend so tired she can’t service me properly.” He sighed, sitting back against the wall and bringing me farther into his lap. I snuggled in and yawned.
“I know. It’s in my contract that I keep you satisfied. You might have to do it while I’m sleeping, though.”
“Certainly makes it easier for me when you’re unconscious.” He laughed.
“I promise I’m mentally laughing, George. I just don’t have the abdominal strength to manage it right now.” I yawned again. We sat in the quiet for a moment as he stroked my hair until I heard his tummy growl.
“Okay, you run to the market and get something to eat. I’m going to try and make it to the bed,” I said, trying to extricate myself from his lap. He stood with me, picking me up and throwing me over his shoulder like a bag of overexercised potatoes.
“You nap. I’ll sort out the sandwiches. You want the chicken salad?” he asked.
“Yeah, sounds good, and get me a bag of Chex Mix and— Wait! No, get me a cucumber. And some air. I can have as much air as I want.” I sighed as he eased me down onto the bed. He chuckled as I put my arms in the air, gesturing for him to remove my sweatshirt.
“Cucumber and air, got it. How long are you on the all-air diet?”
“Until I don’t have to carry a big purse.” I snorted as my head hit the pillow. The last thing I heard before I slipped into sleep was his asking me what the bloody hell a big purse had to do with it.
I woke up to the sound of my phone ringing shrilly. I blinked, looking around, confused. It was dark out. Jesus. How long had I been asleep?
“Jack?” I called out, but no answer. I looked at the clock. I’d been sleeping for a few hours. Where was he? I jumped as the phone rang again and winced as I reached across the bed for it. It was the Brit.
“Hey, you get lost?” I smiled into the phone.
“Yeah, something like that,” he mumbled, and I stopped midstretch. He s
ounded weird.
“What’s wrong, where are you?”
“Somewhere on Santa Monica. I’m stuck in traffic.”
“What the hell are you doing on Santa Monica?”
“Bloody photographer at the market . . . I pulled out and started heading back up the hill, and he followed me. Followed me no matter where I went, and I didn’t want to come home yet, so I kept driving. And so did he. And I ended up getting turned around in the hills and came back down and then—”
“Jack, hey, slow down. It’s okay. Where are you now?”
“It’s not okay! This is fucking ridiculous! Grace, you should have seen how close this guy was behind me. He was a maniac—just to get a picture? It’s insane! I—”
“Okay, love, just come back home. Is he still following you?”
“I don’t think so. I’m not sure. He’s— Dammit! He’s still back there, and now there’s another one. Shit!”
A prickle of fear began to work its way from the base of my spine all the way to the top. I started pacing around the room, not noticing my muscles cramping up.
“Jack? Hey, Jack?”
“I’m pulling over. This is crazy. Hey! Look out—”
I heard tires squealing. I heard metal crunching. The phone went dead.
“Jack? Jack? Hey, are you there?”
Six
Movie star Jack Hamilton was involved in an altercation today at the corner of Santa Monica Blvd. and Doheny Dr. Several cars were impacted when Hamilton swerved into oncoming traffic, allegedly to avoid a car driven by a photographer. No one was seriously injured, although Hamilton was treated for “minor scrapes” at the scene.
The Redhead Series Page 54
